Certain Requirements

by Elinor Zimmerman

  Eventually, they did, and we ate a delicious meal. Half the time my mind wandered, and half the time my family tried to include me by trying to make sense of what I was doing with my life. This was worse than having them talk endlessly about the latest thesis they’d all read. I felt like I was a foreign subject they were studying, not a family member. They were trying to understand me but had no way to do so, and it felt lonely.

  After about fifteen minutes of dissecting questions about my life and career, I said I was full and tired from my trip and all those cartwheels. Everyone understood, and I hustled to my room. I lay down on my childhood twin bed, got out my phone, and texted Kris, What do you want me to do?

  Immediately, she told me to lock my door and offered me very specific instructions about how to touch myself. I did exactly what she ordered. It made everything feel normal again, and I was able to sleep.

  That’s how I ended most nights of my visit home. All day, I tried to find a place with my family, and they tried to figure out what to do with me. Sometimes it was good and sometimes it was impossible, but in the end, I closed my door and made myself feel better with Kris.

  It was even what got me through Christmas, when we went to my abuela’s house with all our relatives. This meant I had the same conversation approximately fifty times. It went like this:

  Relative: “So, what are you up to out there in California?”

  Me: “I’m an aerial dancer, with a trapeze but not in the circus.”

  Relative: “That’s interesting! I heard you were doing something like that. But don’t you have a degree from UC Berkeley?”

  Me (with forced smile): “No, I went to San Francisco State.”

  Relative: “Oh? Why there?”

  Me: “My girlfriend at the time went to Berkeley, and San Francisco State was the closest college that I got into.”

  Relative (trying to hide their pity): “Right, that’s why I was confused. So, what are you doing as an aerial dancer?”

  Me: “I perform shows, practice a lot, and teach other people who want to learn to do the same thing.”

  Relative: “That’s nice. And you can make a living doing that?”

  Me: “I’m making it work.”

  Awkward pause. Here, either I started asking about their life and the conversation wrapped up in five to ten minutes, or else this happened:

  Relative: “So are you thinking about grad school at all?”

  Me: “No, I like what I’m doing. Grad school wouldn’t really help.”

  Relative responded with one of the following: a) “But you can’t really have a career with this, can you?” or b) “Well, of course,” then excused themself.

  My abuela chose option a. We’d all had a pretty similar conversation last Christmas when I was a receptionist trying to become an aerialist, but it didn’t make it sting any less. No one (well, almost no one) was trying to be mean, but they did not get it. They didn’t get me.

  After the conversation with my grandma, I slipped into the kitchen and snuck out my phone to wish Kris a merry Christmas.

  “Who are you texting?” Connie seemed to appear from nowhere.

  “No one.”

  Connie arched one eyebrow. “Is it serious?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Who is she?”

  I gave up. “It’s not serious. It’s just fun.”

  “Yet here you are, texting her in the middle of Christmas with your family.”

  “Just to make myself feel better.”

  Connie looked at me. “What do you mean?”

  “You see how it is,” I said with a sigh. “Everybody looks at me like a disappointment, dumb Phoenix who has only a BA from a college with the word ‘State’ in the name. Weird Phoenix who is doing something that doesn’t make sense.”

  “They don’t have any point of reference for what you’re doing, but that isn’t a comment on your intelligence.”

  “Really? Because that’s not what I’m hearing.”

  Connie rolled her eyes. “Do you think you’re the only person getting this treatment? I have a master’s, and all they want to know is why I’m in administration when I could have been a doctoral candidate. Or poor Nick! Every year they ask him if he’s tenure track somewhere yet. It rubs salt in the wound. But they’re not doing it to make anyone feel bad. They’re trying to catch up.”

  I slumped into a kitchen chair. “That’s not how it feels.”

  “I know. It doesn’t feel that way for me either,” she said and sat across from me. “We left. That’s what it is. The reason we get this is because we don’t live within a hundred-mile radius like everyone else, so our lives are unfathomable. Think about it. Dad has been in the same place for essentially his entire life, and Mom grew up less than two hours away. They went away to get PhDs, and then they came back and have been here ever since. Dad turned down a position at Columbia and spent a decade commuting to Santa Fe before he got hired at UNM. He did that so we could be here, because family’s most important. Everyone in this family sees each other constantly. Except for us.”

  I picked at a hangnail. “Why do you think we both moved away when nobody else did?”

  She frowned a little. “I wasn’t planning on moving away. I did stay, but then I met Nick and he couldn’t get hired here. We went where he found adjunct positions with the possibility that one of them might eventually lead to more, and where I could find a job. I’d be here in a heartbeat if we could both get the jobs we wanted.”

  “I wouldn’t,” I said.

  “Yes, you would. Maybe not here, but Santa Fe. If you could do what you wanted in your career and live there, you’d come back. You only moved away for Amanda, and you stayed because you found people you cared about. You built a life there, and that makes it hard to imagine moving. But you could build a life here too. Then things would be easier with our family.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from saying things I knew would start a fight, starting with you don’t know me. I tried to keep my tone even. “Amanda was not the only reason I moved. I did want to be with her, and I also wanted to see other places, experience new things, find myself. If she’d gone to UNM, I still would have moved away. And maybe I could build a life in Santa Fe if my career supported me there, but I don’t think that it would be easier for anyone to understand.”

  “Maybe you should try it,” she said. “There’s nothing keeping you in San Francisco, right? John moved away. You’re living with a roommate you barely see. You’re single. You don’t have a job.”

  “I have a job,” I said. “And I have a performance partner. I’m starting to build a name and a base of students and fans.”

  Plus, there was the little matter of free rent. Another hot dom willing to provide for me was probably not going to magically appear in Santa Fe, affirmations or no affirmations.

  Connie waved my concerns away. “Don’t get so emotional. It’s an intellectual exercise: what would it take for you to come back?”

  “Well, I’m not playing.” I pouted.

  “This isn’t about the girl, is it?” She nodded toward my phone.

  “No.”

  “So, if your career took you somewhere else, you’d go?”

  “Or course.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe it’ll take you back here at some point, and everyone will stop bothering you.” Connie looked at her watch. “We should get back.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a sec,” I said and pulled out my phone.

  I can’t wait for you to be back here, Kris had texted me. No more letting Fridays or Sundays slide. I have big plans. And I miss hanging out with you.

  I felt my heart do a strange little flutter. Could I really leave as easily as I said?

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’d been planning to take BART from the airport, but there she was, beaming and waving at me as soon as I exited security in San Francisco.

  “This is a nice surprise,” I said as I hugged her.

  “I wanted t
o thank you again for taking care of me,” she said and took my bag for me.

  “You weren’t afraid it was too, I don’t know, girlfriend-y?” I shifted my weight from foot to foot.

  She frowned. “I’m picking my friend up from the airport. I thought you’d be happy.”

  I regretted what I’d said. “Sorry! No, of course. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

  She nodded, but her smile was gone. In my head, I kicked myself for ruining a kind gesture. I tried to make up for it by distracting her with stories from my visit. It worked. By the time we were home, she was laughing at my goofy Joaquin tales. Toddlers were always entertaining.

  “So, how was your Christmas?” I asked as we pulled into the garage.

  Kris shrugged. “What I thought it would be. I worked.”

  I ran my fingers through her hair. “Poor Kris. Did you stay in your room the whole time?”

  “Pretty much. And my deck.”

  “Do you ever, I don’t know, want to spread out to the living room?” I asked as we walked into the spotless main floor. It looked like she hadn’t been there since I’d left.

  She shook her head. “I can’t work in a space we share. I get distracted too easily.”

  “What about fun, though? You could play video games in the living room, put some books there, watch movies downstairs.” I picked up a decorative glass orb from a shelf. “Like, are you really attached to this? More than stuff you actually use?”

  She took it from me. “I don’t even know what this is.”

  “It’s expensive crap people use to fill up rooms. Want to get rid of this and put your stuff out here?”

  Kris scrunched up her mouth. “You don’t think it’ll look messy?”

  I laughed. “No, I think we can figure out a way to have things you actually like here without it looking bad. Let’s clear this off.”

  I ran down and grabbed a few collapsed cardboard boxes from the garage and taped them up. We ruthlessly rid the impeccable downstairs of tchotchkes. Before we knew it, we’d filled up two boxes.

  “It looks so empty.”

  “Not for long,” I said and handed her an empty box. “On to your overstuffed room.”

  “It didn’t used to be so bad,” she said on our way to her bedroom. “Your room used to be my office.”

  “But it looked so perfect when you showed it to me. It looked like it hadn’t even been touched.”

  She blushed. “I cleaned everything out of it the night we met. I wanted you to like it.”

  “You thought I’d want to do this if the room looked good enough?”

  “Something like that.” Kris started loading the box with the Xbox and related cables. She held up a video game with guns on the case. “Will it bother you if I play this in the living room?”

  I shook my head. “First of all, this is your house—”

  “You live here too,” she said.

  “You should feel comfortable in your own home. Besides, I’ve lived with roommates my whole adult life. Occasional video games in the living room is not a problem. In fact, I’d like it if you hung out in the common areas more. I never want to bother you when you’re in your room, but I do like to see you sometimes.”

  “I like seeing you too,” she said. There was a sizzle in the air. I felt myself drift toward her, pulled like a magnet to her mouth. But this was outside of our rules and the lines were feeling blurry enough already. In the heated silence, I pulled away, afraid of what it would mean to kiss her the way I wanted to.

  “Well,” I said with false cheeriness, “we better get all this set up.” I marched down the stairs with a box. While I put books and games on the empty downstairs shelves, Kris rearranged her room. I tried unsuccessfully to set up her Xbox. When she came downstairs, the moment had passed.

  “Here.” I handed her the cables. “This is yours to figure out. I’m going to unpack finally and then throw together some dinner.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll order us some pizza.” She gave me a squeeze and kissed the top of my head. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “It sounds cheesy, but for making this into a home.”

  I shook my head and called her a nerd. She laughed. I ran up the stairs with my suitcase, yelling, “Mushrooms please!”

  “Gross! Just on your half.”

  In my room, I felt the tears forming. Making this into a home. I took a deep breath, said my affirmation, and then sighed. I knew the feeling creeping up from my belly, and I knew it would only lead to trouble. What I didn’t know was what to do about it.

  * * *

  Having a crush always made me horribly nervous. The anxiety wasn’t something I could hide either. It made me clumsy and distracted, made me bite my nails and chew my lip raw. While training with Sasha the following week, I fumbled so much that she insisted we take a break in the middle of our new routine.

  “What is going on with you?” she asked.

  “I’m preoccupied.”

  “Obviously, but about what?”

  I avoided her eyes.

  Sasha groaned. “It’s about that chick you’re living with! Ew. Love problems.”

  “Not love. And not problems. I just have things on my mind,” I said.

  “Yeah, like what?’ She chugged water and then handed me her metal water bottle.

  I looked at her helplessly. What was I going to say?

  “You’re falling in love with her,” Sasha said. I shook my head, though I was definitely crushing on Kris pretty hard. “Okay, so maybe you’re not in love, but you’re afraid that you’re going to fall in love. Or you’re upset that she’s not in love with you. Whatever. I told you this would happen.”

  I stretched my arms and ignored her. Sasha knew me too well.

  “You know what you need?” Sasha vigorously screwed the cap back on her water bottle. “You need to get your priorities back on track. You’re supposed to be building an aerial career, not getting so worked up about your weird sugar mama that you fall off a fucking trapeze.”

  “I did not fall, and I’m not—”

  “Luckily,” Sasha interrupted me, “the Universe always provides. And you have me to help you see that.” She sauntered over to her bag and pulled out her phone. When she walked back to me, she shoved it in my hand. A casting call filled the screen. It was for a multimedia, aerial version of “The Little Mermaid,” based on the original Hans Christian Andersen tale without any nod to the Disney version, complete with the mermaid turning into sea foam. A short preview of the show had already debuted to great success in London, and now the company was looking for supporting parts for their upcoming US tour. They needed six sister-mermaids, who’d also play roles in other scenes, including the sea witch. My jaw dropped. The tour would provide connections to full-time aerial performers and producers, pay a salary in the ballpark of my office job days, and get me exposure all over the country. Plus, “The Little Mermaid” was my favorite fairy tale.

  “You’re welcome,” Sasha said smugly. “I signed us up for auditions two weeks from now. The auditions, training, and first stop of the tour are going to be in San Francisco, so we don’t even have to travel until June. And it gives you a nice out from your freaky situation when we go on tour.”

  I couldn’t even form words and babbled like a fish, which was sort of fitting.

  “Are you trying to thank me?” Sasha took her phone back.

  “Wow. All I can say is wow.”

  “It’s an amazing opportunity. We’d be perfect for it. Look, they want people who can perform doubles acts as well as solo pieces, and if we audition together, I’m sure we’ll get it. If we get on this tour, we’ll have so much momentum for our careers. We can network the hell out of it and be set by the time the tour is over.”

  “How long is the tour?” I asked.

  “Six months. Could this have worked out any better? You left your stupid job and bam, this fell into your lap. The Universe provides when you trust it.”

&nb
sp; “We don’t have the parts yet.”

  “But you’re interested, right? You’ll audition with me?”

  I thought about it. I wasn’t excited about leaving my comfortable life for six months of grueling performances and constant training, networking in every city, and being on the road for half a year. I was a homebody at heart. And how would Kris react? I shook the thoughts out of my head. Sasha was right. This was exactly the sort of thing I quit my job for. If it worked out, my aerial career would be thoroughly launched. I could build enough of a reputation that I could start getting the sort of high-paying, consistent work I’d need to make my aerial dance career a sustainable one. I hadn’t touched my savings thanks to Kris, and with this I might never need to. I could make it a sustainable career out of aerials, as long as I got this part.

  “Of course,” I said. “And thank you. I’m so glad you signed us up.”

  Sasha beamed. “Good. So now you’ll take this seriously? We’ve got a lot of work to do if we’re going to kill these auditions.”

  Instantly, my clumsiness and preoccupation were gone. I’d worry about Kris later. At the moment, I had the biggest opportunity of my life to prepare for. Not to mention that having an end date for my arrangement with Kris would help me avoid any messy emotional entanglements. She’d been pretty clear about what she wanted and didn’t, and I wasn’t about to try to change that. I’d spent every relationship I’d ever had trying to coax people into who they could be, and what had it gotten me? My exes launched into success while I was alone. For once, I was going to put my own dreams first and push pesky crushes to the side.

  Despite Sasha’s optimism, I wasn’t sure I’d get the part. Probably half the aerialists on the West Coast would want to get in on a paying, well-promoted tour. I expected fierce competition, and if I made it, I’d feel great. If I didn’t, I didn’t need everyone knowing I’d gotten my hopes up over nothing, so I told no one, not even my parents, about the audition.