I also need to see Daphne.
Leaving that voicemail was lame. I should’ve visited her yesterday, despite everything else going on. My guilt stems from more than that, though. When we worked together at Tower, we became friends instantly and grew close. She and Simon never got along, but we still hung out a couple of times a week outside of work. A few months later, when I got the job at the agency, Simon kept pressuring me to spend more time with his friends (“you should have grown-up friends to match your grown-up job”) and I began drifting away from Daphne. Never mind that she was getting her master’s in social work and volunteered at a battered women’s shelter. I guess her cherry red hair, tattoos, and goth attire deemed her an unsuitable friend in his book. I should have told Simon to fuck off then and there but, you know, love. Instead, I obeyed our blossoming social calendar, and let him drag me to lectures, dinner parties, and wine tastings with his so-called grown-up friends. Meanwhile, I would’ve rather been with Daphne, going to the Roger Corman retrospective, or playing Scrabble, or hanging out in her room listening to Tom Waits albums. We saw each other less and less. I returned Daphne’s calls less and less.
When I left Simon, I made every effort to repair my friendship with her, am making it still. We’re getting back to a better place, but Daphne approaches me with an air of caution. Maybe she’s expecting me to ditch her again. I won’t, but I can’t say I blame her.
Sometimes, I think I don’t deserve the few friends I still have.
I circle more apartment and job listings to follow up on later and set out for The Lab. On the way, I stop to get a bouquet of white lilies, Daphne’s favorite flower, and avocados, her favorite food. No idea if anyone will be home, but I figure I can have someone buzz me in and leave the gifts at her door with a note.
“Who is it?” Her voice sounds weary over the intercom.
“It’s Astrid.”
An “Oh” of surprise and a pause. “I look a mess, but come on up.”
She opens the apartment door with the chain on and peers out suspiciously before unlatching it and letting me in. Barely glances at me. She’s wearing a silk kimono and her curly hair is piled like a crimson bird’s nest on top of her head. Her lips are pale and there are dark circles under her eyes.
“I’m making some coffee. Come join me.”
I follow her to the kitchen at the end of the hall.
“Sorry to show up like this,” I say. “I don’t know if you got my message—”
“I got it. And Zak mentioned you came by.”
“I wanted to see how you were.” I hand her the flowers and avocados.
“I love lilies.” She sticks her face so deep into the blossoms, the tip of her nose is yellow with pollen when she comes back up for air. “Thank you.” I get a subdued smile. Progress?
“How are you feeling?”
“Knackered, but not terrible.” Though she was born in South Boston, her father is from Manchester, and she spent many holidays abroad, so she’s prone to the occasional British-ism. “Milk and sugar, right?” I nod as she fixes the coffee and hands me a mug. “I ingested so much MDMA it nearly put me in a coma. That fucker Eddie dosed me.” She joins me at the kitchen table, sits ballerina-straight despite her exhaustion.
I fidget in my chair, glance at the doorway repeatedly until she says, “Don’t worry, he’s at work.”
“Are you sure?”
“That he’s at work or that he dosed me?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Yes to both. He’s been acting all bitter ever since we did E together and I wouldn’t sleep with him.” Daphne has a long string of platonic male acquaintances with unrequited crushes on her.
“Zak made it sound like it was an accident,” I say.
“Zak doesn’t like to believe real evil exists in the world. And I don’t want those kinds of ‘accidents’ in my home. I told Eddie he needs to leave tonight. Wanted him gone yesterday, but he begged for one more day. Someone’s coming to change the locks tomorrow.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Wow.”
“Yeah, I know it’s a little extreme, but I don’t trust the guy. Plus, I need to cut down on doing all this shit, and living with a dealer doesn’t make it easy. Let me know if you hear of anyone looking for a place. It’s a tiny room, no windows, but the rent is crazy cheap—three-fifty a month plus utilities—and, as you know, it’s two blocks from the T.”
“Oh my god, you have no idea . . .” I scoot my chair closer to Daphne and must get a wild look on my face, because she leans away from me. I tell her about the apartment fire. “ . . . so I’d love the room and could even move in tomorrow.”
She taps a fingernail against her coffee mug. “I don’t know, living with friends could go either way . . . if that’s what we still are.”
“Of course we are.”
“Until you get a new boyfriend who doesn’t think I’m good enough?”
I suck air through my teeth. That one hurt. I deserve it.
“No, Daph. Until you get sick of me. You don’t even have to rent me the room, I just want things with us to be good again.”
She rolls her eyes. “What kind of asshole do you think I am that I’d let you go homeless? Of course you can have the room.”
I reach out to hug her but she puts a hand out to block me.
“Uh-uh. We’re not going to have a Lifetime-Television-for-Women moment. Not yet. I’m still a little pissed at you. But . . .” Her tone softens. “If you need any help moving, Zak’s got a pick-up truck.”
“That would be amazing. They’re opening up the place for me tomorrow morning.”
She calls Zak into the kitchen.
“Meet our new roommate, Astrid. Try not to make things weird by sleeping with her.”
Pause for nervous laughter.
“I remember you.” He tilts his head and smiles.
He’s cute, but I’m not going to sleep with him. The last thing I need is for things to get any weirder.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
..................
9/9/99
BETWEEN CENTRAL SQUARE AND THE MIT, a sugary scent pervaded the air. Not chocolate, not the doughy sweetness of a bakery, something else.
Astrid tilted her nose up, inhaled deeply. “Do you smell that?”
“We must be near the Necco factory.”
“Like the wafers? I didn’t know those were still around.” She sniffed and sniffed.
“They also make those Valentine’s Day conversation hearts.”
“You know, I see bowls of those everywhere on Valentine’s Day, but I never see anyone actually eat them. I think they’re more decorative than anything at this point.”
“Agreed. They might as well make them out of plastic now,” Theo said.
“But then you wouldn’t buy new ones, you’d just keep the ones you have and take them out every Valentine’s Day, like Christmas decorations.”
“Which might be bad for the conversation heart business.”
The two exchanged quick smiles and Astrid got an irrational pang, a window into how much she would miss him when they parted.
Don’t get carried away, she warned herself. You don’t know what this is yet.
They passed pale grey MIT buildings set back from a lawn so perfectly manicured it looked artificial.
Astrid wondered what would happen when they crossed over into Boston. Would they turn around? Keep going? Would he say good-bye and leave her there? He was enjoying her company, right? But what if he was only being polite? What if he had other plans later and was killing time with her until then? She needed a back-up plan in case she ended up alone. Returning to Cambridge right away was no good; the walk would feel futile. She could take the green line back to Allston and pack for New York, but there was no fun in that. This clear, picturesque day begged not to be wasted. And sure, it was the ideal backdrop for something romantic to happen, but she couldn’t rely on that outcome.
She’d continue walking, with or without Theo. She’d br
owse CDs at Strawberries and Nuggets, then books at Trident, where she’d pick up a card and wrapping paper for Sally’s gift, along with some coffee and magazines. Then she’d head over to the Charles, find a bench along the tree-lined river, and read for a few hours.
Once she had a back-up plan in place, she was able to relax. A little.
Before long, they reached the bridge.
“How does it look?”
It was a postcard in motion: jeweled water, wispy clouds dusting a vivid blue sky, white triangles of sailboats clustered on the river, cyclists and rollerbladers gliding across the open bridge ahead. Astrid gave a wide smile, the wind filling her cheeks like air in a balloon. She resisted the temptation to lift her arms out to see if the swift breeze would lift her off the ground.
Theo accepted her grin as answer enough, took her hand, and led the way across. She curled her fingers around his and forgot to breathe. It didn’t matter. Right then, oxygen was overrated.
“Will you let me take your bag now?”
Astrid handed it over. She hid her free hand in her jacket pocket, where she fiddled with the feather he’d given her earlier.
“Thank you,” she said.
“It’s not that heavy.”
“No, I mean, for the bridge.”
“I didn’t build it.”
“You know what I mean,” she huffed in semi-exasperation. “For getting me to do something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.” Her gratitude extended beyond the walk, but that was beyond articulation.
“So is it disappointing? Usually when you anticipate something, you build it up too much in your head and it’s disappointing.”
Astrid regarded Theo’s profile: the Roman nose, prominent Adam’s apple, faint stubble along the jawline. “Not at all. The opposite of disappointing. I don’t know what took so long for it to happen.” She looked away, felt his eyes on her.
“I guess everything had to line up a certain way. It wouldn’t have been the same if it was some other day.”
The tone of their voices was easy but the subtext pulsed between them like neon lights.
“I hope this isn’t boring for you.” Astrid cringed. Did she sound too vulnerable, too needy?
“Oh, I’m so bored, I’m practically sleepwalking.” He gave her hand a short squeeze.
“Why were you at the bookstore?”
“You ever wake up with absolutely nothing to do?”
“I can’t remember the last time, but sure.”
“I thought it would be great to keep today open and have nothing lined up. No chores, no social obligations, nothing. It was nice for the first couple of hours. I enjoyed the quiet, but then it got too quiet. I found myself wandering around Harvard Square, hoping something interesting would turn up.”
“Well it’s barely two o’clock. There’s still a chance that could happen.”
He dropped her hand and took a step in front of her to block her way.
“This is where I’m supposed to say ‘but it’s already happened’, right?” Theo asked. “And then gaze meaningfully into your eyes?”
Astrid searched for a sarcastic quip to offset the blush flooding her face. “I think a ‘baby’ would add a special smooth-guy touch. ‘It’s already happened, baby.’ But you’re right about the meaningful eye contact. I would, of course, counter with a look of awe and newfound adoration.”
He stared at her in mock-intensity, and she looked back up at him in mock-adulation. There was a flutter and shift and the irony melted away from their respective gazes.
This is real. This is happening. Astrid felt a terrifying need to turn away but couldn’t.
A rollerblader in a Clash T-shirt and black cut-offs passed them, then doubled back. “Hey, Theo!”
Astrid and Theo stepped away from each other.
Was she relieved or bothered by the diversion? She wasn’t sure.
“Hey, Cole. I haven’t seen you since Melina’s going away party.”
Astrid checked Theo’s reaction to the interruption, but his poker face held steady.
“This is Astrid. Astrid, Cole.”
They shook hands.
“Yeah, I wonder if they ever got those raspberry stains off the walls.” Cole took off his shades and clipped them to his shirt. “Listen . . . I heard about—”
“I’m sure everyone’s heard by now.” A hand raised, friendly but also saying, back off.
“I’m sorry. That’s rough, man.”
“We need to get going, but I’ll give you a call. Let’s grab a beer at Phoenix Landing sometime.”
“Sounds good, man.” Cole backed away slowly on his blades, nodding.
Theo and Astrid resumed their stroll.
She wanted to pretend the air between them hadn’t changed, hadn’t grown heavier.
“Friend, acquaintance, or something in between?” she asked.
Theo shrugged. “In between, I guess. Cole’s part of a group of friends I hang out with. Fun guy. Finds ways to rope us into these wacky stunts. Once, he talked a bunch of us into dressing in drag for a ladies’ night in Faneuil Hall to see if we’d get free drinks.”
“Did it work?”
“Cole was the only one able to pass for a woman. The rest of us just weren’t pretty enough. Or maybe the bartender gave him free drinks as a way of flirting with him. She ended up dating him for a couple of months. You can imagine how much they loved to tell the story of how they met.”
“And what was he . . . Why did he say he was sorry?”
Theo rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Cole’s a little strange.”
Astrid knew she should drop it, but couldn’t resist her inquiring mind’s momentum. “If it’s too personal, you can just say so. You don’t have to lie because you think you might come off as rude.”
“If you knew it might be too personal, why did you ask?” His voice was strained, politeness stretched thin.
“Obviously I’m curious.”
“‘Nosy’ might be the better word.” The politeness snapped. “I didn’t want to talk about it with Cole and I’ve known him for three years. I met you an hour ago. What makes you think you’re so special I’d want to talk about it with you?”
A kick to the stomach would’ve been preferable. Even a kick to the teeth. She stopped in her tracks. Those chanting kids on the playground, they’re wrong. Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words can break your spirit.
“Astrid, I’m sorry, I—”
“I’m gonna head back.” She turned around and began a retreat to Cambridge. He called after her, but the ringing in her ears drowned him out.
At least she learned it sooner this time, that he could lie, that he could fling words like knives. There was some twisted relief in abandoning Theo, in releasing the mystery at how their time together would play out. She’d be disappointed sooner or later, anyway; sooner was easier to deal with and dismiss.
What makes you think you’re so special?
Variations on a question she’d heard before. At age nine, from Robin, when he refused to pay for a second year of cello lessons after the first didn’t uncover prodigious talent. At age sixteen, from Mrs. Karpaty, when Astrid refused to dissect a cat in physiology lab the week after her own cat went missing, which earned her a C+ in the class. At age twenty-three, from Simon, after she caught him cheating on her.
What makes you think you’re so special?
Nothing. Nothing at all.
That’s what she got for trying to sneak into the spotlight. Boos and hisses telling her to get backstage where she belonged.
With every step, she fought the urge to turn around, to see if Theo had reversed his course. Would he follow her? Did she even want him to? Could anything remove this new sour edge to the afternoon? She didn’t know how the rest of the day was supposed to go, but this was surely a glitch in the programming, a flub in the script. Or maybe not.
At least you know what this is now. It’s nothing.
She looked straight
ahead, expecting to feel a hand on her shoulder or hear her name called out.
Any second now . . .
Yet she continued on, alone, uninterrupted.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
..................
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 1999
EARLY THE NEXT DAY, I check out of the hotel and meet Zak armed with garbage bags to pack up my apartment.
“You’re really saving my life, you know that?”
He waves away my gratitude. His fingers are long, the kind that beg to play an instrument.
In the truck, he puts on an industrial CD and cranks up the volume. I don’t complain about the heavy machine noises, even though they make my temples pound. Once he parks the car and switches off the ignition, I take a moment to enjoy the relative silence before the work begins.
The padlock has been removed from the front door. The damp campfire smell is more intense in the foyer.
“I hope you didn’t have to take time off from work to do this.” I’m trying too hard to be nice, but I can’t help it.
“Don’t worry about it. My hours are pretty flexible. Besides, after what you’ve been through, I wanted to help out.” Zak raises a shoulder in a no-big-deal half-shrug.
“Sorry I didn’t mention it’s a third floor walk-up.”
“That’s too many stairs for me. I’m out.” He pretends to turn around.
When we get to the top landing, I take in the sooty doorway before turning the key. “Shit, I don’t even know how much will be left to move.” My mouth goes dry. I want to go back downstairs.
It’s just stuff. I can’t afford to replace much until I find a new job, but I can’t un-light those candles, either. Gotta get through this, get in so I can get out. I unlock the door.
A charred, damp smell greets us, more pungent than the smell in the foyer. Charcoal mixed with flooded basement.
The entire right side of the apartment is blackened and sealed off with caution tape. The floor is warped beneath our feet.
It’s gruesome but fascinating, the habitat equivalent of roadkill; I don’t want to look, but I do want to look.
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