Andy laughed. “The point of view you strongly identify with, I suspect.”
“Obviously.” Penny smiled.
Suddenly Penny knew why she wanted the Anima to win. The parents were real life. Their stories were fixed. Their mistakes were their own. The Anima’s future was unknown. And, unlike Penny, whose life-altering events had happened to her, the Anima shaped her destiny.
It is the fate of parents, of all creators, to want better for their children, their inventions. Penny wanted more for the Anima than she had had. Penny wanted to give the Anima a choice.
Penny wrote a quick note to herself on her phone, and Andy continued to talk.
The morning was beautiful. She thought about taking off running ahead of him in an explosive bout of enthusiasm, then changed her mind. She wasn’t a zany manic pixie dream girl or anything. She’d probably pass out from the exertion.
“You should let me take you out sometime,” Andy said. Penny stopped walking.
“What?” Penny was flabbergasted. “I thought you were dating Mariska or Misha or whatever her name was.” Andy was very forthright about his leggy exploits.
“I am,” he said, and then smiled. “Also who says ‘dating’? I’m hanging out with Mariska and I am not opposed to similarly hanging out with you.”
“What, like purchase for me a food unit in a romance-conducive setting?”
Andy scoffed. “Sure. Or watch with you a movie-unit in a comfortable area with flattering lighting conditions.”
Penny considered this. Andy was handsome, though his teeth were too uniform. He was funny, too. Whenever they talked, the back-and-forth crackled with something unspoken. They were birds presenting plumage and making guttural noise. If nothing else it seemed surreal that Andy could ask Penny out. Insane even.
“Can I think about it?” she asked.
“Nope,” he said, though he didn’t seem mad. “Here, let’s keep walking.”
They trudged in silence for a moment.
“Thing is, if you have to think about it, it means you’re not into it, and that’s difficult for someone like me to accept.” Andy gestured to his Adonis-approximating physique in his spaceman jogging outfit. “I can’t be into someone who isn’t into me.”
Penny smiled. “Fair,” she said, relieved he wasn’t upset. “It’s just that I’m hung up on someone.”
“Is that why when I asked you the definition of love you had thirty sappy platitudes at the ready and sounded as if you wanted to die?”
Penny nodded.
“That blows,” he said, and then, “God, I’ve been there.”
SAM.
“I thought only dilettantes drank iced coffee.”
Sam was reorganizing the tea drawer while sipping on a tumbler of iced mocha. The tea drawer was an overstuffed cubby under the coffee machines. Fin made a habit of ripping open a new box of tea instead of rooting around for the desired flavor, so there were countless half-used boxes and orphaned bags. Sam only ever reorganized it when he was in an especially foul temper.
Lorraine kept her eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. She grabbed his glass and took a sip.
It had been thirteen days since their last encounter. Just shy of a fortnight since she’d air-kissed him as if she were some movie star, dropped the bomb about the ghost baby, and pranced back into the street without a care in the world.
“What do you want, Lorraine?” Sam hated how much of a sitting duck he was running the local coffee shop. Anyone could come see him whenever they wanted. A hit man could take him out with zero prep. In fact, if the shooter did it at the right time, he could wait until Sam was in a baking mood and snatch roadie desserts on his way out.
“I wanted to see you,” she said. Her perfume pierced the air around him.
“Great,” he snapped. His hair flopped defiantly in his face as he collected every blood orange Rooibos. He hated that it was supposed to be pronounced “Roy-Buss.” And why were herbal teas “tisanes”? So annoying.
“I thought we should talk about what happened.”
“So talk,” he said. He couldn’t see what was so newly urgent.
“Let’s go eat somewhere,” said Lorraine. She grabbed his watered-down iced coffee and took another sip.
Sam slammed the boxes of tea down on the counter between them.
“Can’t,” he said with finality.
“I have something to say,” she said.
“So say.” Lorraine’s nails were freshly painted in metallic-gold triangles over black.
“Can we do this somewhere more private?” It was fifteen minutes before closing and there were only two other people in the coffee shop. “When you’re less busy arranging or whatever super-important tea business you’re doing?”
“Just say what you need to say and say it fast.”
“I know these past few weeks have been confusing,” she said carefully. Then she changed tactic and removed her shades. “Don’t you miss me? I miss you.”
Lorraine stared up at him and bit her lip. It was a rehearsed expression he instantly recognized. She made this face in moments she thought were particularly poignant.
“You know what, Lorraine? There were times, I swear, when I would have robbed a bank, thrown the money into Lake Travis, and tap-danced on my ancestors’ graves, anything to hear you say that. Not anymore.”
Sam wanted to hurt her—true—but he also realized that for once in the last four years, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, at a point that he hadn’t even noticed, he was finally over her. He was done. He felt as if he’d taken a crap the size of the Washington Monument. It was liberating. He was free.
“Are you serious?” She scowled. “You get why I couldn’t be with you when I thought I was pregnant, right? That would have been a mess. I wanted a clean slate. I wanted us to start completely new.”
“You can’t keep doing this, Lorr,” said Sam. “You only want me some of the time. And every time you do, I drop everything and bolt to you. But you’re right. This is a clean slate. The cleanest slate. We’re done. Lorraine, you said we weren’t friends. And you’re right. You know what? I don’t think you even like me as a person.”
“I love you, Sam,” she said. “Why are you making this complicated after all this time? You’re one of those impossible knots. The kind from the myth.” She sighed dramatically and smoothed some imaginary wrinkles from her dress.
“What do I prefer, cake or pie?” he asked.
“What?” Lorraine was confused.
“Simple question, Lorr. Cake or pie? What team do I ride for?”
“You make both all the time. It’s a trick question,” she said defiantly.
“I’m a pie person, Lorraine. Just like you. Your favorite is strawberry. The trashy kind with condensed milk in the middle. You love it because your grandma Violet used to make it for you, and you’d hide it from your mother because she didn’t appreciate you having sweets. Because until you developed an eating disorder in ninth grade, you were a little on the husky side. Your words. You know why I know this? It’s because I know everything about you. Not only do I know everything about you, but I remember everything about you. My folder on you is so fat and complete and bursting with nonsensical shit because I couldn’t help myself. Your hands? Bullshit. Your feet, your knobby, misshapen feet are the real treat, and that’s a fact. You know, I thought you didn’t know me because I was insecure or broken or poor, and then I thought about it. It’s because you never asked. Ever. I want to be with someone I can talk to. I want to be with someone who automatically has a fat folder on me. Someone who feels lucky when I tell them the most unflattering, scary stuff. I don’t think I love you anymore, and I got to be honest, I don’t believe that you love me.”
Lorraine’s mouth formed a straight line that went down slightly at the corners. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said.
“That’s not an apology,” he said. “You know that, right?”
“I only said it because I know you hate it,�
�� she spat.
Lorraine turned around and walked out. Her hemline flipped up as she spun, and he could see the tops of her gartered stockings. She was a nightmare caricature of a male fantasy.
That night, he actually sent the e-mail he’d been working on for more than a week.
To: Penelope Lee
From: Sam Becker
Subject line: Mic check 1, 2
Hi,
Okay, so things have been weird. And I know that I made them weird even if I’m not totally sure how.
So, I’m sorry.
(Nothing beats a vague apology, right? So sincere!)
Ugh.
Hmmm . . .
Anyway, I know it’s ancient history, and if our autobiographers were to trace back to when I made it weird it would probably have something to do with me not calling you after I said I would. After we saw each other.
That was a big day for us, huh? Meeting your mom. Having to smile across the counter and pretend like nothing was up. So many exciting experiences rolled into a ball of panic.
The last thing I asked you was “You good?” Well, are you? I think about it all the time.
If you’re like, NEW LIFE, WHO DIS? I totally understand.
If you’re not, here’s a list of things that have happened in no particular order since I last bothered you.
I got stupidly drunk. Hurt-drunk. It was depressing.
Lorraine isn’t pregnant. And that was strangely disappointing and I don’t know why.
I started shooting the doc. Finally! I don’t know exactly where it’s going at all, but I love it. Turns out the kid’s name is Sebastian. He goes by Bastian, which sounds so badass, and he’s brilliant and insane and I want so badly for you to meet him. Badly? Bad? I never get those right. Kind of how “bemused” doesn’t mean “amused” and how I think “nonplussed” means “unimpressed” when it means something else. Does anyone know what “nonplussed” means? You probably do. Don’t tell anyone, but I don’t actually know how irony works either.
Flammable/inflammable = also confusing.
Anyway. I miss you.
I know we’re basically just a series of texts. But I’m glad that whatever led you to me happened. I’m grateful that you’re my emergency contact. Even if you’re super intense and talking to you late at night is as constructive as Web MDing a bunch of symptoms in the sense that I’m almost always convinced all roads lead to death, but I mean that in a good way. I hope you know that it’s my favorite.
I think I get to miss you. I feel like I’ve earned it. Which I know sounds weird/creepy/possessive or whatever. Our relationship, as abstract as it is, is the best of any relationship, I think.
You’re intense, so much fun, and maybe a bit nuts, and at the same time you’re super focused and passionate about how you want to live your life and your work and it’s beautiful. Also, NONE of this is meant to make you uncomfortable or put you on the spot (I know how you feel about compliments). You give the best advice (for a kid etc., etc., etc.).
I’m happy to know you exist. And even though I feel like I screwed things up, I thought I’d let you know. And to remind you that I exist also. I hope you’ve been good. You good? Let me know.
*all the best emojis even the embarrassing girlie ones*
—S.
PENNY.
Well, that was it. Penny and Sam were officially multiplatform.
Penny texted him.
Hi
You’re a crap emergency contact btw
If there’s no response to “You good?”
the correct response is to send paramedics
Everybody knows that
She waited.
Great point
Such an amateur
Hi
I got your email
I’m glad you’re not dead
No thanks to you
I KNOW
I’m sorry
I missed you
Me too
Pretty good email right?
She had to hand it to him. It was the best one she’d ever gotten.
Are you at work?
Okay, so Penny knew this qualified as borderline psychotic behavior. And she didn’t want to freak him out on some “THE CALL WAS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE!” but the call was coming from inside the House. Almost.
It had taken half a beer and some serious hand wringing and five outfit changes, but Penny felt it was time for a grand gesture of her own. She didn’t even have to entertain her usual decision tree.
She’d texted him from his porch.
Yeah wrapping up
OK well I’m outside
What?
Here?
On the swing
My swing???
Sam walked out of the side door into the dark night with his phone in his hand. His face was lit blue. He continued to type.
Whoa serious escalation
Penny smiled and typed back:
Boom
“Hey,” he called out. “I guess we’re doing this now?”
“Guess so! It’s scary.” The swing creaked beneath her.
Sam laughed.
This time she had picked the perfect outfit. Penny wore Mallory’s dress again. Her feet were still healing, so she’d put on sneakers, and while she’d applied lipstick, she’d changed her mind and smudged it off onto the back of her hand like a sophisticated young lady. And to make absolutely sure that she wasn’t too exposed, she threw a ratty hoodie over the top. A perfectly Penny outfit. She stood up, which signaled the motion detector floodlight from the back lot to blind them both.
“Hell of an entrance,” Sam said, lifting his arm up to shield his face.
“Sorry to bust in on you like this,” she stammered. Penny couldn’t believe it was happening. “If you’re busy I can . . .”
“Yeah, right,” he said, herding her into the side door. “Just come in.”
Penny followed him into the kitchen. He grabbed a stool, parked it next to the steel workbench, and made her a cup of tea. She took it gratefully and sat.
“Hungry?”
She was.
Sam set to work. He didn’t ask her what she wanted. He peered into the fridge, pulled out some plastic tubs, some bacon and eggs, and palmed a half loaf of bread. They didn’t talk while he assembled. She watched as he grabbed bits of chopped-up ingredients from the tubs and tossed them into the pan. He toasted big, thick slices of bread with olive oil in the broiler and fried up the bacon and eggs and assembled everything into two enormous sandwiches that he cut into diagonal slices. He set one down in front of her.
“No cheese on yours,” he said. “Because of the whole lactose intolerance thing your mom mentioned.” Penny smiled and stared at her sandwich. She grabbed half and squished it to see if she could negotiate it into her mouth.
“Pretty good,” she said, taking a heroic bite. Part of the gooey egg yolk slid down her chin.
Sam laughed and handed her a napkin.
“Hot sauce?” he offered. She took it.
“So,” she said. “That’s crazy about MzLolaXO.” She hated that she’d brought her up so early in their conversation. Ugh, and she really hated that she’d called her by her Insta name.
It was a self-sabotaging instinct she couldn’t resist.
Sam laughed. “Her name’s Lorraine.” He took a bite of his own sandwich.
Lorraine was so much less scarier than Lola for some reason.
“I was so relieved I didn’t pass out or have a panic attack or spontaneously combust when she showed up,” he said. “Both times she turned up.”
Penny wondered how much detail he’d go into. If they’d made out on every sofa at House, she didn’t want to hear about it.
“She sounds tough.”
Sam nodded again. “Yeah, no panic attacks the first night, but I did get wasted on the second,” he said. “Like I’d mentioned in the e-mail.”
“With her?”
“Ew, no,” he said. After a pause he adde
d, “I don’t know why I said ‘ew.’ ”
They laughed.
“I got drunk at home as a self-respecting, proper alcoholic.”
“Are you an alcoholic?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “And I haven’t decided if I’ve quit for life, like, no champagne on my wedding day or what, only that it’s bad for me right now. . . .”
Penny missed this. Talking to someone about deeply personal things. She snuck a peek and then shied away because he was chewing and she would want the privacy.
“You know, it’s funny, but I got drunk recently too. For the second time ever.” She took a sip of tea.
“Yeah? How was it?”
“Fascinating,” she said.
Sam laughed. God, she loved that laugh.
“How so?”
Penny tried not to get derailed staring into his eyes. They were deep brown but tinged at the edges with a way lighter hazel.
Penny cleared her throat.
“Well, it is a highly effective social lubricant,” she said. “Diminished inhibitions, the whole works. It makes everything so much easier. All the whirring that’s usually going on in my brain shuts the hell up.”
“But the whirring’s good,” he said. “Your whirring’s good.”
She smiled.
Sam smiled back.
She died.
“Yeah, it’s exhausting though.”
“So, it was a break?” he asked. “Like a you vacation?”
“Exactly,” she said. “Everybody needs a them vacation.”
“And you had fun?”
“I had a blast,” she said. “I made a new friend too—Andy. I guess he was an old friend. He’s in my fiction class, and booze made it so much easier to talk to him. I was enchanting.”
Sam laughed.
Penny didn’t know why she was blathering on about Andy. She wanted to reassure Sam that it was okay. That he could talk about Lorraine if he needed to. At least for a second.
“He had great advice about my story,” she said. “He’s crazy smart.”
“That’s great,” said Sam. “Wait, I gotta ask you . . .”
Penny held her breath.
“Who is your boyfriend? It’s been bothering me that I never once heard of this guy until your mom brought him up. Not that you have to tell me everything, but when I was going on and on about Lorraine, you could have said something. I hope I wasn’t so self-involved that I didn’t ask about . . .”
Emergency Contact Page 19
