by R. S. Elliot
She would sit with me on her front stoop while I iced a black eye and feed me her homemade tamales, telling me that I had more choices than I thought I did. I had the choice to keep getting black eyes, keep failing my classes, and let the way my father spoke to me determine my self-worth. Or I could choose to walk away from losing battles, to cultivate all that intelligence my teachers loved to say I was squandering and to focus on my shit while my father figured out his.
Aunt Maratha, I truly believe, saved my life.
After I got into MIT, she floated my first semester of expenses out of her retirement savings to ensure that I could stay enrolled long enough to find scholarships. She always believed that if I were put in the right environment with the right people, I would soar, and MIT proved her right. Within three years, I had assembled a crack team of software designers, engineers, investors, and technicians and had launched SkyBlue Solutions, one of the first tech companies dedicated exclusively to autonomous car technology. By the time the company went public after the release of our first ever model, a car featuring assisted driving technology and the ability to switch to automatic driving in case of an emergency, I was worth more money than anyone in our neighborhood ever dreamed of. One of the first things I did after I got my cut of the sales was to retire Aunt Martha permanently, with trust funds set up for each of her children and grandchildren.
“Can I go to your old house?” Ryan asked, getting bolder as he dipped his whole car into the water, submerging his hands in the process.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not a very special place. I don’t think you’d like it.”
Sarah appeared through one of the glass doors behind us, throwing her eyes around for her son.
“There you are!” She said. Then, as she saw her son’s proximity to the pool, she added, “Really, Luke.”
“I’m watching him; there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Nothing to worry about!” Ryan echoed. Sarah smiled at him despite herself. Her pale blonde hair had been cut into a sleek bob recently, probably to save on time and maintenance as motherhood caught up with her.
“Well, boys, we’re about to have some cake, so head back inside.”
That was the only push Ryan needed. He scrambled to his feet and tore off in the direction of cake at top speed. Sarah laid her hand on my arm and walked me at a meandering pace back into the party.
“It does really mean a lot to me that you came. Are you having fun?”
“As much fun as I ever have at these things.”
Her brows furrowed slightly.
“I know they’re not your favorite. But I think it’s good to think about something other than the company sometimes.”
“There’s just so much to be done, Sarah.”
The last five years had been a whirlwind of sleepless nights, hectic press conferences, and insane paydays. But my work was finally paying off, and as SkyBlue entered its third production season with all new offerings in both luxury and economy models, I was feeling confident that we were here to stay. Only two other companies in the world were doing what we were doing, and their technology was by no means as well integrated as ours. But they were still outperforming us due to charitable donations from philanthropists looking to prevent accidents and save the planet in the process. We were doubling down on our eco-friendly features to meet the demand. I wouldn’t be satisfied until I knew I was the best. Until I was positive that SkyBlue products stood at the top of the heap no matter the test conditions.
My sister smiled at me.
“That might be true, but I know Ryan is happy you were able to come, anyway.”
The noise and bustle of the party was fast approaching, and I could see Ryan bobbing excitedly around a caterer ferrying the artisan cake to a table in the center of the room.
“At that rate, thank you for inviting me.”
Sarah gave my arm a loving squeeze.
“I’m going to make a social animal out of you yet, Luke. Just you wait.”
I smirked down at her.
“You can try.”
Chapter Two
Emily
I tugged a brush through my long, snarled red hair as my phone alarm alerted me that if I didn’t hurry, I would be late for my first day of work at SkyBlue. I silenced the alarm with a jab of my finger, then abandoned making my waist-length hair cooperate and instead swirled it up into a quick but passable bun. If I wanted breakfast, I would have to skimp on makeup. A few passes of mascara and a smudge of blush were enough to bring life to my face.
The phone started buzzing again, but this time to signal an incoming call. I made an irritated huff and reached out to silence it, then realized it was my mother calling. I put her call through on speaker mode and answered while I stabbed bobby pins into my hair.
“Hi Mom.”
“Emily! How are you, sweetie?”
“I’m good. Getting ready for work.”
“I’m so proud of you for landing this internship. You’re going to do so well.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, smiling even though I didn’t strictly believe her. I still wasn’t entirely sure how I, as a last-minute applicant and photography major, had landed a summer internship at one of the top tech companies in New York, but I had always been told my interviewing skills were excellent. When I wanted something, I was my own best advocate, and I had wanted that internship. Well, not exactly. The internship was irrelevant. What I truly wanted was to perform well enough to get the letter of recommendation I needed to apply for the summer study experience in Paris next year. I came within a hair’s breadth of being accepted into the program all expenses paid this year but was denied because of my lack of work experience.
“How are you feeling, Bunny?” She asked, using her childhood nickname for me. There was a distant noise in the background, the shuffling of items, and the chatter of voices. She was probably calling me from the front desk of the hotel where she worked as a concierge.
“Alright, I think. Nervous.”
“Of course you’re nervous! It’s natural. How did you sleep last night?”
“Uh…” I glanced over at my narrow twin bed, sheets disheveled from a fitful night of nightmares and cold sweats. The jangling daytime nerves and startling at any loud sound had improved over the last few weeks, but I was still having trouble getting any decent sleep. “Alright. I got enough shut-eye.”
“Nightmares again?”
“It’s alright,” I insisted. “Nothing serious.”
“Emily, someone held you at gunpoint. It’s alright if you’re still shaken up.”
I saw my mouth form a thin red line in the mirror as I brushed some pomade onto my thick brows. I had tried to drop hints whenever I spoke to my mother (and she had been calling an awful lot lately) that I didn’t want to talk about the carjacking. It was bad enough that I kept dreaming about that night, about being dragged from my idling car at a stoplight and thrown to the ground while a masked man screamed threats at me. I had never been so terrified in my entire life, and I really thought for a moment that he was going to shoot me dead on the concrete. It was only luck that had saved my life: luck, and a mysterious stranger on a motorcycle.
The man had appeared out of nowhere at the end of the street on a purring matte black bike and scared off the carjackers. When they escaped with my car, the man had pulled me up off the ground and spoke to me kindly in a rich voice, doing his best to calm me down. He even offered to give me a ride home. That was my first time on a motorcycle, and we rocketed down the streets of Queens with my arms latched tightly around his leather jacket-clad chest. I never saw his face, since he never took off his sleek black helmet, but I remembered his eyes, vibrant green with almost invisible smile lines at the corners.
If I was honest with myself, I had become a little... fixated. I had intrusive thoughts about the rider as often as I thought of the carjacking, albeit much warmer thoughts. I spent an embarrassin
g amount of my time swinging from terror and shame I couldn’t shake to dreamy idolizations of my rescuer. Who was he? Did he live in the city? What did he do for a living? Was he married? And of course, above all else: was I ever going to see him again?
Those kinds of thoughts couldn’t be normal. I had heard of victims of trauma sexually fixating on elements of their trauma to self-soothe and infuse bad memories with a little good. Maybe this guy had just been in the right place at the right time to bear the brunt of my coping mechanism. Or maybe, there was something more to our meeting. Maybe there was something like the hand of God in it or fate.
“Emily?” My mother asked again, bringing me back to myself.
“Oh, sorry! Yes, Mom, I’m fine. Really. I’m getting over it, I promise.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. Listen, your sister and I have been talking, and we think it’s important for you to get another car…”
Panic did a tapdance in my stomach.
“What? No, that’s totally unnecessary. This is New York, no one owns a car, anyway. And why does Darlene get an opinion?”
“But you’re all the way out there in Queens! How will you visit home?”
“I’ll take the train.”
“Bunny, come on. Let me do this for you, please.”
I took a deep breath, gathering up my purse and phone charger.
“I’m not going to say no if you want to get me another car, but I can’t promise I’ll get around to using it.”
My mother laughed on the other end, then pressed the phone to her breast as she turned to tell someone that the fourth floor needed more towels. I swallowed dryly while I waited for her to return. There was a hot flush in my cheeks and the back of my neck as I tried to remember how to breathe. The panic was coming back, clawing its way up my throat. I couldn’t bring myself to tell my mother that I hadn’t been able to get behind the wheel of a car for three weeks after the carjacking. I almost passed out from hot-faced shallow-breathing dizziness the one time I rode the bus after the incident. I had been sticking to the metro exclusively because there was something about the gentle rocking of the subway train in the dark embrace of the underground tunnels that was different enough from a car to comfort me.
I had no idea when I was going to be able to shake the after-effects of my trauma, but I didn’t want to involve my mother in my struggles. She had been working so hard since my father died a few years ago to be strong for a thirteen-year-old Darlene and for me. She didn’t need another crisis on her plate.
“I’ve just had a large group come in,” my mother said. “But I’ll call this weekend, and we can talk it through, alright? I’m sure we can find some little used car that will be perfect for you.”
“Sounds good,” I said weakly.
“And have the best first day of work. I know you’re going to be great.”
I smiled at this. My mother wasn’t always the best at reading other people, certainly not her children, but she was as genuine and giving as ever.
I tried not to worry that she was being too generous, and might land herself right back in debt after she spent years clawing out of it. Something they never tell you about unexpected deaths is that they’re expensive. When my father dropped dead of an aneurysm at fifty, my family had no game plan. We had no idea how we would pay our bills without his income, or which of his debts would be canceled or assigned to my mother, or where we would come up with the money for even the most basic funeral. My father had always been in charge of finances in our family, and when he died, my mother found herself unprepared for the avalanche of paperwork and debt collection calls. It had been a dark time, especially when we were coping with grief at the same time.
Darlene started acting out, mom threw herself into her work, insisting that everything was fine and me, well... I drifted. My father had been my rock my whole life, my confidant, counselor, and comforter. Without his strong, nurturing, presence in my life, I felt like part of my identity had been stripped away. It didn’t help that I was sixteen, and already utterly unsure of myself.
“And you’re sure you don’t want to come home for a little while?” My mother asked. The jostling voices talking over each other in the background were louder now, and I knew we only had seconds before she had to hang up.
“I’m sure, Mom. I want to stay here while I get settled at my job. But I’ll visit soon, I promise.”
“Okay, Bunny. Love you so much.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
I sighed as I hung up, then turned back to my mirror and continued applying blush to my ashen cheeks as though that could make up for how sapped I felt. I loved my mother, but she could be draining, and I still wasn’t comfortable thinking unexpectedly about my father’s death.
Without my father, applying for college, looking for jobs, even getting out of bed in the morning to go to school started to feel insurmountable. It was only by drawing on the love of my friends and reserves of strength that I didn’t know I had that I could move out and start my studies last year at NYU. Going home would be moving backward in my personal development. And it would likely be an even bigger emotional and financial burden on my mother. She had her hands full trying to be a single parent to Darlene in the small New Jersey split level they shared. Darlene wasn’t all bad, as much as she would like people to think. I was positive she would pull through her rebellious streak, but the smoking and the angry music sent my mother into a tizzy. I knew that coming home would only exacerbate things since Darlene and I currently got along best when we communicated through memes shared on Facebook and intermittent phone calls, not face-to-face.
No, New York was my responsibility. I chose it; the noise, the high rent, the crime rates, and the glaring lack of square footage in every available space. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t love it. I found the hustle and bustle energizing, and there were so many beautiful landmarks and interesting new people to photograph in a city so diverse and storied. Nothing compared to my beloved Paris, which I’d dreamed about visiting since I was eight years old, but for now, New York would do.
The subway ride to SkyBlue was uneventful, but I spent most of it with my stomach in knots. I was full of first day jitters, especially with a company as huge and well-known as this tech magnate. It didn’t help that I knew next to nothing about cars or software design, but I guess I didn’t have to as an administrative intern who assisted with data entry. At least, that’s what they had told me at my brief orientation two weeks prior. I was swept along too fast to get my bearings through a few rooms of glass, then seated at a table and made to sign about a hundred contracts and nondisclosure agreements. Then I was moved on to a lecture about professional dress. It was more like a very stressful HR meeting than an orientation.
When I stepped out of the subway entrance and onto the busy concrete slab across the street from SkyBlue, my heart was in my shoes. The building was massive, a monstrosity of steel and glass stretching up into a needle-thin point in the sky. It flaunted its modernity, lording it over other nearby buildings with their stone gargoyles or seventies ergonomic designs. I felt dwarfed by it, and I wasn’t even close enough to be swallowed up by the steady stream of men in tailored suits and women clutching designer handbags rushing from the entrance.
I swallowed hard, glanced down at the room number and name scrawled into my day planner, and reminded myself to think of Paris. Then I crossed the street.
I only got turned around twice looking for the floor I would work on and the woman I was scheduled to meet upon arriving: Sonia Somers. She was seated on the edge of one of the wide desks that filled the open-plan office when I arrived. She smiled brightly at me with lips painted the color of plums. Her suit jacket was mauve, and she wore fashionable wide-legged slacks and delicate gold jewelry that looked, to my untrained eye, very expensive. I hadn’t realized people in the tech world were so high fashion, but I guess I should have known better. This was New York, after all.
“Sonia?” I asked, extending m
y hand for a firm handshake. I had learned to do that from my father, who was a born salesman.
“That’s right! You must be Emily,”
“That’s right,” I said and felt a little awkward standing there in my plain black flats and my fast fashion skirt and blouse clutching a scuffed handbag I picked up from target. Sonia’s handbag was a sleek black velvet number on a golden chain, and a logo I couldn’t recognize but knew was designer. I didn’t think it was a knockoff.
“I’m so happy to finally meet you. HR and the hiring committee had great things to say. As you probably know, this isn’t an easy gig to land.”
“I had a suspicion. Thank you for saying so.”
“I’ll be your transition supervisor for your first few months here. I work closely with all the new hires and interns in this department to make sure everything goes smoothly for them and to answer any questions they have. You won’t be with us long enough to be transferred to another supervisor, so I’m your girl for the summer.”
She had a crisp, breezy demeanor that was somehow still warm, and it put me at ease. It made me feel like I had known her for much longer than five minutes.
Sonia clapped her hands together and smiled at me.
“First things first, let’s get you settled into your new desk. I’ve been keeping it warm for you.”
She hopped off the desk and onto her slingbacks, and I couldn’t help but laugh a little. I tentatively set my purse down on the desk, angling the scuffed side away from Sonia.
