White flashes at me; thin plastic glints in the dying sunlight. I take it from her.
It’s my favorite sweater. Wrapped up in plastic printed with the name of some local dry cleaner. I turn it over, examining it. The sleeve is pristine, clean and white. Just like new.
It probably cost her five times as much to clean the sweater as it did for me to buy it in the first place.
“I knew it would come out,” she says. “You just needed to bring it to the right place.”
For some reason, that makes what I have to say seem so much worse. She knew what my sweater meant to me, how much hope I let myself invest in it. And… And the gesture is so sweet, but it’s just not the same. It has never been about having a clean sweater. It was about believing that when I wore it, I couldn’t get dirty.
I’m better off without that illusion anyway.
But she doesn’t need to hear that, not when she went to all that trouble. “Thank you,” I tell her, and I give her a hug.
“See?” she says. “Whatever’s happening, whatever is going on—it can’t be that bad. We can make it work. So tell me, Tina. Why do you think we have to move?”
“I didn’t mean that we need to go somewhere worse,” I tell her. “I was thinking somewhere better.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Better in what way?”
I don’t actually know. I have no idea where Blake lives. Even thinking about this, even taking as tiny a step as telling Maria, scares me.
“Somewhere the heat works?” I venture.
She turns to me. And then, very slowly, she smiles. “Oh my God,” she says. “This is not a my-world-is-ending kind of thing, is it? This is a I’m-so-happy-I-can’t-express-myself kind of thing.”
I don’t answer.
“You’re the only person I know where I can’t tell the difference. What happened? Did your dad find a full time job?”
“Not that.”
“Sudden inheritance from an unknown relative?”
“Weirdly,” I tell her, “some random stranger mistook me for one of the other many Tina Chens in the world.”
“
Really?”
“No, not really.” I let out a breath. “In a way, it’s like I got…an internship. An internship that pays really well.”
“That’s awesome! I swear to God, I will break our lease in one hot minute.”
Yep. Definitely not happy with our digs.
“Luckily,” I say, “we don’t even have to do that. This internship comes with a built-in subletter.”
She pauses. “Okay, what kind of internship does
that?”
“The most fucked-up internship in the history of all internships.” I let out a breath and I tell her everything.
In a lot of ways, Maria and I are nothing alike. But we’ve been friends ever since our freshman floor arranged a girls’ night out.
I’d made my excuses because I didn’t have the money or the clothes to come along. No fake ID, no cash for the cover charge, nothing for drinks or a cab after. My roommate used the word
broke
as a synonym for
I have to stop shopping or my dad will get mad at me.
My version of broke meant I hadn’t been able to buy cough syrup two weeks before. I’d used the lingering sniffle as my excuse to stay behind.
I’d waved everyone off, told them to have fun, and expected to be the only girl around that night. But after the floor had grown quiet, I’d run into Maria in the bathroom.
She was dressed in a gold sequin shift dress that ended halfway up her long, toned thighs. Her eyes were smoky-dark, a triumph of makeup artistry that belonged in an ad in some magazine redolent of perfume samples. A black alligator clutch sat on the counter.
She looked ready to take the world by storm. Instead, she was standing in front of the mirror, yanking off false eyelashes.
She froze when I came in, her eyes meeting mine briefly in the mirror.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She looked away. “Fine.”
“Are you sure? You’re not with everyone else for girls’ night out. Are you sick?”
Her lips thinned. “According to Tammy, I can’t come because
It’s my favorite sweater. Wrapped up in plastic printed with the name of some local dry cleaner. I turn it over, examining it. The sleeve is pristine, clean and white. Just like new.
It probably cost her five times as much to clean the sweater as it did for me to buy it in the first place.
“I knew it would come out,” she says. “You just needed to bring it to the right place.”
For some reason, that makes what I have to say seem so much worse. She knew what my sweater meant to me, how much hope I let myself invest in it. And… And the gesture is so sweet, but it’s just not the same. It has never been about having a clean sweater. It was about believing that when I wore it, I couldn’t get dirty.
I’m better off without that illusion anyway.
But she doesn’t need to hear that, not when she went to all that trouble. “Thank you,” I tell her, and I give her a hug.
“See?” she says. “Whatever’s happening, whatever is going on—it can’t be that bad. We can make it work. So tell me, Tina. Why do you think we have to move?”
“I didn’t mean that we need to go somewhere worse,” I tell her. “I was thinking somewhere better.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Better in what way?”
I don’t actually know. I have no idea where Blake lives. Even thinking about this, even taking as tiny a step as telling Maria, scares me.
“Somewhere the heat works?” I venture.
She turns to me. And then, very slowly, she smiles. “Oh my God,” she says. “This is not a my-world-is-ending kind of thing, is it? This is a I’m-so-happy-I-can’t-express-myself kind of thing.”
I don’t answer.
“You’re the only person I know where I can’t tell the difference. What happened? Did your dad find a full time job?”
“Not that.”
“Sudden inheritance from an unknown relative?”
“Weirdly,” I tell her, “some random stranger mistook me for one of the other many Tina Chens in the world.”
“
Really?”
“No, not really.” I let out a breath. “In a way, it’s like I got…an internship. An internship that pays really well.”
“That’s awesome! I swear to God, I will break our lease in one hot minute.”
Yep. Definitely not happy with our digs.
“Luckily,” I say, “we don’t even have to do that. This internship comes with a built-in subletter.”
She pauses. “Okay, what kind of internship does
that?”
“The most fucked-up internship in the history of all internships.” I let out a breath and I tell her everything.
In a lot of ways, Maria and I are nothing alike. But we’ve been friends ever since our freshman floor arranged a girls’ night out.
I’d made my excuses because I didn’t have the money or the clothes to come along. No fake ID, no cash for the cover charge, nothing for drinks or a cab after. My roommate used the word
broke
as a synonym for
I have to stop shopping or my dad will get mad at me.
My version of broke meant I hadn’t been able to buy cough syrup two weeks before. I’d used the lingering sniffle as my excuse to stay behind.
I’d waved everyone off, told them to have fun, and expected to be the only girl around that night. But after the floor had grown quiet, I’d run into Maria in the bathroom.
She was dressed in a gold sequin shift dress that ended halfway up her long, toned thighs. Her eyes were smoky-dark, a triumph of makeup artistry that belonged in an ad in some magazine redolent of perfume samples. A black alligator clutch sat on the counter.
She looked ready to take the world by storm. Instead, she was standing in front of the mirror, yanking off false eyelashes.
She froze when I came in, her eyes meeting mine briefly in the mirror.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She looked away. “Fine.”
“Are you sure? You’re not with everyone else for girls’ night out. Are you sick?”
Her lips thinned. “According to Tammy, I can’t come because
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