“Sorry. We don’t have to talk about it,” Emily corrects. The music continues to blast through the speakers, giving me a headache, because I guess on top of everything else, I am now old and lame. I feel myself sliding off the seat, to the edge, where I always end up no matter how long I’ve been sitting somewhere.
Maybe Liam was right. Maybe I am always looking for a way out.
“What brings you to town anyway?”
Right as she is asking me this I ask, “Have you seen my sister around?”
We both let out an uncomfortable giggle. Despite our voices crashing into each other, we both seem to have heard what the other has said. “No. Not since you left actually. Why?” she asks, the question sinking in. Emily looks generally surprised. “Did something happen?”
“No, but we haven’t heard from her in a while. You know how my dad gets.”
Emily watches me with concern. “Is that why you’re here?”
I sigh, and it turns into another yawn. I’m officially too tired to make something up. “Sort of.”
“Shit,” she says. Then she lets out a short breath. “Well, actually that’s better than I thought. I assumed someone died.” She sees my face, then mumbles, “I mean, I hope Anna is okay, of course. But if she’s anything like us at nineteen… she could have gone anywhere.”
“That’s exactly what worries me.”
Emily leans back and finally wipes up some of her spilled drink with a napkin. “You know, Masha, I think about you all the time.”
“I think about you too,” I concede. At the moment it even feels true. I’d forgotten—or chosen to forget—how much I used to like being with Emily. Something about her energy screams Love me, and really, you want to. She isn’t particularly gorgeous, with a sizable round German nose and giant, nearly bulging, eyes—but she is confident, her energy so upbeat it brings yours up too. I worry she’s about to start rehashing the past again when we’re interrupted by a Chinese girl pulling up a stool and sitting down next to us.
“Emily, I have to tell you something crazy!” she says.
“Hi, you’re back! How was your parents’ house?” Emily brightens. “This is my roommate, Wang,” she tells me. “Wang, this is my old friend, Masha.”
Wang’s eyes go wide. “Masha?” she looks at me, sticking out a hand. “I hear so much about you! I inherit your bed, too, yes?”
“Huānyíng guānglín!” I say, taking her hand and shaking it. Or, try to say, at least. I only managed to learn a few phrases in Cantonese before giving up. Okay, not really a few, just this one. Cantonese is really hard.
Wang grins and returns the greeting, even though I’ve probably butchered the phrase—directly translated, it means “I meet you with joy.” It also connotes the image of daylight streaming in through a door. It’s a way to say hello in China.
“Wow. Emily did not mention you know Chinese. You much impress.” Wang takes a long drink from her beer and looks at Emily, then me.
“Oh, I don’t know Chinese,” I explain, stifling another yawn. “It’s such an interesting language but way too hard for me.”
“This is funny, because Chinese part of what I want to tell Emily,” she says. She looks at Emily again, wide-eyed. “We almost get robbed!”
“What do you mean?” she asks, grabbing Wang’s hand. “Are you okay?”
Wang nods aggressively. “Okay, so there is ad on Craigslist? It ask for Chinese lessons in exchange for housecleaning, yes?” Wang says. “So, without knowing, my sister and me both responded? This girl, young girl, comes over, to see house, a week or two ago. Only, girl never called about lesson.” She takes a long drink of her beer. “But my sister, Ling, girl email back for lesson. When Ling go meet girl for lesson today, she come back home and all expensive things gone.”
“For real?” Emily asks, her mouth gaping open.
“That is so elaborate for Riverwest,” I say, stifling a yawn. Usually, people are held up at gunpoint, or wake up to a missing computer. A Craigslist scheme involves some intelligence behind it, perhaps even a team.
Emily finishes her beer and slams it down, wiping her mouth with a hand. “What the hell,” she says. “Good thing we literally have nothing of value in the house.” To me, she adds, proudly, “We don’t even have a TV.”
“Who does anymore? Especially around here.” I fail to stifle another yawn. Drinking vodka was probably a bad idea. I can hardly keep my eyes open now. “This is why I never understood why anyone would bother to rob people in Riverwest. Unless you consider kombucha a valuable item, no one has anything. And yet, it seems to happen constantly.”
“That’s not totally true,” Emily says. “A lot of people have really nice bikes. And remember when you were dating the guy with the projector? What was his name?”
“Antonio,” I say, cringing. “The filmmaker who never made even one film.”
Emily frowns. “Yeah. That guy,” she says. “I wonder where he is now.”
“Last I heard he moved to LA and works on the set of some sitcom.”
“He was a dick, but that projector was awesome,” Emily reminisces. “Remember all those movie nights we used to have?”
“Yeah. Those were fun.” I don’t know why, the vodka maybe, but despite how aggressively I’ve been fighting it off, I’m suddenly nostalgic and sad. “It’s too bad he had to go and date June while we were all living together,” I say, shaking my head. “God, open relationships are stupid.”
Emily’s face goes slack with surprise. Then she looks down and starts tearing apart her wet napkin into little pieces, and I get even sadder. I realize I haven’t said June’s name aloud in… well, years. Not only have I not said her name, but I’ve also tried my very best not to think about my former roommate, the reason I’d left town in the first place. People tell you that you can’t escape your memories, but it’s not true, you can. You decide to close the door, and the door stays closed. You merely have to be vigilant, like with any exercise routine.
“Yeah. That was not a healthy pair,” Emily starts, slowly. “Not that you were a better one. Or what’s-his-name, the one before Antonio, the tattooed guy?”
I cringe, a jolt of guilt flooding me as I remember what happened earlier in the day. “Liam.”
“Yeah, he was kind of a loser too, no offense. I hope your taste in men has improved over in Israel.”
I feign a chuckle. “Everyone kind of has their shit together there. Most of my friends have kids already. Must be those years in the army or something.”
“I cannot even imagine having kids, good God,” she says. “Maybe in ten years. Or never, I don’t know. I deal with them enough at work.”
An awkward silence ensues, and I know I am supposed to ask her about her work, but I already heard she’s a kindergarten teacher and I’m too tired to make small talk about it. What is there to say? We are no longer in each other’s lives. Catching up is rather pointless. In another circumstance, I would want to know everything about her new life, but in this reality, we are practically strangers now. I try to head out again, but Emily stops me by reaching out for my hand.