The three little dots that indicate she’s typing start and stop several times. Fae can get nervous, she doesn’t love how demanding her career has become and how much time it’s taken away from her family.
A: Fae, I’m not buying all of your Christmas presents. Only the ones for people you don’t know yet. Next year you’ll be able to get them something.
The dots bounce again until I get her message.
F: Yeah, I know. Could you actually ship them to you and wrap them? The store wrapping just feels so impersonal.
A: Absolutely. Do you have a specific paper/style you’re using this year?
F: …No, but I do have a few things pinned from a few years ago I liked.
A: How about I look at your pins, pick a theme and ship us both the supplies? That way, they’ll be wrapped the same. Then, I can ship to your sister’s from here (addressed from you, of course).
F: YES! You’re a lifesaver, Ada, thank you!
A: Always. I got you, girl.
Pressing the button for my phone’s assistant, I talk into my phone. “Make a task for buying Fae’s presents.” It pops up, and I attach our text conversation to it as a reference and set the due date with plenty of time for it to arrive.
Admittedly, I don’t have thebestwork-life balance, but it’s honestly a welcome distraction from my anxiety, and it makes me feel less alone. Sure, I can’t go out and do big amazing things, but I can support women who do, which is almost as good. And don’t get me wrong, I know I do important work, but I haven’t been able to leave my own property for like a year, so I’ll take partial credit for their wins where I can.
Sitting down on the couch with my hot cocoa, I click the link to the woman’s socials and scroll to get some ideas. Henry, seeing that we are settling in for a bit, jumps up to curl up on my feet. I shouldprobablytrain him not to since the couch is white, but cleaning helps me think, and I love his cuddles. He lies down on my feet, his weight my favorite balm to anxiety.
The woman’s feed is full of pictures of her and a guy that definitely looks like he could be Fae’s brother or cousin. They both seem to like theme parks,and it looks like she really likes dressing up. I pop that tidbit into my notes app and keep scrolling.
Looking at their smiling faces only reminds me of what I don’t have. Restaurants, vacations, and so many trips to the theme parks that they must live in California and have season tickets. I don’t particularly like theme parks, too many people, but I’d like to be the kind of person that does. What I’m really jealous of is the pictures of her seeing shows. I’m a theatre nerd, and before all this, I used to take the train down to NYC from Boston as often as I could. The image of her holding bright red Playbills in front of an empty stage could have been from my own feed two years ago. Each one, and there are quite a few, sends a little pang of pain into my chest.
I’m the bargain bin woman to her name brand, or considering how cool I used to be, maybe I’m the thrift store version. I’m the Ada thatusedto have an interesting life, but now I just sit at home. Occasionally, for fun, I take walks in the woods with my dog who tires easily, woo!
With my spirits well and truly crushed half an hour later, I have some good ideas as to who this woman is and what she might like—or at least what the person she presents on socials might like. I switch to looking up Brian Banks, and sure enough, he’s a college kid that plays lacrosse. He even lists some of his favorite teams, so I pop some details into my note and then head over to check out Fae’s pins.
After a few minutes of digging, I find that she seems to really like this ‘brown paper with red and green accents’ look, so that’s the direction I take. It’s definitely a style my mom would love, so once I have the final design, I order three sets—one for me to have here, one for Fae, and another set for my mom with a note apologizing that I can’t celebrate with them.
Pleased with my night's work, I sip my cocoa and try to brainstorm what the hell one buys for newborns. I’ve been around plenty of babies, I have a big family after all, but newborn baby gifts are really for the parents most of thetime. I reopen my notes to spitball some ideas only to realize it didn’t save my comments on Brian’s favorite teams. Damn.
I thought I was done with socials for the night, but this is the nature of my work, neverreallydone. I open a tab to Brian’s page, scrolling to figure out which team name appears on jerseys or flags the most.
Instead, I find a picture from Halloween. In it, he’s wearing a mask and clutching a knife.
Logically, I know it’s a costume.
Iknowit is.
But some part of me? The part that can’t let go of my mugging, is dragged back to that night, no matter how I try to claw my way back to reality.
It was dark already, and I was tipsy from the plane ride. I’d never been good with planes, so I always planned on getting well and truly drunk on the flight from Salt Lake to Boston and then getting a hotel for the night before driving home the next day. I hated driving in the city, so it had always worked well to park at a station in the suburbs and use the train to get to and from the airport—or in this case, the hotel. I’d taken the T to my hotel’s station and was walking—hobbling—down the street. I’d booked a newer, trendy hotel, hoping it would be a good option for my clients, but somewhere along the way, I’d taken a wrong turn.
The air was crisp and humid, clinging in the way that hovered on the edge of snow and chilled you straight through to your core. It was dark—as dark as it can ever get in Boston—and I was using my phone to navigate me. I’d taken a wrong turn, and the poor thing was trying to get me back on track. Trouble was… I was already shit at navigating on foot in Boston, though I’d never let that dampen my confidence. The streets in Boston never seem to be flat, and I’d always been clumsy. I tripped, losing my grip on my luggage and my phone, slamming into the ground. Hissing, I glanced, and both of my palms were scuffed up, and I could already feel a massive scrape on my leg.
I squeezed my eyes shut then, willing myself not to cry. I only needed to get to the hotel, I’d told myself. I wasclose.
Just then, as I’d been hyping myself to get up again, a hand had wrapped around my bicep and yanked me to my feet.
“Thank you—” I’d started, assuming that they’d been helping me up.
That’s when I saw the gun and the mask.
I shake my head, because frankly, I don’t want to remember the rest. The threats, the horrible Uber ride home because he took my car keys. Begging my neighbor Tom to go get Henry from the boarder. The weeks of being trapped in my house, trying to get my car back, my cards back, my identity back. When I finally did, I found I had several new,massivecharges that I definitely hadn’t made, repairs that needed to happen on my car, and an entirely new battle to wage.
