“And that’s why you tried to cut your hair? So he wouldn’t recognize you?”
The body blinked. “Oh, I didn’t think about that. Not a bad idea.” She took another long slurp of matcha. “I’m just so sick of having to work so hard at superficial things I don’t even care about. Hair, nails, makeup, clothes. Who cares what I look like?”
Evidently, her consciousness did, given the way she’d been wailing about it back at the drug store. “Look, even if you’re done primping for Instagram, there’s no sense in drawing undue attention to yourself. A box-cutter hairdo is only gonna make you stand out.”
Sarah’s body grunted around the bear claw. “Yeah, probably. But it’s not fair that women are expected to spend an hour a day putting themselves together when all men have to do is slap on a little moisturizer. Oh, I know what you’re thinking.”
That I, for one, didn’t even bother with that? Whenever I used hand lotion, I found myself unable to open a door until I wiped it off on my pants.
“Men have to do their hair.” It flapped at the hank it just hacked off. “Same. But men have to shave. Ha, try a Brazilian wax.” No thanks. “And men have to work out. Well, where do you think me and Zach met? I wasn’t even checking him out. He says I was watching him in the mirror from the treadmill—and I let him keep telling that story. But I was just making sure I was at the right incline.”
“I’m not much of a gym guy,” I admitted, mainly to keep the conversation flowing.
“That’s not the point. If Zach and I never met there, I would have ended up with someone just like him eventually. Because guys like him can spot the type of girl I was from a mile away.”
“What type of girl is that?”
“The type that’s willing to spend an hour on her hair and then go to the gym and sweat right through it!”
With that, the body sucked at the straw, made a frustrated noise, ripped the top off the drink, and knocked the matcha back in a huge gulp. It was left with a big green mustache. And it didn’t give a flying fuck.
Over the years, I’d heard people claim they hated themselves. Heck, I often found myself fairly disappointing. But I worried that Sarah’s body might truly be happier without the burden of her consciousness or emotions. And given how much Sarah’s life sucked when they were running the show…I couldn’t blame it.
There must be something it missed about being intact. “Sunsets are pretty good,” I ventured.
“Huh?”
“Sunsets…..” The body looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “Uh, never mind. Why don’t you tell me about your hobbies—hey, where are you going?”
The body was halfway to the door already, leaving a table of crumbs and wrappers behind for someone else to bus. “Union station, I guess.”
I trotted along after it. “You can’t ride a train with no money.”
“Then I’ll panhandle.”
Better than turning tricks, I supposed. But would anyone give it anything? Without an emotional body, its affect was offputting, to say the least. I had to reunite all the Sarahs. Not only was it my bright idea to reattach her fragment. I also felt responsible for Boswell getting caught in the crossfire. Yeah, he’d brought it on himself by butting in. But I’d known he was a medium and never gave a thought to the vulnerabilities that entailed. And if he was spooked by the idea of being observed, having another entity control him would be downright traumatic.
I had to get all the Sarahs—body, mind and emotions—somewhere private enough there’d be no collateral damage. HQ was ideal, but I’d gone rogue, and the team of experts normally at my beck and call were now off-limits.
Why hadn’t I stuck with possessed Boswell and left Jacob to handle the fleeing body? Sure, I’d probably end up on the wrong end of a stun gun. But Jacob was a master strategist. He’d know just what to say.
If I wanted to appeal to a body, I’d have to think like a body. And all bodies cared about was having their needs met. (Whichmade me suddenly grateful I was so “old.”) “Say, it’s pretty cold out here—why don’t we go get you a warmer jacket?”
The offer was more transparent than a decade-old repeater, and I was kicking myself for sounding so obvious…but the body stopped on a dime. “Okay.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t sure if it would be willing to deal with Boswell’s ride again, so I looked around to see if there was a hailable cab nearby. Right on cue, a familiar van turned the corner from the apartment’s side street and peeled off into traffic.
And then my husband followed, jogging to intercept from the Walgreens parking lot. I dunno how it’s possible to jog irately, but he managed. As the van sped off, he paused to plant his hands on his hips and scowl after it.
So much for Jacob’s strategic prowess.
We caught up with him and called an Uber. Meanwhile, I texted him:Promised body a warm jacket,and it took me forever. It was so much easier to dictate my texts, but I could hardly tell Jacob the plan with it standing right there. At least I caught autocorrect before it changedbodytoBoband made the whole thing even more convoluted.
Aloud, I said, “We were heading to SaverPlus.” Texting, I added,Stall it.
Jacob glanced at his phone. “They’re closed,” he said. “Went out of business last month.”
I displayed more alarm than Sarah’s body did—even though I knew he was lying. “But the bod—Sarahcan’t go around in this flimsy tracksuit. The weather’s turning. In fact, I even had to scrape my windshield the other day.”
