With a scream of rage, I pitch the bottle across the room, where it bounces on the sagging couch instead of shattering on the linoleum floor. I’m exhausted at the dashing of my hopes. Then a horrible satisfaction tinged withI told you sorises. I was right that my moli was a bust. Mom was wrong to pester me. I was right that I was a failure, and I’ve proved it again. She’s right to be disappointed.
I’ve had enough. I can’t cry, but I move on autopilot to close the store. When I go to my computer to shut it down, a message appears from Kelsey.
Lucy, where are the samples? We were expecting them today and it’s holding up the luxury gift bags.
Oh, for the love of… I check the email thread. It’s long, thanks to the back-and-forth required to convince Kelsey that if I did the samples for free, it would be for twenty and not the hundred she wanted. I check the last message.The event is called ‘Searching for L♥VE’ and it’s for singles who want to find their soulmates. Something romantic would be perfect. Do you think you’ll be able to manage that?
Then Kelsey buried the deadline under some updates about Sophie’s baking adventures. I didn’t ask for this, but I feel guilty about letting her down. Damn it. I snatch the failed bottle from the couch in a fury and spend the next ten minutes noisily rage-preparing her samples and swearing at each step.
Quickly decant the bottle into small vials. I should have known better than to try with my moli. I should have learned my lesson all those years ago.
Tuck the vials into paper packets that describe Ile de Grasse and the fragrance, a fresh and appealing—although non-adventurous— unisex scent with pink peppercorn, musk, and rose that melts into the skin. What was the matter with me?
Dump all twenty packets into a box and shove in some inflatable wrap. Why the hell was Mom talking about me to Missy Jin, anyway? What happened with me and Rafe was none of their business.
Print out a label for the box. Rafe. I can’t believe this still bothers me after so many years. I’m such a loser. Why can’t I move on?
Leave the package in the back on our makeshift mail desk. Kelsey. Why couldn’t she take no for an answer?
At least her perfumes are done, and I promise myself to hold firm next time she asks. I send her a quick reply to tell her they’re on the way.
By the time I yank the store door shut behind me, my feelings are in a bigger swirl than the snow that’s falling from the intensifying storm. High drifts pile along the sidewalks and against the buildings; I drag my legs through in a sad imitation of wading through shallow water at the beach. At least it’s quiet. Most people are smart enoughto be indoors, and the snow itself insulates me from the surrounding sound, leaving only the swish of my own footsteps.
Although I hoped to clear my head by walking home, the huge glittering flakes heighten the sense of isolation. It’s like I’m in a novelty snow globe, separated from the rest of the world by thin curved glass. This feeling, which used to be as familiar as a necklace I wore so often I no longer felt it against my skin, now tugs and chokes.
Enough of this wretchedness. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of me.
So your mom pokes her nose in your business. Suck it up; she does it out of love.
So your shop is tiny and you think your perfumes are nowhere near as good as your mother’s or your grandmother’s. Practice makes perfect.
So a guy kissed you and then rejected you. So it was a sharp enough stab at a fragile moment that you’ve thought about it every time a man has kissed you since. It was years ago. Go to therapy and get over it.
So you failed at the one thing you were born to do. Maybe the magic skipped a generation. It’s never happened before, but what if someone miscounted, or there was a hidden eldest daughter? It could happen. It’s not your fault.
By the time I get to my apartment, I’m cold, wet, and—like a loser—have made myself totally miserable with my own thoughts.
“Stop being an Eeyore. Thoughts are not facts,” I say to the flakes falling in front of my face.
The pep talk might work better if those thoughts weren’t true. Too bad they’re the factiest facts that ever facted. Mom thinks I’m a disappointment, my perfumes are an eternal work in progress, Rafe pushed me away, and I never brought my clients true love, thus ruining Mom’s dream for the family business and apparently sending my parents into debt. Fact, fact, fact. And sad, true fact: I’m tired of this life and too stuck to know how to fix it.
I press my bare hand into a snowbank, letting it sink down untilthere’s a perfect handprint in the drift. When my skin turns so cold it burns, I shove my fist into my pocket for warmth. Then, without warning, the streetlights blink off, along with the glow of the building windows. Only the red emergency lights peek out from the stairwells.
Blackout.
8
Hua Liwei
Five Dynasties. Fought off bandits who attacked her home. Walked with a limp after they broke her leg.
Heart note //Lessen grief
Base note //Clove
Naturally, there’s a blackout. At this point, I’m past being upset. To be honest, I should have anticipated a power outage. It’s one more shitty thing in a day of shitty things. I send a mental apology to the rest of the city. This is clearly my fault, as the universe angles to snap me like a twig, forcing everyone else to suffer as collateral damage.
At least I’m at my building, and although the front door is partially buried, someone has recently arrived and done the work of yanking it back and forth until enough snow has been cleared to let me squeeze in. A hot shower is what I need. No, there’s no power. Food will do. I always make sure to have convenient comforting things on hand, like Kraft Dinner, or cheese ramen, or rice and ginger for congee, and I have a gas stove and the matches to light it.
