"Normal jobs don't get you stabbed," she pointed out.
I considered this. "This is my normal. Besides, normal jobs do get you stabbed or killed. If you're a cashier in a twenty-four-hour convenience store in a bad neighborhood. You should check the news. It happens more often than you think."
"You always have a comeback."
"I'm simply stating the facts."
She made another noise—thoughtful, not judgmental. "What would you do if you could pick your own normal, if you had an opportunity?"
I'd never considered that. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I went searching for an answer in the back rooms of my mind, but all I found was protocol and a thousand different contingency plans. "I don't know," I said, because it was true.
She laughed, gently, like she found the truth comforting. "I bet you'd be good at anything."
I thought about it. "Maybe I'd travel. Maybe I'd look for my real parents. Maybe I'd just ride my bike and see how far I could go before I want to turn around."
I heard the mattress shift again. "You don't remember them either? Your real parents?"
"No."
The conversation was veering into the territory I didn't want to discuss. It reminded me of my nightmares.
I stood, feeling the muscles in my back pop, the wound in my side pulling tight with each breath. "I'm going to take another nap. Thanks for the sandwich." I didn't wait for her to reply. I walked to the window and checked the street again.
The cars were still there. No new movement. I watched for a few minutes, scanning each parked vehicle, then let the curtain fall back in place.
I drifted to the couch, pulled the bandana over my face, and let my body sink into the pillows.
I felt…strange, uneasy. After talking about my missing memories and the things I couldn't remember, I was certain I'd be in another horror movie while asleep. Only this time, when the sleep finally took me, it didn't bring the nightmares.
Instead, I saw the ocean—huge and blue, open all the way to the line where the sky began.
For the first time in years or maybe my entire life, I slept without regret or fear.
31 kimmy
There was a persistent, synthetic whine coming from the other end of the Zoom call.
"Kimberly, I'll need a final headcount for the wellness mixer by Wednesday—otherwise, I can't guarantee table setup or relevant food options, and we both know what happened last time." The venue coordinator's face glitched, then froze, her mouth locked in a juddering, almost-vowel shape. It only lasted a second or two, and then she was back on.
"I'll send the final numbers by the end of the day," I replied. "Don't hold the main ballroom for us if there's any risk of double-booking. I'd rather switch to the garden level than get blamed for shortage."
My hands moved automatically, flicking through the open tabs and spreadsheets, but my brain was at least three rooms away, straining to hear for something that hadn't even happened yet.
"Great! And—oh, I almost forgot. Could you?—"
Her audio lagged again, which bought me a few seconds to look down at the object on my desk. The backup burner phone. Or at least that's what I called it.
On the screen, the coordinator's mouth began moving again. "I'm sorry about this," she said. "We had a storm warning and the internet has been going out all afternoon."
Nice problem to have when you're in Hawaii, I thought to myself. My face remained neutral. "Just call me if we forgot or missed anything," I said.
"I have to say you're extremely organized, lady. Why aren't you working for me?"
The venue coordinator was new. To the city and to the place of work. Her predecessor probably had forgotten to mention when she was leaving the company that Kimberly Holt was on the do-not-hire list. And sooner or later it would come up anyway.
"Well, I really like working from home," I lied. I hadn't always. Just the past three years.
"If you change your mind, let me know." She grinned.
