chapter 8
He put a Tupperware in my bag, then slipped money into the side zipper like I wouldn’t notice. I pretended I didn’t.
On my way back, I glanced at Inns. My post with Daniel and Ashley’s photos had trickled into the lives of strangers who loved clean narratives: villain, martyr, fool. The thing about the internet is that it always wants a moral. I didn’t. I wanted groceries.
I bought two tomatoes that smelled like summer and a loaf of bread with a loud crust. At the studio, I made a sandwich, added salt on top of the tomato slices with my fingers, ate standing up, and felt alive.
Sunday night, a new message came in—unknown number:
Chloe, this is Dr. Liang, from Riverside Cardiology. Ashley listed you as her emergency contact three years ago after the accident. I thought you should know she was admitted this evening with chest pain.
I stared at the text a long moment. Then I typed: I am not her contact anymore. Please update your records. If she needs Daniel, he knows where she is.
I put my phone face down and showered for twenty minutes. When I came out, there were eleven missed calls from Daniel and one voicemail from a nurse asking me to confirm a medication allergy. I sat on the bed in a towel, fingers cold on the phone, and called the hospital.
“This is Chloe,” I said. “You called about a medication allergy for a patient, Ashley Xin. I’m not her emergency contact.”
“Understood,” the nurse said. “We’ll remove your name. Thank you for letting us know.”
“Wait,” I heard myself say. “Her allergy is to codeine.”
“Got it. Thank you.”
There it was. The last thread, neatly cut.
Monday came with a voice I had not heard in a long time—mine, during presentations, confident. We won the Harrison packaging. Claire printed the purchase order and slapped it to my desk like a medal.
“You’re lead on the rollout,” she said. “Take it.”
I took it. I took everything that could be mine and didn’t have someone else’s name on the underside.
The week after, I found a small apartment that faced a tree. The bedroom was narrow, but the morning light was kind. I painted one wall the soft color of tea with too much milk. I hung my mother’s photograph above a stack of fabric storage cubes pretending to be a dresser. I bought six plates that didn’t match. I bought exactly one wineglass because I didn’t trust myself with two.
Two days later, Daniel stood outside my new door.