I barely have the energy to take a step forward, but I manage enough to get to my front door, and open it, before I stop to realize that it was unlocked.

Oh, right.

Shaun is already in the apartment, getting something out of the fridge and talking twice as loudly as anybody needs to to someone on her cell.

“Evening,” she mouths to me with a raise of her eyebrows as she closes the fridge door with her hip, a half-empty carton of orange juice in tow, and I hesitate on the threshold, debating going back down to my car.

“I think I’ll be available tomorrow, no wait. Not tomorrow, Saturday,” she says into the phone, as she pours her glass and puts the juice back. “All my days are running together. Oh, you try waking up at 4:30 every day and see how your long-term memory fairs,” she scolds, “I’ll have to call you back…”

I make my way to my room and set my purse on my desk, closing the door behind me, though I can still hear Shaun chattering through the walls.

“No, I’m not hanging up now. I mean, I’ll text you after I can check over my schedule. Yes, I’ll wear the blue one. I know you’re obsessed with it.”

This statement is made in a teasing tone and followed by a kiss into the phone, so she must be talking to her boyfriend…Dylan…Dustin?

I make my way through the unlit room and slip my heels off by the edge of the closet. I wish I could just spread myself out on the bed and take a rest for a minute before I get back to work again, but the mattress is a blackhole and I’ll never get up again if I lay down now.

“Essence?” I hear Shaun knocking on the door. I don’t want to go back out there and talk right now but…

She’s still holding her glass and the phone as I open the door, and she asks in a low voice so she won’t be heard through the speaker, “Can I put the milk toward the back of the fridge where you have your cold cereal right now?”

“Sure, it’s fine.”

I can’t close the door again yet or it’ll look like I’m in a hurry to get rid of her. So now I have to go out and loiter in the kitchen for a few minutes, hoping Shaun doesn’t end her phone call before I can close myself in my room again.

“Alright. Catch you later, Baby. Bye.”

Never mind, I guess.

The second she slips her phone into her pocket her whole face lights up, and she’s leaning on the table talking a mile a minute.

“Guess where your girl is going this weekend?” 

“On a date?” 

Just a wild guess.

“Yeah, but where do you think I’m going?”

I just shrug rather than trying to figure that out. There are so many restaurants in Charm City.

I still have to make dinner…

“Red Garden!” She squeals, and I have to resist flinching. “Eek! Dustin is taking me to celebrate our 6-month anniversary. I’ve been dying to go there for ages. So many folks I know have already been and they say it’s amazing.”

“Sounds great.”

I need something else to say.

“Isn’t that place near the bookstore you like?”

“Oh yeah,” Shaun grins, “I’ve spent like a million dollars on books in that place by now. That’s why Dustin has to treat me to dinner. But I’m not going to waste the whole experience, either,” she says dramatically, motioning with her hands. “I’m going to take notes for the novel. It’s the first five-star restaurant that I’ve ever been to, so I have to keep my eyes open the whole time so I can write ‘A Bad Fit’ with more accuracy from now on.”

Then, I’ve gotta clean the bathroom…

“By the way,” she asks, as she smooths back her hair with both hands, suddenly looking more serious, “Do you think you’ll have time to help me with the book this evening?”

“Ohhhh, um…”

Definitely not.

But what’s a little less sleep at this point?

“I’ll review the newest chapter for you tonight,” I promise with a small smile.

“Thank you so much,” she giggles excitedly. “I’ve been waiting to see what you think about it. So, don’t hold back, okay? Just be totally honest.”

“Alright.”

I’m probably not going to do that.

“I sent Dustin the chapter when I finished it, and he said he loved it. Though it’s probably because the male lead is not so subtly based on him." She laughs. 

“On the other hand, the ever-sweet Miss Pearl hates it." She rolls her eyes. “Why everybody gotta be like that? You’re the only person I know who doesn’t feel the need to make comments about me and Dustin going out." She crosses her arms. “But your family probably experienced something similar when your mother was dating your stepdad, right?”

I should have risked closing the door after I’d answered her first question.

Now, I stare at her mutely trying to figure out how to explain in a way that won’t make her uncomfortable.

“Elizabeth’s dad isn’t my stepdad,” I try not to make it sound weird. “I have no idea what people said or thought about it. My mother didn’t talk to me a lot…”

…add something here.

“About that, I mean.”

Which is true.

Not that she talked to me about anything else either, if she could help it.

It was better for me to stay out of the way and out from underfoot. I only remember her addressing me if she had something she needed or wanted me to do. 

Aunt Pat insists it’s the reason I didn’t even start trying to talk until I was four years old. Mom used to argue with her that that wasn’t true, but what does she know?

“I guess that makes sense,” Shaun is laughing, and I’m not sure how to respond to that.

“Most people don’t talk to little kids about their dating lives,” she shakes her head, fluffing up her afro puff with one hand as she talks. “My little sister has a snake’s tongue on her. She’d be razzing me to my dying day if she knew about some of the blind dates I’ve had. Ohhh, but I’ve gotta go,” she sighs contentedly, glancing at my clock on the wall. “It’s time for this old lady to get some sleep. Thanks again for letting me borrow your fridge, Essie.”

She claps my shoulder and makes her way to the door, but stops with her hand on the knob, and turns to point at me, “Oh, you don’t need to rush yourself on the chapter, by the way. Take your time. I know your schedule’s loaded lately.”

But I don’t want to be stocking up debt when she already left me yet another casserole in payment.

Peeling the foil back from the baking dish on my counter, I see what looks like lasagna coated in a layer of golden brown cheese.

At least I don’t have to make myself dinner.

She’s definitely a better cook than I am. I can see bits and pieces of oregano and at least two different kinds of sausage in the sauce.

I almost wish I didn't have to eat it.

If I had it my way, I’d just store it in the freezer until that ‘maybe’ indefinite future when I’d WANT to eat something and could enjoy this.

As it is, I serve myself the smallest reasonable portion and put the rest in my freezer, sit down to my plate, and try to taste what I’m eating.

I feel it in my mouth, but all the flavors are in low saturation like I’m remembering a time I ate lasagna, rather than eating it now.

Slipping out my phone, I try to balance switching between emails and doing a cursory scan of the document Shaun sent me, though I have to squint to try to read anything on a screen this small.

Ms. Lay sent back her edits, along with a dozen frustrated emails.

‘There, I changed it again. Are you happy now?’

I’ll wait until I'm about to go to bed before I send her the new file of edits.

Angie sent a dozen texts concerning the line edits, and the meeting with the new author tomorrow.

‘“Its perfect!” Destiny said, clasping the locket to her heart.’

It’s perfect, not ‘its’ perfect.

I wish Shaun would use a spell checker…

‘Should I mark this as an incorrect spelling, Ms. Walker? It might be vernacular?’

‘Also, has a specific time been set for our meeting with Erika?’

‘I mean the new author, Ms. Meng.’

‘I haven’t received any emails from Ms. Guerrera.’

Who has?

I’ve been working for Book Bug for five years, and I can count the number of calendar updates and meeting reminders Muñeca has actually sent out on one hand.

‘I’ll check with Mrs. Taylor,’ I reply quickly.

Shaun left out virtually all of her commas. Isn’t her boyfriend an English teacher? You’d think he would have noticed.

Well, they say love is blind.

She misspelled exercise every single time, which wouldn’t be such a big deal in any other story but considering that this is a beauty-themed “makeover transformation” type piece, I wish she’d keep a dictionary on hand for reference.

Angie replies again with what I think is a thank you, but I can’t read anything anymore. 

I need to switch to my laptop. Right after dinner.

I try to turn back to my plate just as a new text pops up on my screen. I force my eyes into focus, but it doesn’t help me much since I don’t recognize the name.

Who is Dominic Giang?

Oh, wait.

That’s the short guy from the convenience store, right?

In the spaces between my eyes blurring, I manage to read the text, and it confirms my usually faulty memory.

‘Hi. This is Dominic, from the convenience store.’

‘Oh, hi.’

Should I add something else like ‘What’s up?’

Has anybody said that since 2010?

Regardless, he replies before I can age myself.

‘I was wondering if you’d be interested in going on a date sometime this weekend?’

No.

‘What day?’

‘Whatever day and time works for you. I don’t work weekends.’

I wish he’d just pick. I mentally run over my calendar as if I’m not doing the same thing all weekend that I do all week, except at home rather than in the office.

Technically, Lillian doesn’t require us to work weekends. But it’s always better to get things done well ahead of the deadline to avoid any lectures.

If the date runs late, I’ll be able to sleep in Saturday morning, since Shaun won’t be up early…

‘Friday night works for me if it works for you,’ I text back.

‘Friday works great.’

Friday will work well. 

Not great.

He shouldn’t get his hopes up.

*

It’s ten minutes to ten by the time I’ve finished reviewing Shaun’s chapter, Angie’s edits, and sent the new edits to Ms. Lay.

It’s a quarter to eleven by the time I’ve showered, brushed my teeth, and put my hair into a dozen thick braids to protect it for the morning.

When I lay down, I expect to fall asleep immediately, but I don’t.

I can hear Mr. and Mrs. Holly arguing downstairs.

I guess he just got home.

I can hear cars outside honking their horns and screeching to sharp stops and my ears ring with each new stimulus.

50 more years of this?

Assuming I live a long life, I wonder how long a normal person could stay sane in this routine.

But I’m not normal. Probably not even sane.

As I doze, my mind repeats to-do lists, edits, lines of narration, and the word ‘striking.’

My mouth frowns out of habit, but there’s no thought behind the motion.

Meet with the new author. Send the new edits to Shaun. Go on a date with Dominic.

‘I don’t want your stupid flowers, Harry! I don’t want to go on a date with you! I don’t like you!’

Don’t be like that.

Hasn’t anybody ever told you to make yourself agreeable?

Try to look nice. Try to look pretty. Try to look like you want to be around the people who want to be around you, for the moment at least.

You never know whether one day, you might learn to regret. It sounds awful, and I’m sure I want to avoid it if I haven’t already done a dozen things worth regretting, trying to have no regrets.

I didn’t want this.

I’m not sure what it means to want anything but to go to sleep.

Picking my phone up off the pillow, I text Beth quickly about all the chaos with Mom earlier today. I don’t even have the energy to try to be passive.

“You ditched Mom earlier, Beth. You can’t leave her stranded like that. She was in physical pain.’

Her reply comes through quickly, and I know it’s because she was already online. My phone notifies me that she just updated her Instagram with a beach selfie at almost the same time I expand her text to try to read the little lie.

‘I know. I should have texted you...’

So that I could have picked up the slack, right?

‘...I’ll call her and apologize tomorrow.’

Great.

If that's true, I’m sure she’ll be ‘good’ for a few days, as Mom says.

It’s not ‘good.’ It’s ‘better.’ It’s barely even better.

Or maybe it makes them both feel good, I don’t know. 

Lies or no lies, hoping for an apology, or knowing there will never be one makes no difference for little ole’ Essence at the end of the day.

I’m still the one picking up the slack, bending over backward to try to fill in the gaps.

I’m still the one who will always be of no concern because I have no feelings to hurt.

This is just my reality. Horrible day or things going well.

This is as bad as it gets. This is as good as it gets.