“Got one. Thank you!” Eleanor said as the door shut behind her.
Kirsten and her boyfriend wandered out of the kitchen, the boyfriend holding a mixing bowl full of cereal. He’d stayed over last night, and Teddy had tried to ignore the noises. She made a mental note to invest in some headphones. Some heavy-duty noise-canceling headphones. Maybe the kind air traffic controllers wore.
While Teddy might have been uncomfortable with the volume of his lovemaking, she couldn’t be mad at his cereal consumption, because he’d brought his own box. He was courteous like that.
They all called him the Viking, because that was a nickname Kirsten had given him when they’d started dating (in the way that all women must give nicknames to potential suitors, as foretold by the prophecy in Sex and the City). But the nickname stuck, and although they all knew his real name was Dwayne, they still called him the Viking. Even Kirsten. Even, as Teddy unfortunately knew, during amorous moments.
“What are you guys up to today?” Teddy asked.
“Work,” the Viking said. He worked in construction (hence the muscular physique that partly earned him his nickname, along with his impressive hair).
“I’m working on some commissions,” Kirsten said with a smile, patting the Viking on the arm as he drained the milk from his cereal bowl. In addition to her own avant-garde pee-related work, Kirsten also did more conventional artwork at the request of many Columbus residents. She painted landscapes, animal portraits, whatever people asked for, and even though the ideas weren’t hers, she seemed genuinely happy while she did it. Teddy wondered wistfully what that must be like, to know that what you did not only made you happy but made other people happy, as well.
“Bye, babe,” Kirsten said as the Viking leaned in for a kiss so loud that Teddy considered putting her fingers in her ears. She felt like she was in a sound effects booth and someone was stirring a plate of fettuccine Alfredo.
As Kirsten shut the door behind him, Teddy decided to be bold and broach the topic of last night. It wasn’t that she wanted to. Did anyone ever really want to ask their friend to stop getting lucky quite so loudly? But the sheer awkwardness of the conversation was enough to scare her, and so she figured it counted for today’s item.
Do one thing every day that scares you: talk to your roommate about how her sex life is negatively impacting your sleep. Check!
“Hey, Kirsten?” Teddy’s voice came out with a squeak, so she coughed to clear her throat. “Can I talk to you about something?”
“What’s up?”
“Um, so, I’m not sure if you know this, and I’m not saying it’s a huge deal, but . . .” She paused, then said the rest of the words in a rush. “Icouldn’tsleeplastnightbecauseyouandtheVikingwerehavingsexsoloudly.”
“Oh, were we loud?” Kirsten asked, her eyebrows knit in concern. “I didn’t realize.” She looked contemplative for a moment. “I guess I don’t know my own strength.”
“I’m not sure strength has anything to do with it,” Teddy said gently.
“Oh, believe me, it does,” Kirsten said, and Teddy declined to follow up on that statement.
“Teddy!” Kirsten said, stepping closer and then poking Teddy on her cheek. “You’re blushing!”
Teddy covered her cheeks with her hands. “Am I?”
Kirsten placed her hand over her heart. “Were you uncomfortable talking to me about my vigorous sex life?”
“A little.”
Kirsten opened her mouth in shock. “Well, Teddy, we haven’t even drawn up the official plan for Teddy Time, and look at you. Already doing things that scare you. Kudos.”
Teddy smiled. “Thank you. And sorry for . . . you know.”
Kirsten shook her head dramatically. “No, no, no. From now on I’ll tell the Viking to keep it down. No matter how good—”
“No.” Teddy held up her hands. She’d heard enough. “I know I’m the newest roommate here and maybe I don’t have the standing to make rules, but I think our friendship needs some boundaries. Like maybe we know exactly where we are in one another’s cycles, but I don’t know what you say when you orgasm.”
Kirsten nodded, looking thoughtful. “I guess that’s fair.”
Teddy smiled. “I’ve got to go get ready for work.”
In her room, she grabbed her phone to check the weather but saw that her email was glowing with a little red notification. Her heart skipped a beat. She knew it was probably an email from Old Navy telling her about yet another deal on denim (there was always a deal on denim; at this point, it would have been more noteworthy if there wasn’t a deal on denim), but she allowed herself a moment of excitement. Maybe it was Everett St. James saying, Yes, let’s be best friends. Yes, let me solve all your problems. Yes, I see you and understand you in a way that no one else ever has.
She took a breath and opened her email.
It was from Everett St. James.
She fell back on the bed without meaning to. It was as if her body simply lost the capability to stand up. If you had asked Teddy about it later, she would have told you that she died for a moment, left her body, hovered near the ceiling watching the scene below, and then entered her body again in time to read the email. Sure, that exact situation seemed improbable or even perhaps impossible, but the sheer euphoric excitement she experienced was too much to be contained in her earthly form.
She scanned the email once quickly, then read it again slowly, her heart thumping out an alarmingly fast beat as she imagined the words in Everett’s voice.
Dear Theodora,
Thank you very much for your email. It’s not often that I get emails from adult women . . . at least not emails that don’t immediately have to be forwarded to local law enforcement.
Teddy sat up and smiled, crossing her legs under her on the bed.
You say you’re worried about finding your “thing.” Understandable. But might I suggest that you’ve already found your thing and don’t know it? For example, you made a Star Wars reference and wrote an email with impeccable spelling, which is something most of my email correspondents don’t do (possibly because they’re still learning to read). Perhaps your thing is sending perfect emails that brighten the days of their recipients.
Teddy pressed her lips together, imagining Everett, his huge body crammed into a desk chair somewhere, smiling as he read her email. Smiling! Because of her!
I discovered my thing (which I hope you’ve guessed is puppetry) when I was four years old. Sometimes it helps to think back to what made us happy when we were young, before we met people who told us our dreams were silly or unrealistic. What lit up your heart when you were a kid? Maybe that’s your thing.