“I agree,” Teddy said with a nod. “Tell your brother he’s absolutely wrong. I’d love to read your memoir.”
“Thanks,” Gretel said as she started to walk away. “I’ll see you later. Will you be here during HighBall?”
What with her entire life being uprooted and all, Teddy had forgotten about HighBall. Every year around Halloween, the Short North shut down to hold a huge costume party, one that attracted tens of thousands of visitors. People went all out, dressing up in elaborate costumes and, perhaps more notably, drinking in the street. It was always a highlight of the year, seeing the sorts of costumes that came into the shop.
“Yeah, I’m working that night,” Teddy said.
“Great. I’ll see you then,” Gretel said, heading down an aisle. “Maybe I’ll convince my brother to come, if he’s not being an asocial weirdo.”
HighBall was technically an all-ages event, although it certainly wasn’t geared toward children (see: the drinking in the street), but Teddy wasn’t really surprised that Gretel would be there. She seemed to move through the world with her own set of rules.
While Teddy had been talking to Gretel, most of the browsers had left, so now there were only a few people wandering around the store. Carlos was back to rearranging the display case under the counter, so Teddy took a moment to check her email on her phone. Not that she was expecting anything from anyone in particular . . .
She had one email from Everett St. James.
Dear Theodora,
Do you ever feel like you’re in a television show about your own life? I know that I make a television show with my own name in the title, but that’s not what I mean.
Sometimes, it feels like things are happening to me purely to make an audience laugh, as if God is a benevolent showrunner who doesn’t want to torture me so much as put me through minor humiliations for a chuckle.
Take last night, for example. My best friend invited me out for karaoke with her friends. I’m not really a karaoke man—my job gives me plenty of attention, and I’d rather spend my free time at home. But I went for my friend, and while I was there, I kind of hit on someone (well, not hit on . . . more like talked to), and she told me she had to puke.
There’s really only one way for a guy to take a brush-off like that, and now I have to shoulder the burden of knowing that my presence made an innocent woman vomit.
It’s actually better if I pretend it’s a sitcom plot, instead of my life.
But enough about me. What scary things have you done lately? Eat a ghost pepper? Wrestle a pig? Maybe those things aren’t scary for you. Maybe you love spicy food and pigs. Even after all these emails, there are so many things we don’t know about each other.
For the record, I am anti–ghost peppers but very much pro-pig (the animals, not wrestling them, but why rule anything out?).
Peppers and pigs,
Everett
Teddy stared at her phone as her armpits started to tingle. She was sweating. Everett was talking about her. He remembered her. Well, sort of. He remembered the her she was last night, not the her she was right now, and . . . Oh, this was all confusing. Having a secret identity was far more complicated than movies made it seem.
“You’re doing it again.”
Teddy jumped and turned to see Josie staring at her and holding a cardboard box full of new (well, old but new to them) toys. “What?”
Josie tilted her head. “You know what. The whole ‘dreamily staring into space’ thing. Remember, it scares the customers?” Her eyes widened as she had a sudden realization. “Wait. Did you take my advice? Is there a new fella in the picture?”
“No!” Teddy tossed her phone on the counter with a clatter as if it was damning evidence. “There is no fella. I mean, no man. I am one hundred percent focused on my own self-improvement and I have no interest in a relationship.”
“Who said anything about a relationship? Anyway, you’re not very convincing. I can see the way you keep staring at your phone. Go ahead and read your romantic texts.”
“We don’t text,” Teddy said, then realized she’d given herself away. “It’s . . . I’m in an email-only relationship right now. I mean, it’s not a relationship. An email-only . . . flirtation? Maybe not even that. A friendship. I guess that’s what people call it.”
Josie put down the box and looked at her skeptically. “You’ve got a man emailing you? Oh, honey. How did you two meet?”
Teddy opened and closed her mouth a few times as she considered what to say. “We . . . haven’t, really. Well, technically we met last night, but he doesn’t know it. I emailed him first. It’s . . . it’s a bit of a complicated situation.”
“Huh.” Josie nodded slowly. “Sounds like it.”
“How much is this?”
They turned to see Gretel holding up a Care Bear.
Josie waved her off. “That thing’s been here forever. Give me five dollars and it’s yours.”
“Sold.” Gretel slipped a hand into the pocket of her red coat and pulled out her wallet, then handed a five-dollar bill to Teddy.
“Is that for research purposes?” Teddy asked. “It seems like it was . . . before your time.”
Gretel looked at her like she’d said something bizarre. “No, it’s cute.” She held it up. “See?”
Teddy nodded. Right. Gretel was twelve years old, despite the fact that she carried a wallet.
Gretel held the Care Bear in front of her face and observed it. “I’m going to put this on my bed. Hopefully Sassafras won’t destroy it. She’s my cat, and she has a lot of pent-up nervous energy. What she needs is more enrichment.”
“You know, you can find playlists for cats,” Josie said, and both Teddy and Gretel looked at her in confusion. “I’m serious! Some animal specialist put together music that’s meant to calm cats down. Or—I don’t know—maybe it wasn’t an animal specialist. Maybe it was some random guy who’s trying to make a buck.”
“Thank you,” Gretel said seriously. “I’m going to try it with Sassafras.”
“Report back!” Josie said cheerfully, then headed toward her office as Gretel walked out the door with her stuffed animal, giving them a wave over her shoulder.
With Josie back in her office, the shop was quiet, other than the sound of Carlos rearranging the LEGO cabinet.
“Hey, Carlos,” Teddy said. Sure, Carlos had resolutely ignored her during her last conversation attempt, but she wouldn’t stop trying. “What’s your go-to karaoke song?”
Carlos paused for a moment, shook his head, and went back to the LEGOs.