Vera pats Sana’s arm. “I see. It’s a terrible thing that has happen to you. But why do you come to my teahouse? Pretending to have a pot catch?”
Sana’s breath releases in a long, exhausted sigh. “It all built up after a while, my resentment, my anger. I tracked Marshall down to the Bay Area. I rented a small studio and I was following him. I didn’t even know what I wanted to do. I just felt like I needed to be close to my art, and that meant being close to Marshall. Does that sound ridiculous?”
“Yes. But it’s okay, I do a lot of crazy things too.”
“Ha. Well, one night, he spotted me and called me out. Told me to get over myself, that most of my pieces hadn’t even sold. They were worthless. That I didn’t have any talent. All the stuff I’d always been so scared of about myself. It was too much. I lost control.” Sana’s voice breaks. “And I—I attacked him. I scratched him.” She looks down at her hands, shuddering at the memory of Marshall’s skin being raked under her nails. Nails that should have paint under them, not blood.
“But you don’t kill him?”
Sana shakes her head. “No, I told you, I didn’t. He shoved me away, told me he was going to call the cops. I was so horrified by what I did—I’ve never attacked anyone like that before—I turned and ran away. I was so scared. For the next couple of days, I kept waiting for the cops to—I don’t know—break down my door and storm my apartment. But they never did. Then I read about Marshall dying. He died later that same night I’d scratched him.” Sana’s eyes are haunted. “I had to come to your teahouse to—I don’t know—I just—you won’t believe how awful I’ve felt ever since that night. I don’t even know why I went to your place. And—this is going to make me sound like the worst human ever—I’m still not over my stolen art! God, you must think I’m horrible, but even after Marshall died, I’m still hung up on the art. I still want to find it and reclaim it.”
Vera squeezes Sana’s arm, and when Sana finally meets her eyes, there is so much compassion in them that Sana feels the tears coming. “Oh, silly girl. Of course I don’t think you are horrible human. No, horrible human are people like Marshall. Come here.” And with that, Vera pulls Sana into a hug. The kind of hug that only a mom could give. Sana surrenders to it completely, feeling every wall she’d painstakingly built over the years crumbling. She cries until there is nothing left, then she cries some more, and the whole time, Vera strokes her hair with all the patience in the world. When they’re done, the sun is setting and the air is biting cold.
“Well, it’s been a long day. Come over to mine,” Vera says, grunting as she stands with Emma still dozing in her arms.
Sana wipes at her puffy face. “You mean to Julia’s?”
Vera tuts. “Nobody likes a pendant, Sana.”
Sana almost tells her it’s “pedant,” “not pendant,” but thinks better of it.
“You come to dinner now, then when I am next free, you are meeting me at the beach.”
“The beach?” It’s the last thing Sana expected to hear. “Why?”
In answer, Vera just gives a secret smile and walks on ahead, leaving Sana with no choice but to hurry after her.
TWENTY-SIX
JULIA
Julia can’t remember the last time she’s felt so alive. What a shitty, awful, no-good thing to think as a mother. But it’s also unfortunately sort of true? She adores Emma. Emma is everything to her, the air that she breathes. But ever since Emma was born, Emma’s also consumed every moment, every thought in Julia’s head. So often, Julia would find herself just staring off into space while half watching Emma play, waiting for Emma to call out to her. Because Emma is always needing her for something, every few minutes. Playing with her is somehow both mind-numbing and also demanding, so taxing on her attention that over the years, Julia’s intellect has deteriorated so gently and so softly that she hadn’t known it was happening at all.
But now, it feels as though an effervescent vitamin has been dropped into the tepid waters of her brain, and all of a sudden, the sparks are back, cool air flowing so clearly through her lungs. She feels as though she’s come back to life. She feels the first stirrings when she meets up with Cassie, the TikTok influencer. Immediately upon seeing Cassie, Julia’s mind goes into camera mode, studying the angles of Cassie’s jawline and cheekbones and the tint of her eyes and hair, and planning how best to highlight those unique features using natural light. She hasn’t thought in that way for so long, assessing people’s faces as a photographer instead of her eyes just sliding over them in that dead, glazed way she’s been doing.
And when the session begins, everything comes flooding back to Julia. She expertly positions Cassie so that the girl is outlined by golden sunlight, then starts telling mom jokes to make Cassie laugh or roll her eyes. With every few clicks, she tells Cassie that she looks wonderful, that the camera loves her, that her aura is amazing, and after a few minutes, Cassie is so relaxed that the two of them start chatting like friends as they work together.
As she works, the little hairs on the back of Julia’s neck rise, and she turns and spots someone in the distance—too far away to tell if it’s a man or a woman—but something about the figure makes her think she knows them. She hesitates, unsure if she should wave, unsure even if the lone figure is indeed watching her.
“Everything okay?” Cassie says.
Julia snaps back to her client. Her client. My god, she has a client. She hurriedly nods, making herself smile. “Yes, just looking for the best lighting.” She glances behind her shoulder and finds that the figure is gone. She must be imagining things. She shakes off the weird moment and focuses her attention fully on the shoot once again.
When she’s done, she shows some of the photos in the viewfinder to Cassie, and Cassie says, “Holy fucking shitballs, man!” which is somehow the best compliment Julia has ever received.
She practically hops back to her car, one hundred dollars richer. Not the biggest paycheck, but definitely the most rewarding. Vera has sent her two texts, both of them pictures of Emma. Emma at the pier, pointing at the seals, and Emma at home, pretending to paint Vera’s toenails. It looks like Emma’s also having the time of her life. The entire drive home, Julia sings at the top of her lungs to the latest Taylor Swift song, something she hasn’t done since she dated Marshall, because he’d told her that her singing sounded like a wolf in heat. When she gets home, Julia looks up at the house and sees warm yellow light from the front window, and for the first time, she doesn’t feel exhausted or depressed to come home. It used to be just her and Emma, most of the time, and she’d be coming home lugging grocery bags while Emma screamed or cried or asked some unanswerable question like: “Do earthworms have butts?” and arriving at the house just meant coming back to a cluttered space devoid of any joy, and she knew that she would have to rush about and try her best to pick up as much of the mess as she could while also cooking a meal and trying to get Emma bathed and fed, all before Marshall came home.