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It’s one thing to tell Jay and the asshole police to fuck off; it’s another entirely to say that to one of my best friends.
I don’t care if Jay hates me. I care what Anj thinks, though. I care a lot.
“I’m not mad at you,” I say slowly. And it’s true. I was never mad at her. It was just a shitty, mismatched situation.
“You sure?” she asks. “Because I just got this sense…” She shakes her head. “Never mind. Maybe I’m just overreacting. I’m in my vulnerable bitch phase right now. Vee and I broke up.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “Really. It makes me twitchy, that’s all. Vee said I was overbearing and selfish.”
I shake my head. “Selfish people don’t worry about being selfish. You’re not selfish. You’re just focused.”
“Maybe.”
“And I know you’re going to miss them. But I think they were…” I search for words. “Maybe just a little clingier than you, okay?”
“So what you’re saying,” she says, “is that I’m arrogant and overbearing, so I need to find someone who is disdainful and doesn’t want my company.”
“No,” I say slowly. “What I’m saying is that if I were arranging your marriage, I would find someone who was as fiercely independent and committed to something as you are. You’re not a babysitter. Some people need babysitters.”
She looks over at me and narrows her eyes. “So you’re going to tell me that I was the most considerate housemate in the world?”
I may have lost my temper. Somewhere at the end. I still regret that.
“No,” I say calmly. “But we both learned something from that. Next time, you’ll tell someone before they move in that you’re going to be raising sharks.”
“One shark!” Anj says. “A baby shark! She was just seven inches long. Besides, who is going to object to a GFP shark? She is the only genetically altered biofluorescent shark in existence.”
I look at her. I don’t say anything at first. “Anj,” I finally manage, “most people don’t splice fluorescent proteins into sharks to begin with.”
“Sure, but…”
“And they don’t name them Lisa and talk to them in high-pitched baby talk and tell them they’re a good little glowing shark.”
“But most people don’t have glowing sharks,” Anj says, “and Lisa is the best glowing shark in the world.”
I don’t sigh. The worst part of rooming with Anj was this: It was almost impossible to properly complain to other people. Disagreements about pets are common among roommates. People understand if you complain about an illicit kitten or an unruly dog. But every time I tried to vent a little steam with other friends, they tended to get stuck on “genetically engineered shark named Lisa.”
I look at Anj. She is making puppy-dog eyes. There is no point fighting with her about her damned anxiety-inducing pet shark. There was never any point. She didn’t even get rid of Lisa when the landlord told her to.
I give up. “You see?” I say. “Who could possibly object?”
She winces.
“And if there’s any fault there, it’s on me for not asking,” I continue. “It’s on my list of good tenant questions from here on out. ‘How fast does the hot water start running? How many sharks do you plan on keeping?’”
She shakes her head. “I feel awful. Vee left. You stopped talking to me. Am I that terrible?”
“No. I’ve just been busy. So have you.” It’s mostly true. “You’re wonderful. You’re my favorite Anj of all the Anjs in the world, and I missed you.”
“Fine.” She exhales. “But you’d tell me if anything were really wrong, right?”
I ignore this. “Have lunch with me again. Like this. Like we used to.”
“Yeah.” She smiles at me. “That’ll be good. You can tell me about the boys you’re dating, and I’ll say, ‘Ugh, boys.’”
“And you can tell me about the people you’re dating and ask me if it’s too soon to introduce them to Leia.” Leia is her boa constrictor.
“Oooh.” She sits up straight. “Did I tell you I got an alligator?”
“Anj.”
“You’ll like her,” she says cheerily. “She doesn’t even glow.”
“What are you doing with the poor thing?”
“Oh,” she says unconvincingly, “nothing really.”
I’ll believe that when I see it. Which, hopefully, I will never have to do.
* * *
I’m waiting outside Soda Hall when Tina emerges into the afternoon sunlight, blinking blearily.
“Here.” I hand her the crepe I got as we were leaving the restaurant. “Eat. Starving is bad for you.”
She takes it. “Thank you. I owe you.”
I shrug.
“I’ll make dinner tonight, okay?”
Tina and I have been roommates for over a year, but this year has been night-and-day different from last one. Last year, we shared an unheated garage because Tina couldn’t afford to pay for anything else.
This year, we’re living in her boyfriend’s massive house in the Berkeley Hills. It’s huge and nice and…weird. Tina’s no longer working in the library. But she’s been busier than ever.
“Did you know Anj knows Blake?”
She stops to take a bite of her crepe. She chews while contemplating this. “No. But doesn’t everyone?”
“Not like this. They knew each other as kids.”
“Huh.” She shrugs. “Cyclone nightcare?”
It’s my turn to look at her dubiously.
“There were a bunch of kids at Cyclone who got stuck together when their parents were on deadline. Blake refers to them as the Cyclone nightcare crowd. Like daycare, except at night. He describes it as Lord of the Flies, except with computers. Also, nobody got killed. Blake said it was a lot of fun.”
“Uh, okay.”
Everything I hear about Cyclone gives me pause. I used to be able to tell Tina anything. But she and Blake have been together for something like seven months now, and it’s beginning to feel serious. So serious that Tina has begun to accept things like Lord-of-the-Flies-but-with-Computers as part of her new normal.
Don’t get me wrong. I like Blake. I’m sharing a house with him, and he’s genuinely a decent guy.
But you never like a friend’s boyfriend the way you love your friend. I don’t believe in unconditional love under the best of circumstances. I don’t even believe in unconditional like. The friendship I have with my best friend’s boyfriend is both reluctant and conditional. We will be cool as long as you treat her well, but screw that up, and I will cut you to shreds.
Blake is fine, but I’m Team Tina all the way. Especially because Team Blake happens to be Team Lord-of-the-Flies-but-with-Computers.
“I don’t think so,” I say dubiously. “Anj said something about her dad being on the Board of Directors.”
“Of course. She’s too important for anything else.”
I make a face. Anj and Tina don’t precisely not get along. They would actually do just fine if they ever got over their initial animosity. And if Anj managed to remember Tina’s name. They’re both scientists. They’re both—
No, not Chinese. I can almost see Anj rolling her eyes and grimacing. I’m Taiwanese, Maria. It matters.
They both have a dry sense of humor. Tina tends to be careful, though, and Anj hasn’t met a barrier she doesn’t want to kick down. I stopped trying to get them to like each other when Anj left for Montana.
Maybe now it’ll work better.
Ha.
“Never mind. I shouldn’t have said that.” Tina swallows another giant bite. “I have rich people baggage with Anj. She kept inviting me to shit I couldn’t afford, then I never accepted…” She looks at the last bit of her crepe. “Also, she takes you for granted.”
“She doesn’t.”
“She totally does,” Tina says. “She never even noticed how much you did for her. But if you’re okay with her now, I’m no
t going to complain.”
We’ve reached the building where her class takes place.
“Thanks,” Tina says. “I was starving. I owe you.”
