“Life is too serious to take it too seriously,” he said, barelyglancing up from the book about housing policy that he was reading. I was surprised that he ended up at TKCORP, in the end, working such a sensible, boring job.
“I mean, I’m sure you’re great at what you do,” he says now. “But you’ve been here for a few weeks? Maybe it’s not realistic that you’d get promoted yet.”
“Right, but—what if I can at least convince Mom that I’m in line for it? If I can show her…”
“And Erica’s tough,” he adds. He listened to me complain about her years ago, long before I worked here—how she would never give Mom a shot in her department. “And it’s not exactly all under your control. Moving up.”
“What are the things under my control?” I cut in. “Maybe if I show Mom how hard I’m trying—that I’m taking initiative, getting in Erica’s good graces—”
“Like if you had a project.” Greg nods to himself. “You could volunteer to take on more responsibility? Try to make her life easier.”
“I’ve been raising my hand for everything I can.”
“That’s good, but…maybe a more personalized approach would help?” He chews on his bottom lip. “What stresses her out the most? Where can you swoop in and offer something?”
“Okay,” I say, surprised that Greg has ever given any thought to getting ahead in the workplace. “Much to consider. Thanks.”
Greg tucks his feet up under him, pulls the remote from between the cushions, and turns on the TV.
“Oh sure, make yourself at home.”
“I thought we could watch something for a bit. Spending all night and day thinking about”—he drops his voice to a whisper, like my mom will be able to overhear—“a ghost,it can’t be great for your mental health. Maybe you could use more distractions.”
He puts on an old episode ofThe Simpsons,like we’veslipped back in time ten years. We sit next to each other largely in silence, making jokes here and there. It’s been so long since we did nothing together.
But my body didn’t forget how comfortable I am with him, even though all this time has passed. It’s like slipping into an old familiar sweatshirt. After a few minutes, it feels like we do this all the time.
It makes me remember something Greg said, back before we kissed. We were talking about the future after high school, and he asked me, “What would you do if you didn’t have to work?”
It gave me heartburn.As though it’s even worth considering!“I don’t know, what would you do?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. Hang out. I think hanging out might be my purpose in life.”
I could feel my stress rising, like I needed to clap my hand over his mouth to stop Mom from hearing about hislack of ambition! And in the years we weren’t talking, I’d see him post about the lying-flat movement and how he doesn’t dream of labor.
But there’s such an easiness to him now, beside me on the couch. Maybe this is his calling.
In his lap, his phone buzzes a few times again, and peeking at his screen, I see multiple notifications sayingMessage from Sarah Ng.
Oh.Is that why he’s always on our floor? Coming up to make Sarah laugh?
I try to stay very still until the feeling passes. Mom is right—I’m too old for this shit.
Eventually it seems like Greg’s fallen asleep beside me, and I watch him for a while.
Why did I want more from him when this is so comfortable? So what if he’s not attracted to me?Why can’t you besatisfied with what you have?Mom said that a lot.You always seem dissatisfied. You don’t know how lucky you are.
Then my own phone buzzes. A message from my cousin in San Diego.
Trisha:
are you coming on sunday?
“You texting Mark Winterson?” Greg elbows me, suddenly awake again.
“Yes, he’s proposing marriage right now.” I tap out a reply to Trisha with my thumbs:i don’t think i can this time, but please say hi to everyone for me.
“With a text!” Greg clutches at his heart dramatically. “And they say romance is dead.”
