Page 74 of Bad Words

Sent: Dec 31, 8:25 PM Re: Kavan Retrospective

The friends from the photo? Which ones? The bearded giant shocked by an empty spreadsheet? The woman laughing at a line graph with no Y-axis label?

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Sent: Dec 31, 8:26 PM

Re: Kavan Retrospective

Yes, those are the ones. Dear friends. Cherished friends.

I assume that you and your thousands, possibly even millions, of friends are drowning in plans?

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Sent: Dec 31, 8:27 PM

Re: Kavan Retrospective

You’d think. Those assholes are all still in California.

Enjoy the party.

Smiling, I pulled on my heels and headed for the train.

By the time I arrived, ankles straining, at Jacob and Cassie’s place, two dozen well-dressed people had already dispersed throughout the loft. As I entered, Cassie exclaimed, “Selina! This dress. I love it!”

“Thank you. You look amazing.” She was wearing a black canvas jumpsuit with a red silk scarf tucked into its neck, like a cravat. “You look like a hot mechanic. More than usual, I mean.”

“You know just what to say to a girl. You want a beer? Or we’ve got gin in the freezer.”

“I also brought this.” I handed her a bottle of sake. “I’ve been chilling it.”

She checked the label. “Sweet, I haven’t had this kind before. Thanks, dude!” She hugged me. “Come on back, let’s have some.”

“Where’s Lyra?” I asked as I followed to the kitchen island.

“Back there. Behind our best wall of soundproofing.” Cassie cracked open the sake and poured off a couple of glasses. “We’ll see if the sleep holds.”

“Fingers crossed.” I clinked my glass against hers.

“For real. Oh, Kieran! Do you remember Selina? I think y’all met last year.”

“Yes,” said the man who’d stopped at Cassie’s shoulder. He was blond and clean-shaven, with a guileless smile and an unplaceable accent. A childhood of moving countries, I remembered. “You’re the critic.”

“I am.”

“I saw you in the news a couple of months ago,” he said as the door buzzed again, and Cassie hurried away. “You really eviscerated that man.”

“Just doing my job.”

“Lethal.” He shook his head. “Goodness. I could never.”

This was nothing new. Before I’d deleted my dating apps, I’d heard this wary tone every so often on first dates, as though the men had realized they were out to dinner with a serial killer. Still, I’d take the fearful ones over the men who suggested, with patronizing smiles, that it must be nice to get to read for a living.