Page 91 of Bad Words

Finally, with no other recourse, I took out my phone and reread the wall of text from Kevin.

How long had he been harboring this resentment? When had he even found out about the loan payment?

Had Elena told Christi, too? Justin? Our parents? Did anyone else in our family feel this way, and if they did, what was I supposed to say?

Heart pattering, I force-closed Kevin’s thread and waded into the rest of the internet, looking for anything else to latch on to, cycling through tagged posts on social media, pressing likes and reactions, scanning my group chats but absorbing only the basic strokes. Three aisles over, some automatic scanner’s voice was telling someone over and over to please remove the unrecognized item from the bagging area. The LEDs beat down on my hands, rendering them colorless. I realized that I wanted desperately to talk to someone, but every text entry field on my screen looked like the response line on some unending exam, a test to find the perfect thing to say about Aiden’s health insurance or Xiangyu’s job applications, chance after chance to fall short, to knock cracks into my friendships and relationships, to let someone down.

My heart had begun to sound in my ears again when I reached the last of my notifications, Selina’s unread text, a small blue dot beside her name.

I wavered, then broke. I opened the message.

Would it break our truce if I came to your book launch?

The whole system of traffic that was my thoughts seemed to draw to a halt. Here, at least, I could write whatever I wanted. All the acrimonious things Selina and I had hurled at each other, and she was still sending me text messages, as though I could say anything and it wouldn’t matter.

Why, I typed, are you planning some elaborate sabotage I should know about?

I hit Send.

Moments later, her ellipsis appeared.

She said, I’m sure I could come up with something, if that’s what you really want.

I don’t think it counts as sabotage if we plan it together, Selina.

A moment passed. Then:

Selina Chan laughed at your message

The muscles in my shoulders loosened. I settled back against the shelving as her next message arrived: That’s a shame. I need help assembling this Trojan horse I bought from IKEA. They sent me two hundred pounds of raw pinewood and a hex wrench the size of a toothpick.

I began to smile. That’s what you get for ordering the Ödeshög, instead of the famously more streamlined Grönsved model.

Ah, right, my mistake, she said.

I’d help you get through the 92-step assembly pamphlet, but I’m actually in California.

There was a pause, then, Visiting home?

Yeah. My dad’s still in Manila, but I’m staying with my mom for a bit. Might see my brother.

How has it been? she asked.

It’s been great! I typed, but as the words appeared, I remembered her eyes on New Year’s, and that she didn’t want my apologies, my elisions. I felt, somehow, that this was the one line I didn’t want to cross with her. I didn’t want to lie.

I deleted the text and started over.

I’ve only been here for a few hours, I wrote, over the course of several effortful minutes, but they haven’t been ideal.

What made them less than ideal? she asked.

Some holiday horror stories from my mom’s hotel job. She’s not as close to retirement as I’d like. Also, my favorite bookstore here closed down, and my brother is apparently frustrated that I helped our sister with her student loans.

I stared at this draft text, feeling as though I’d slid sideways into a vivid dream. How had I arrived at these topics so quickly, topics I’d barely even broached with Arthur?

I hesitated, pressed Send—and then felt an immediate stab of disbelief. What had I just done? Of course she’d only asked to be polite.

Even as I batted around erratic thoughts about editing the message, her response appeared. I suppose with seven of you in that part of California, the financial pressure must have been pretty immense, especially around the time you went to college.