Page 92 of Bad Words

And I remembered who I was talking to. My thoughts slowed. Selina Chan wouldn’t ask a question to be polite. She said what she meant, always.

I was able to type, Yeah. The money situation was worse after the divorce, worse during college. A little better after my book deal. I didn’t know Kevin was bottling this up about Elena’s loans, though. I’m still trying to figure out how to answer.

Are you and Kevin close?

I’d say so, I said. I’ve never had big fights with any of my family.

She typed for a while. So long that I imagined her standing in line at a coffee shop, frowning at her phone, wondering why exactly I was telling her my life story. I was taking up so much air in this conversation.

Before she could send her reply, I said, I’ll figure out what to say to him. Anyway, how’s New York? City must be getting ready for the anniversary party, right?

Her ellipsis disappeared, then reappeared. New York is cold, she said, and City has lots on its mind, yes. But I wanted to ask about the bookstore that closed.

I shifted my shoulder blades against the metal shelves. Yeah. Poppy Street Books, I said eventually. I went there a lot as a kid.

Did it shut recently?

I’m not sure. I just walked there from my house and the place is empty. They’ve taken out the shelves. It looks like a cavity.

She typed. I closed my eyes. She would say she was sorry, and I would have to either say the dignified lie, that I was fine, or debase myself by trying to articulate any of the immature ways in which I didn’t feel fine.

My phone buzzed. I opened my eyes. She’d said, What are you doing now?

Puzzled, I blinked a few times as the dialogues I’d been imagining faded away. I’m standing in a gas station convenience store across from the sour gummies.

Do you think you’ll buy any sour gummies?

Oddly, a smile pulled at my lips. I don’t know, lol. Why?

It seems like you should do something nice for yourself.

I’m not a big sour gummy person, I said. But I appreciate the idea.

A notification dropped down from the top of the screen. Selina Chan paid you $5.00. “Sour gummy equivalent.”

Excuse me, I texted her. Are you being thoughtful? What is this???

Elaborate act of sabotage, she said.

I hit the laugh react on her text, then said, I do want to know what the extremely euphemistic “City has lots on its mind” means.

She typed for a while. What arrived was, City is OK, really. Good luck with your brother.

My smile faded. The sign-off seemed so abrupt, even cold.

I said Thanks and tucked my phone away, feeling off-kilter. She didn’t want to admit anything to me, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, but still somehow felt like an unpleasant reminder.

Before I left, I did buy a box of M&M’s, which I held on to in my jacket pocket as I walked home, feeling the contents shift and slide inside.

Over dinner, I said to my mom, “Poppy Street Books closed.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she said, giving my forearm a little squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Pijay. I meant to text you. You loved that place.”

“Yeah.”

I kept my face serene. Why I’d brought it up, I didn’t know. I’d come all this way to see her, and she’d taken all this cleaning and cooking upon herself to make my visit a happy one. She’d made tofu sisig for dinner, my lifelong favorite.

“I don’t know what you do to this,” I said, pointing my fork at my bowl. “I can never get it to taste this good.”