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“Okay, so . . . tell me a little about yourself. The most dreaded question, I know.”
He sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat.
“Okay, I can do this. Don’t choke, Lowell. Let’s see . . . yes, to answer your earlier question, I’m a photojournalist. I have a fine arts degree from MAIA, that’s the Mid-Atlantic—”
“Institute of Art, I know. Wow, that’s a really good school.”
“Don’t be too impressed, I almost flunked out twice. Two of my brothers went to Ivys, top of their class, summa cum laude, the whole nine yards. I failed Theory and Application. So you know, it’s a sliding scale of accomplishments in my family.”
The goblin arrived with their order, interrupting them again. Across the table, Moriah watched him suck in a breath as if his lungs had been deprived. See? He’s as nervous as you. That’s the most precious thing in the world.
“Um, I’ve been overseas for the last eight years,” he went on after a moment. “I’ve been based in Tokyo for the last three years or so, I think? Three or four, time has lost all meaning since I’ve been back home. This appointment is the only reason I know what day of the week it is. And I say ‘based in Tokyo’ because that’s where my apartment is, but I’m not there that much. When I was working, I would be on shoots sometimes four or five times a month. Now, though?” He chucked weakly. “Not so much.”
“Oh no, because of the pandemic! I didn’t even think of that affecting work like yours. Is that why you’re back in the Unification?”
He nodded grimly. “My travel visa is work-based, so it’s not worth anything right now. So I am back home for the foreseeable future.”
She thought he seemed distinctly unhappy about that, but even his unhappiness was cute. Moriah had the impression that if he weren’t trying to impress her, he would have folded his arms like a child, possibly even stamp his foot.
There was a petulant edge to his voice as he described vacating his apartment and flying back to the states, telling her about his eighteen-hour flight that had culminated in being stranded at the airport; how he had almost died of starvation in front of a closed Mr. Toasty stand, and that no one in his family had come to pick him up for hours.
“Oh noooo! See, you could have called me. I would have been there with a little ‘welcome home’ sign and cupcakes.”
His nostrils flared as he breathed in sharply, leaning in with wide eyes, and she had the most preposterous image of doing precisely that for him in the future.Easy girl, calm down. He’s just your sperm donor.
“And how are you doing with being back?”
“Oh, not well.” His eyebrows arched, and his voice took on the guise of someone explaining an accident with too much cheer and enthusiasm, and she couldn’t help her laughter. “Not well atall, Moriah. Ineedpeople. I need to be social, and this whole ‘stay at home every day’ business is killing me. I’m not good at holding still.”
She’d already noticed that. His fingers tapped on the side of his water glass as though it were the fretboard of a guitar, and he was ripping through his big solo. His knee had not stopped bouncing beneath the table, his fingertips leaving the side of his glass at one point to stir his ice so aggressively that the cubes gave up, kissing their futile existence goodbye and disappearing in the maelstrom within the glass. He seemed to be a flurry of movement and energy at all times, even when he was ostensibly holding still . . . but his eyes were expressive and bright, his smile wide and toothy, the exact opposite of her ex-husband in nearly every way. Sorben could sit like a stone, unblinking, barely breathing, often leaving her feeling like she was in the room alone.
“What about you? You’re the human. Are-are you okay with being out today? I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about —”
“I’m good,” she assured him, offering him a sunny smile, which he tentatively returned. “I work from home, so it wasn’t much of an adjustment. It’s difficult to get stuff in right now, that’s been the biggest challenge at work, but I’m already used to staying home every day. I’m afraid to be out around humans right now, so it’s a good thing I don’t need to be. Idoknow what you mean, though. I miss talking to people. And I didn’t realize how much time I actually spent talking with my neighbors and people at the grocery store, just little things. It’s hard being cooped up all day with nothing but my own thoughts. Sometimes they’re not the happiest place to be.”
“Yes, exactly!” He exclaimed in agreement again. “My head is full of jealousy and horniness and existential depression, and it is thelastplace I want to be. Being home is . . . hard, I can’t even convincingly lie about it. It’s mostly horrible. I’m the middle child of six, and all of my family still lives in the area. Growing up, it was already too easy to feel lost in the crowd, and now that I don’t even have any friends or distractions here? It’s miserable. If I have to spend much more time with just myself for company, I’m going to wind up walking into traffic.”
They were going to be asked to leave, she thought, wheezing in laughter again, earning the goblin’s stare once more. Despite the server’s stern glare, Moriah was glad she’d chosen this place. The restaurants and coffee shops near the industrial park did a brisk enough lunch business, but none were top-tier, and most of the Cambric Creek executive elites ordered in from their favorite shops on Main Street or huddled into the Black Sheep on their lunch breaks. The little café was sparsely populated, perfect for their little rendezvous.
“I have specific spots I like to sit in during the day,” she offered after a moment, controlling her laughter as the goblin came by with their drinks. “Like, in the morning, I’ll sit at the desk I have near my back door, overlooking the yard. It gets lots of light, so I have some hanging plants and a few prism crystals, so it’s really nice. I pretend I’m living out my European cottage core fantasies. Then, by mid-morning, when I really need to buckle down and get to work, I move to my main workspace. It’s a repurposed architect’s desk, and everything around it is all wood with black metal hinges and brackets with gold accents. Feels very old world, like old Eastern European villages; that’s how I have it decorated. During my break for lunch, I move to my little breakfast nook. I have a little wrought iron table and chairs, and it’s all painted pastel pink and buttercream, and I like to pretend I’m at a cute little French sidewalk café. Then after lunch, I’m usually sad because I’m not actually in a little French sidewalk café, and I remember I haven’t left my house in three days, I’m wearing the ratty old sweater from undergrad I should have thrown away a decade ago, and I haven’t had a reason to wash my hair in a week. So then I go sulk in my basket chair by the bay window.”
Lowell was laughing again, nodding as if he understood completely.
“Oh, I have several dedicated moping areas. I’m staying with my brother right now; he works really long hours, so I usually have the house to myself. I’ll go from bedroom to bedroom and pretend I’m in a hotel some days, just to break up the monotony. I have a lot of incense from some of the temples I’ve visited, and I’ll burn some and try to meditate and pretend I’m still there and not eating my sixty-third bowl of cereal for the week in someone else’s house. I like to lay on top of the pool cover in the afternoon. He just closed it up for the season, so now I can’t pretend I’m training for the Olympics anymore, but at least it’s like a waterbed.”
“Were you going to qualify for the team?” she asked cheekily, enjoying that she wasn’t the only one who submersed herself in fantasies of being somewhere else every day.
“Oh, I was already there. Medaled in two events, but then I choked on my backstroke.Everyonefucks in the Olympic Village, so that’s a nice perk. It was definitely not just me alone on a flamingo-shaped pool floatie. Overall, I made a respectable showing; I’m optimistic I’ll make the team again.”
Tears were streaming down her cheeks as he went on, one of the two satyresses at a table across the room turning to look at them before bending her head to her companion to whisper.
“I also like to lie on the roof of the garage and contemplate the futility of getting out of bed every day. Sometimes I’ll contort myself into really horrific positions, just in case one of those mapping drones is flying around, so it looks like my brother keeps corpses on the roof.”
The satyresses both turned to stare then, heads coming together to whisper again, as Moriah imagined him stretched out like a long, lean, sexy crime scene photo on his brother’s roof.He can come lie naked on my roof, and we can really give the drone something to see.
“Oh! Then one day, I went exploring and found a sensory deprivation tank in his bathroom, and it was theworsttrip. Like, it’s bad enough not having anyone to talk to all day and being trapped in my own head when I’m outside, out in the world. That was like a nightmare, though. I actuallyhadnightmares for, like, a whole week after. I couldn’t tell if I was the voice in my head or if I onlyexistedin the voice in my head, like my whole life has just been a big illusion and I’m someone else’s daydream. Zero out of ten experience, donotrecommend.”
“I love the fact thatexploringsomehow led to your brother’s bathroom. That feels like a fancy word for snooping,” she giggled, her face beginning to ache from the force of her smile.
