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“Gone home and worried about the gas leak. Or just worked at another of the restaurants.”
“Because you love restaurants?”
Xenia feels me picking at her again. She goes a little stiff in my arms. I sense she’s considering whether to sit up and create distance between us. Instead, she admires me and tries to explain herself.
“You live wherever you want, right?” When I nod, she asks, “But you’re a part of the club?” Again, I nod, and she tries to imagine my life. “Do you see your club friends all the time?”
“I can go weeks without seeing them. Went a few months without running into Nomad, face to face.”
“So, you just show up and they want to spend time with you?”
“I’m a good friend to have.”
“Well, I’m not. I had several friends in high school. We weren’t super tight like some people, but we hung out every day. But while I got swallowed up by work, they did normal life-changing things. Resentments popped up. Like, when I didn’t take time off for my friend’s birthday party. Or I needed to work a shift at a restaurant and missed my other friend’s college graduation. Or a chef called in sick, so I skipped a friend’s engagement dinner.”
The corners of Xenia’s mouth make a sad downturn. “It wasn’t all at once. I didn’t feel like I was letting them down. I thought they would understand. They had school and boyfriends while I worked. But things built up, and one missed party added to the next. Soon, no one invited me anymore. By the time I realized I had no friends, it was too late.”
“I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around your life,” I say, and she frowns. “You worked all the time. No friends or fun, but I get the feeling you didn’t really like working.”
“I liked feeling needed,” she replies, sounding defensive. “Important, I guess.”
Xenia sighs and sinks deeper into herself. When my fingers brush against her soft, flushed cheek, she digs her way out of her head and sees what’s in front of her.
Right then, I picture her in Vegas. She never faced what bothered her. When things went wrong, she hid in her head. No one was around to help pull her out. I can imagine the harsh wakeup call she felt when her parents died and she became fully aware of all the time she wasted.
“You moved here alone,” I say when she watches me. “That took guts. You’re not weak. Why not just take the same chances with everything else?”
“I don’t want to travel the world alone,” she says, pouting now. “I’m afraid to buy a house when I’m unsure what I’ll be doing in several years.”
“And you didn’t buy anything in Vegas?”
“Because I wasn’t home enough to maintain a house,” she says and then looks around. “Besides, I always figured I’d buy a place here.”
“But you never visited.”
“What if I didn’t like it? My dream required a lack of details.”
“Do you like McMurdo Valley?”
“It’s beautiful here.”
“But?”
“But nothing. I don’t know anything about this town. I just work or sit in my tiny house.”
“You went on a date.”
“Two of them actually,” she says and then looks at me like I’m supposed to ask her out now. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
“So, you figured the homeless guy would be desperate enough to settle for you?”
An outraged Xenia’s mouth pops open and her eyes widen. I chuckle at her reaction. She isn’t sure how to take my laughter.
“Just kidding,” I say when she looks ready to cry. “I know you want me for my body, not because you’re desperate.”
Xenia blinks away her tears and grudgingly smiles. “I don’t know why I want you. You’re kinda awful.”
Chuckling again, I like how she fights a grin.
