CHAPTER 28
NIGHTS go like this: Daniel gets home, laconically replies to an increasingly concerned Alex before he leaves for work, cooks dinner, has a beer, gets in bed, and watches Netflix until he can bear falling asleep. Sweet Potato trails him even more than usual, sits on his chest and purrs until his eyes close. Returns the moment they open again.
That conversation at Survival Club lasted mere minutes, and six months of friendship, gone.
He called three times. Once that night, once the next day, once the day after. Left voice mails. Four text messages, one each day since it became apparent that she wouldn’t pick up his call. Asking for a chance to talk in person, at first, but by the last one he just wanted to confirm that if he sent her an email, she’d read it. Radio silence.
It’s been a full week, and here he is, about to be late to work, deleting and retyping his fifth message.
Daniel
i don’t expect you to respond to this. i don’t want to make you uncomfortable, so i’m letting the crew know i won’t be there tonight. if you change your mind, you know how to reach me.
Daniel to SSC
hey guys, i have so much work to catch up on today, so you should go ahead without me.
It’s a transparent out, but not technically untrue. Sweet Potato’s purring on his chest intensifies. In his deep dive into cat behavior the day of her spontaneous adoption, Daniel learned that cats purr at a frequency that promotes healing. He scratches behind her ears. “Not sure it’s gonna work for this one, but thanks anyway, Sweet P.”
Daniel wishes, more than anything, that he could wish he hadn’t met Liyah. It would be easier that way, to call the last few months a wash and move on. To tell himself that she was right, and he doesn’t really love her after all. If only.
Days go like this: Daniel misjudges the timing of his train, arrives slightly late to work, thinks of Liyah telling him to stop blaming his Jewish internal clock on the CTA. Daniel works, or pretends to work. It’s hard to tell the difference. Jordan pops in to “get his opinion on something” three times more than usual, ignores the dark circles under Daniel’s eyes. They eat lunch. More work. Bus to L to home. Laconically replies to an increasingly concerned Alex before he leaves for work. Etcetera.
Today—slightly different. When they sit down in their favorite Lebanese lunch spot, Jordan says, “I’m really, really sorry about last week. I shouldn’t have kept pushing her like that, and it blew up on you.”
Daniel swallows his bite of shawarma and takes a big gulp of water, deciding how to respond. He settles on, “It’s not on you, man. I shouldn’t have … it was not the right time. You couldn’t know that it would go that way.”
“No, Liyah was right.” Jordan’s voice catches on her name, as if he’s worried about Daniel’s reaction. “I wasn’t tryna catch you in the act, but Siobhan and I guessed a while ago, so even telling her she didn’t have to name names, I knew I was flying close to the sun. I didn’t realize how bad you’d caught feelings, but it wasn’t cool. So, I’m sorry.”
“Thanks, I guess.” Daniel chews. “This is something you and Siobhan talk about?”
Jordan shakes his head. “I know that’s part of what upset Liyah, but it ain’t even like that. We only had two conversations. One was about how we thought y’all were sleeping together—that was that first SSC back at Prohibition after the Chanukah party. And on the way home a few weeks before that, I said I thought you were crushing mad hard, and Siobhan said she thought Liyah fancied you. It didn’t go beyond that, I promise.”
“Wow,” is all Daniel can think to say.
“Wow what?”
He shrugs. “You and Siobhan picked up on things pretty fast, is all. Guess we’re not as sly as we thought.”
They eat in silence for a few minutes, and Daniel wonders if he’s off the hook for the rest of the conversation. Fat chance, knowing Jordan, but he might as well enjoy his lunch staring blankly out the window while he can.
“Hey, man.” Sure enough, Jordan comes back with his anxious-older-brother voice. “You sure you don’t want to join us tonight? I’m sure work can wait,” he adds, like they don’t both know it was a limp excuse.
“She still hasn’t spoken to me.”
“At all?”
“Not a thing. I’ve thought about sending her an email, because I don’t even know if she’s been checking the texts…” Daniel shakes his head. “I don’t want this to be the first time I see her.”
Jordan rubs his hand over his chin. “Damn. Okay, I get it if you want to sit this one out. But I think Survival Club has been good for you. For all of us, man. I know it’s fucking corny, but I love y’all. I really do. Siobhan’s been dating, and Liyah delegated at work, and sometimes doesn’t expect the worst to happen. I’ve spent some time single, and it’s good. And you went to therapy!”
“Yeah.”
When he says no more, Jordan frowns. “Look, man, I’m getting worried. I haven’t seen you this bad since your dad passed.”
Daniel sighs. “I meant what I told her. I knew the deal, that we were supposed to be friends. But some small part of me thought she might feel the same way. Or at least care about me enough not to ghost.”
“Dude, she does care about you. You know Liyah, though. She think she too hard for feelings. She might just need a little bit of time.”
“I don’t know how much time I can give her.”
“That’s up to you to decide. But don’t lose hope.”
“A little tone deaf, don’t you think?”
Jordan flashes his charming grin. “I can’t help it. Too many romantic comedies and pornos, remember?”
Daniel can’t muster the energy to pretend to laugh. He thinks he convinces the corners of his mouth to turn upward, but who’s to say?
“Damn, not even a smile. Okay. You sure you can be on your own tonight? I could tell S and L that I’m on a last-minute project with you.”
Daniel waves him off. “No, don’t do that. I’ll be…” Good? Definitely not. Fine would be a lie, too. “I can handle myself for one Friday night.”
Jordan scans his entire face, as if looking for the single eyebrow hair or muscle twitch that’ll tell him Daniel’s about to crash. He finds none. “Okay, man. Hit me whenever and I’ll be there.”
Daniel mutters his appreciation, eats more shawarma, and then he’s back at work.
Work goes well, it seems. Brett stops by to congratulate Daniel on a job well done with a firm handshake and a clap on the shoulder. Daniel knows that with Jordan, Brett eschews handshakes altogether and only offers awkward fist bumps. Another answer to the eternal question of Daniel’s and Jordan’s employment at Kinley: is it an age thing or a race thing?
Brett tells him that the CTA loved his digital work. He knew as much since they already had him convert some of the online promos for their social media profiles to physical ads, but it’s a shock to Daniel that anyone at Kinley was paying attention. “They went up in a bunch of trains and buses last night.”
Daniel plasters on his best phony smile—the kind that would fool all but three people in his life. Or two, now. “That’s great news. It was a pleasure working with them; I’m so happy they liked it.”
“It was good stuff, I told ya. ‘Where you go on it,’” he misquotes. Daniel tries not to stare at the obscenely high, gelled, blond coif. “Genius, bro. Genius. I haven’t heard back about final numbers for the Field, but they’ve seemed happy so far. I thought these accounts would be total duds, but you’ve made Kinley look good. We put some bullshit on the website about how we’re invested in helping local public services—it’s great marketing for us.” Daniel smiles again, telling himself that he’s okay with Brett using whatever rationale he sees fit. “Keep up the good work.” Brett exits the office, shooting finger guns at Daniel as he leaves.
That was great news. Daniel should be elated. He’s not, though. Obviously.
At five o’clock, Daniel makes his way to a coffee shop around the corner from his office, waiting there until he’s sure he won’t cross paths with Alex at home. He’s acting like a melodramatic teenager. It might be cause for embarrassment in a few days, but right now, it feels necessary for survival.
Sweet Potato greets him at the door, extends her paw to pat his cheek. The little pink pads on the bottoms of her feet are the cutest in the world. Have you checked? Liyah would ask if she were here. I don’t have to, I just know, he’d reply.
He heads to the fridge, pulling out a beer and a Tupperware of leftover pasta that he doesn’t bother to reheat. Sweet Potato impatiently meows as he settles on the couch, then curls into her favorite position on his lap.
Eyes glued to a muted Chicago Sky game, Daniel alternates between his beer, food, and Sweet Potato. Sip, bite, pet, repeat. He hasn’t once looked away from the screen, but if someone asked who was winning, he’s not sure he could tell them.
The phone rings. FaceTime from Kayla. He considers letting it ring out, but he’s done that twice this week. He attempts to fix his hair—which probably only makes him look more disheveled—before answering.
Instead of his sister’s face, the screen fills with a pixelated image of her living room wall, a framed artwork he doesn’t recognize taking up most of the space.
“Danny! What do you think?”
“I think you need to hold your phone still so that it can focus.”
“Sorry! I’m just excited. I’ve been trying to show you all week.” Kayla steadies her hand, and the image crystalizes: a vintage Coca-Cola advertisement, circa 1900. In beautiful hand lettering, it boasts being charming, healthful, the most refreshing drink in the world. Five cents at soda founts and carbonated in bottles. The ideal drink for discriminating people. “Is it cool or dumb? I saw it at a thrift store and loved it, but now I’m kinda worried that it’s weird to have an ad for a pop I don’t even drink in my living room.”
“Very cool, Noona. We studied an ad like this in one of my classes in college.”
“Okay, glad to have a seal of approval from the Rosenberg family ad expert. Where’s my feline niece?” She switches the camera so her face comes into view. Her wavy hair is piled atop her head in one of those clawlike clips that Daniel loved playing with growing up. Dark eyebrows knit together and mauve painted lips frown, Kayla apparently having looked at Daniel’s face on her screen for the first time. “Danny, what’s wrong? I knew you were avoiding me! I told myself you were just busy, but I should’ve listened to my Spidey senses tingling.”
Where to begin? “You were right.”
“Of course I was. What about?”
“Liyah. I was gonna tell her, I swear. I waited too long, and it”—he borrows a phrase from Jordan—“blew up on me.”
“Oh, Danny. I’m so sorry. She told you she didn’t feel the same way? I have to say, I didn’t really expect that, but I guess you never know.” She could say I told you so, but she doesn’t, and he’s thankful.
Daniel rubs his temple. “I wish. She didn’t tell me anything! She got mad at me for saying it and basically said I’m the same piece of shit I was at thirteen and stormed out—which, okay, I did say it in front of Jordan and Siobhan, so I get that.” Kayla’s eyebrows shoot up half an inch. “But she didn’t answer my calls or respond to my texts asking for a chance to apologize and explain. I’m starting to think she might have me blocked.”
“Do the messages say delivered underneath them?” Daniel checks the thread, trying not to visibly wince at the sea of uninterrupted blue that takes up the entire screen. Sure enough, there’s a tiny Delivered printed under the final text bubble. He nods. “I don’t think you’re blocked, then.”
Daniel sighs, nervously running his fingers through his hair. “She doesn’t have read receipts, though. I still don’t know whether she’s seen them.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you actually explained and apologized? Or did you just ask for the chance?”
“The latter,” Daniel grumbles. “But I asked if she’d read an email I sent, and she didn’t respond. Besides, it’s not like I’m the only one who has something to apologize for.”
“I’m sure you aren’t, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be the first to do it.”
She’s right. Of course she’s right. But that doesn’t mean he likes it. “Isn’t that, like, harassment? I wasn’t planning on sending any more texts. I don’t think she wants to be contacted,” he tries.
“I’m telling you to send her one email, Danny. You can let her contact you after that. Don’t show up at her apartment in the middle of the night or at her office unannounced, and you’re good.”
Daniel is quiet for a long moment, working to accept the idea. “What if she never replies? What if she never speaks to me again?”
Kayla purses her lips. “What exactly did you say to her? Was it unforgivable?”
Daniel shakes his head. “It was more the way I said it than what I said.” Unfeeling. Not his best choice of words. “Mostly. There was one thing … she was being condescending and it pissed me off, so I said she was above the way she was acting and asked why she was being so unfeeling, or something like that. Not great.”
“Right, not great. Not exactly evil, either. You want my take?” She’s clearly about to give it regardless. “If you send her something heartfelt and she never talks to you again, then she wasn’t worthy of your friendship or your love in the first place.”
Maybe that’s somewhat true, but it can’t totally be. Yom Kippur, the snowstorm, his dad’s Jesa-Yahrzeit. Liyah is a friend to him. That doesn’t just go away. “Okay,” he says noncommittally.
“You’ll write the email?”
“I will,” he replies, unsure whether he’s lying.
Kayla tells him that she loves him and to take care of himself, and he asks her a few more questions about where she got the advertisement and what she’s doing this weekend, and then they hang up and he’s alone in the stillness of his apartment once again.
He disturbs Sweet Potato to retrieve a second beer. Again, to find the clicker and unmute the game. The Sky win; blue and yellow confetti bursts across the screen. A game show starts. He switches to Netflix.
Clueless is suggested, an 82 percent match based on his watching history.
Fuck.
He extracts his laptop from his workbag and pulls up the browser tab permanently open to his email.
To: Aliyah Cohen-Jackson <[email protected]>
From: Daniel Rosenberg <[email protected]>
RE: write a subject before sending this
Dear Liyah,
Nope. Fuck, that feels weird and formal. He tries again:
To Liyah:
He’s never addressed an email that way. He checks his other email threads with Liyah. They usually don’t address each other at all. It feels wrong to just jump into this message, though. He goes with:
Liyah—
I’m not sure if you’ll read this, but I hope you do. It feels important that I send it anyway.
A swig of his third beer gives him the courage to go onward. He types out three paragraphs of utter nonsense, then does his best to mold it into something intelligible. After several reworkings and a few scrapped sentences, there’s not much more to do. Reading it aloud only takes him so far. As if making sure it’s perfectly free from typos will change her mind.
He rewrites the subject line as I’m Sorry and checks his watch. She’ll be in the middle of Survival Club right now. One o’clock on Saturday is an innocuous time; usually, they’d be at a café ironing out logistics for their next event by then, so she isn’t likely to be in the middle of anything. He schedules the send time and shuts his laptop before he can continue his second-guessing.
Later, when he’s in bed watching Clueless, he gets a text from Jordan.
Jordan
I think you should write the email.
A few of the last evaporating droplets of hope replenish as he drifts off to sleep.