Page 32 of Hello Stranger

The Pajanket came same-day delivery, and after I zipped myself into it, I swore I would never take it off ever again. It was basically a rectangular human-sized pillowcase with holes at each corner for hands and feet. The foot-holes had booties and the hand-holes had mittens. And the neck had a hoodie. And the plush, buttery, nothing-can-ever-hurt-you-again fabric they’d sewn it out of? Velvety on both sides.

It was all I could do not to order a thousand.

And so I stayed home. I was on this. Ihadthis. I was fine.

I was, as always, completely, utterly, astonishingly okay—putting my life back in order without too much fuss.

I shut down my Etsy shop. I put a note on the page and on my Instagram that read: “AT CAPACITY! Thanks for all your orders! This shop is taking an eight-week hiatus. Not accepting new commissions.”

That sounded pretty good, right? Like I was just at capacity with work because of the unstoppable thirst the world had for my portraits?

Not like I was at capacityemotionally.

Or like my entire life was crumbling.

Or like I was afraid to leave the house.

Not doing any portraits would mean no money coming in. But there wasn’t a choice there. Maybe I’d charge all my bills to my dad’s credit card, too. Maybe it was all about attitude. If a little punishment was good, wouldn’t a lot of punishment be better?

I wondered if Mr. Kim would let me charge the rent.

When I felt a rising sense of panic, I tried to see it as a positive. After all these years of nonstop hustling, it might be nice to unchain myself from my Etsy shop for a bit. Though I’d still have to check the comments every day. Most people said nice things most of the time, but occasionally a nutter slipped through with a comment like “These portraits look like circus clowns.”

Anyway, that was life online. You had to keep an eye on the crazies.Blockanddelete.

Kinda like the rest of my life right now.

I had groceries delivered. I took careful showers.

And I tried—and failed—over and over to make myself go get Peanut at the vet clinic.

Peanut, who I missed constantly in my Peanut-less apartment.

That’s how bad it was: I left myonly familyboarded at the vet for three extra days because I couldn’t talk myself into leaving my building. And also, more than anything, because I was terrified that when we were finally reunited, I might not be able to see his face.

FINALLY, IN Aprofound act of courage, I did it. I took a shower, got dressed, and walked—as carefully as if I might slip on an icy sidewalk—two blocks filled with pixelated-faced strangers until I arrived at a vet clinic I’d never been to filled with people I’d never met.

We were in the Warehouse District, so I wasn’t surprised to find that this clinic was in a warehouse. I was surprised, however, by the speaker system blasting perky oldies into the waiting area.

As I checked in, I said, “Fun music.”

“What?” a faceless receptionist looked up and asked.

“The music!” I said, projecting a little louder. Then I gave a thumbs-up.

She pointed at the speakers. “We’re trying to mask all the jackhammering from the construction next door.”

“Ah,” I said.

“It stresses the animals out,” she said, clicking around on the computer to pull up my bill. “But playing Sam Cooke seems to help.”

As the bill came off the printer, she read it and said, “Oh, you’re Peanut’s mom!”

Mom?I don’t know. More likesibling. Or BFF. But I just said, “Yes.”

“He’s a big fan of the music,” she said. “Did you know he’s a Louis Armstrong guy?”

“I mean, it doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “He’s a very cultured dog.”

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