Page 88 of I Did Something Bad
I snort despite myself. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I… I didn’t want to implicate you, and also… I didn’t…”
“What?” Thidar prompts when I trail off.
I inhale, no longer able to avoid what I know is the truth. “Also, I felt likesucha huge disappointment. Every night, I would lie awake in bed and stare off into space, wondering what the fuck happened. I didn’t have a marriage. I didn’t have a house. And while Ben was so goddamn happy with his new sweet and talented photographer girlfriend, I was running around the city dodging the police after having murdered a man. Oh, and I was also head over heels in love with a guy who IknewI couldn’t be in love with, but still I was, like a complete fool, and I couldn’t do anything about it. It felt like I couldn’t doanythingright anymore. Do you know how humiliating it is for your husband to divorce you after less than a year of being married? It felt… it felt like he’d been right to leave me.”
Nay snatches another tissue and dabs my cheeks. “No, but wedoknow how unhappy you were during those last months of your relationship.”
I face her to make sure I heard right. “What?”
Her smile is kind. “You weren’t happy anymore. We could all see it.Of coursewe were still rooting for you both, but… Ben made the right call, Khin.”
“But I did everything right,” I say bitterly.
“I know. And I know itsucksthat it still didn’t work out,” Thidar says, pushing away wet strands of hair from my forehead. “But that’s what happens in life sometimes. Things just… don’t work out. Sometimes you fall out of love. And nothing you could’ve done or said would’ve stopped that.” When she slants her head downward to look at me, I’m not expecting to find her eyes glistening with tears. “It hurt, you know, that you wouldn’t talk to us about it. We saw what you were doing to cope.”
“To—”
“Look around.” Nay chuckles and makes a wide, open gesturewith one hand. “You bought the most expensive apartment your half of the house money would let you. And we know you like nice things, but this? This isn’t merely a new apartment, this is a ‘fuck my ex-husband, I’m doing better than I ever was’ apartment. That, and the rug, and the wardrobe, and the nonstop freelance assignments you buried yourself under. We know you. You were trying to prove you were okay, and instead of admitting to us that you weren’t, you distracted yourself.”
Despite myself, I want to laugh. How did I ever think I was successfully lying to them? How did I ever convince myself that these women, my people, people who know me down to my blood and bones, would fall for the mirage? “I didn’t know how,” I say. “All I wanted to do every time I thought about it was cry.”
“Then you could’ve just done that,” Nay says, and when I look at her,she’scrying, too.
“And what? Show weakness? Never. God, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”
She doesn’t accept the joke. “It’s not weakness. Something terrible happened to you. You lost your marriage. Your relationship. Your partner. You could’ve called us up every night at twoA.M., and we would’ve answered, and we never would’ve pitied you or thought you’d failed or whatever else you’ve been telling yourself this whole time, because that’s not how our love works. But we needed you to talk to us, and you wouldn’t—”
“Because that’s not what you do when you fail,” I say, aware how stubborn I sound. “When you fail at something, you don’t sit and wallow. You get back up and make a plan and you try harder next time.”
“Khin.” Nay wiggles closer until our toes are touching. “Yourmarriageended.Of courseyou sit and wallow. Not forever, but definitely for a fucking while. We love how determined and driven you are, you know that. We love your planning and your Post-its—”
“And your color coordination—” Thidar adds.
“So many colors!” Nay yells, and I chuckle. “But some things in life, you can’t plan. And some losses, you can’t just dust yourself off and immediately bounce back from. Despite what you’ve been trying to convince us, we’re aware your spine isn’t actually made of steel.”
After a pause, Thidar clears her throat. “Are you really moving to Singapore?”
I consider before I answer. “If I get the job. But I have to deliver on the article first. And to be honest, I don’t want to write it anymore. I don’t have the words or the emotional capacity or, even on a practical level, the time. The draft is due in two weeks, and right now, I can’t even write something that’s good enough for an Intro to Journalism blog post.”
“Youaregoing to get this job.” Thidar states it like a fact. “Because you’re you, and I know it might not seem like it right now, but if you want this, if you really want this, you will rally and you will write a damn good article and you will get the job. That’s not the question here.”
“She’s right,” Nay says with a determined nod. “Youwillget the job.Ifyou want it and you write this piece. But Khin, do you actually want to move to Singapore? Do you even…” She studies me with caution before finishing, “Wantthe job?”
“It’sVogue,” I reply automatically.
“Yeah, andVogueis impressive,” she says, pursing her lips. “But isVogueyou? IsVoguethe career you want? This is your first celebrity profile, right?” I nod. “Do you like it? Do you want to do more of this?”
“What we’re trying to ask,” Thidar says, “is whether you want this job because youwantthis job, or because you don’t want to be here. Because if it’s the latter and you’re simply running?” She smiles, seeing right through me in that way only the two of them ever do. “Ihate to break it to you, but you might get to Singapore and realize you still want to run. You can’t outrun this. Sometimes, no plan is better than a bad plan.”
“So what do I do? Just sit around feeling shitty?”
“Pretty much,” she says, throwing her hands in the air, her legs under my head jostling with the movement. “You sit there, and you feel shitty, because that’s how people feel when they have to sit in a pile of shit. And then eventually, you realize you don’twantto feel shitty anymore, and you work on it. And every day, there’s a little less shit to deal with until one day, poof. No more shit. Or maybe a little shit.”
“But not a giant football field of shit,” Nay adds.
I snort. “You guys are making it soundreallyappealing.”
“That’s life,” Nay says with a shrug. “One day, you’re profiling the biggest movie star in the world, and the next, you’re being forced to sit in a field of shit.”
