Page 76 of Caught A Vibe

I scroll through studio and one-bedroom apartments, since I can maybe afford my own space now with this salaried gig. Of course that means I’ll have to keep said salaried gig, which whittles away more of my soul every day. My fingers begin to pick twitch against her bedspread, picking and pulling, as my anxiety spikes.

I find a few listings decent enough to save. I’ll have to ask Rishi about neighborhoods I can afford, because I’m still clueless about large swaths of LA. I really don’t want to try and acclimate to yet another round of roommates. If I can find my own space, I can keep it however I like.

Penny comes in and plops on the bed beside me, and I flip my phone facedown on the bed.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was mean, and you didn’t deserve it. I’m in a shit mood, and when I’m pissed, I rage clean. It’s not your fault.”

“The dishes in the sink were my fault. And the laundry I forgot in the washer, again.”

“Again? It’s gonna stink!” Penny stops herself and waves her hands in front of her face. “That’s not the point. You didn’t deserve to have me snap at you over some stupid dishes. You’re not why I’m pissed.”

“But I’m part of it.”

“No, that’s not—”

“Penny,” I say quietly, cutting off her protest before I continue. “You don’t have to lie. I’m messy and complicated and not worth the trouble. I forget to do things all the time. I’m a shit roommate. Don’t sugarcoat it.”

“Don’t put words into my mouth, Dash.”

“I don’t have to. You said as much in the kitchen.”

Penny sighs and grips her knees with her hands until her knuckles whiten. “I think I’m going to have to close the company.”

My head snaps up, self-pity party shelved for now. “What do you mean?”

“I think we’ve reached the final straw. Our factory had to shut down because of Covid outbreaks. They are going to be several weeks behind on production at least.”

“That sucks.”

“After all of the earlier delays, I don’t have any buffer. I have orders coming in I cannot fill and have to refund. Without those orders, I can’t pay the bills or cover payroll beyond the end of the month. I have tried every venture capital firm I can think of to get bridge funding. Several have notices of suspension of applications due to Covid. Even more have posted waitlists of up to six months. Half of them don’t even have anyone answering the phones. I know because I’ve called them all over the last week, trying to sweet talk my way into a deal to float us until the enforced quarantine in our factory ends, but who even knows when that will be… I’ve cut every corner I can cut. I can make it through the end of the month on duct tape and a G-string.”

I can hear how every hit she’s taken this morning has dented her confidence a little more as her voice gives away her anxiety. She must be reeling. Not only is her professional life spinning out of control, I’m throwing a wrench in her orderly home life as well.

She runs out of steam and collapses back on the bed. I can’t think of anything to say. There is no bright side here. I don’t even know how I can help her.

“I’m so sorry.” The words feel empty, useless, like me, but they’re all I can find.

“So am I. I’ve been crabby about it all morning, since your first alarm woke me up early and I read my overnight emails. I couldn’t fall back asleep for worrying.”

God, I’m an asshole.I hadn’t even thought about my snooze alarm bugging Penny. Maybe I’m truly not cut out for cohabitation.

“So you see? It’s not your fault.”

I don’t see anything of the sort. I see a woman I care about at her wits end, and I am not helping the situation at all.

“What were you doing when I came in? It looked serious,” she asks as she sits up next to me and smoothes the covers between us flat again.

“Just paying some bills.” The lie trips off my tongue and shames me, but I cannot add one more worry to her life right now. I can only do my best to remove a few.

By lunch, tensions have cooled to a simmer. I put together fancy grilled cheese sandwiches for us, so I can wrap up the pandemic paninis and wine pairings that will come out tonight. But when I sit down to write a new required article for the week, I’ve got nothing. Nada. Every idea is stupid or trite.

Who the hell wants another article about the pandemic? I sure as hell don’t. I’ve run out of ways to make isolation funny. And now that there is all this pressure attached, my brain has noped itself out of the situation. This is exactly what I was afraid of when I took the promotion. Why can’t I just write about the farm game that everyone and their brother is playing right now? The daily price of turnips sounds a lot more interesting than whether or not I put avocado on my toast.

When I’m excited about a project, deadlines are fantastic motivators. When I’m not, they are the ultimate energy suck.

Scrolling through TikTok for a while, searching for inspiration, I find dance challenges I will never learn and sourdough art which reminds me to feed the mutant growing in the back of the fridge, but nothing screams “technological advances.” I switch to doomscrolling other platforms and come up empty-handed several hours later, having been distracted by the cat and cucumber videos.

Now all I want is fancy toast and a Callie snuggle. But Callie is eyeing me disdainfully from the top of the fridge, as if she knows the thoughts in my head are worthless. I have no toast and no idea what to write about.

---