“Okay, BRB!”
Jane eyed the image reflected in the bathroom mirror. She almost didn’t recognize herself and wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Kelsey sauntered back in right when it was about time for Jane to go.
“Hey... sorry... kids came home and they needed some mommy time. In truth, I have sort of been feeling foggy. Did I tell you about San Pedro?”
“Excuse me?”
“I did this San Pedro ritual, it’s, like, a thing in Peru, totallya natural plant—I think a cactus or something—that opens your heart. It’s better than therapy. I mean, itistherapy. Anyway, I did it over the weekend. There’s a shaman and she brings it here, and I was up a lot last night. It messes with your sleep and I’m sort of tired, but wow—it was amazing.”
Kelsey needing a drug to open herself up struck Jane as improbable.
“You should try it, Jane! You seem burdened by heartache, but you can work this stuff out. Everyone is all into ayahuasca but that’s more like a Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride kind of deal, whereas San Pedro is really gentle. They say ayahuasca opens your mind, but San Pedro opens your heart... and I needed that because my ex-husband basically turned me into a stone-cold bitch; he was such an asshole. I would go do it again, but I have kid obligations all weekend.”
Jane demurred. “I’m not so into drugs. I don’t even really like to smoke weed.”
“Well, you should google this. It’s a plant, not a drug,” Kelsey said authoritatively. “I’m going to text you the info.”
As Jane debated whether to explain that being a plant and a drug were not mutually exclusive, Kelsey looked around the bathroom, opening some drawers.
“Jane, you are amazing! I only wish I could hire you to be my assistant....”
Jane imagined what this would be like: a porous arrangement where she would be expected not only to deal with the mechanics of daily life that overwhelmed Kelsey, but also to be her friend, to support and encourage her. It would, in short, be a living hell. But nonetheless, Kelsey’s admiration was flattering.
“That would be fun, but I like what I do.”
“Yeah. I can’t afford you anyway, but a girl can dream!”
Driving home, Jane stole glances of herself in the rear-view mirror. She thought about sending a picture to Anna to get her opinion, but that would seem pathetically needy. Maybe the best litmus was Teddy.
She texted him.
Jane: hi teddy.
Fifteen minutes later, he responded.
Teddy: hey J sup?
She hated this type of communication. There was no nuance to it, and it was too easy to attribute all kinds of imagined subtext. She decided to call instead.
Teddy picked up on the third ring, answering with a nonchalance that made Jane wonder if it was put on for her benefit: “Sup, Jay?”
The argot of bro-dom had become the lingua franca of straight millennial men. It was really annoying, especially since all of the public censure was directed at the vocal fry characteristic of millennial women.
“Hi, Teddy. How was your day?”
“Usual. You?”
“Mine was kind of crazy, you know, the people I work for are always something.... I was wondering if you wanted to meet for dinner? It seems like we haven’t hung out for a while.”
A long silence. Then:
“Why, Jane,whydo you want to hang out with me?”
Huh? She didn’t see that coming. “Because I miss you, Teddy.”
After a long, pregnant pause, Teddy asked, “Why?”
