Any Way Out - 9. Ambition and Drive

Four years earlier

Whack, whack, whack! Whack-whack!

“It’s open, Sarah!”

Ashlee looked up from her laptop long enough to see a figure bedecked in pink plaid pajamas moping into her apartment at Jefferson Lofts, blond curls bouncing grumpily with each stomp. A limp brown paper bag hung from Sarah’s right hand. Refocusing on her Political Theory essay, Ashlee heard her few dishes rattle in the cupboard as Sarah clomped into the kitchenette, followed by the crumple of kraft paper and four metallic bangs in the refrigerator. Ashlee’s attention was arrested then as two sweaty tallboys of Icehouse materialized on the little round table-cum-desk in front of her. Sarah dragged an extra chair up across from Ashlee and collapsed into it, an expectant pout on her face. Salty flecks and greasy streaks on her glasses definitely belied some sort of personal tragedy.

Ashlee’s blood pressure inched up as rings of moisture collected at the cans’ bases. “Um, coasters, please,” she squeaked out.

Sarah sighed dramatically, but honored the request. She even brought a stack of napkins to blot away the offending puddles. Reprising her bad-tempered slump, Sarah cracked one of the tubes and slid the other closer to the laptop. After sliding the dripping can back away from her computer, Ashlee started the conversation.

“So, do you wanna talk about it?”

“Ya think?" Sarah grumbled, sipping from the can. From the look of her, Sarah had done Ashlee the singular honor of having the first drink of a catastrophe with her. “Come on, have a beer with me."

Ashlee shrugged and gestured to her notes and laptop. "I need to get some work done, but you can.”

Sarah gave her such a look that Ashlee thought she might have sprouted a third eye in her face. “I thought you already turned in your thesis? Didn‘t you get your grades?”

Ashlee thought she knew what Sarah’s trouble was, and was a little embarrassed to admit: “I’m getting a head start on the summer term. I got accepted for a spring start at Appalachian Law next year, and my parents want me to go to Chincoteague with them, so --” Sarah wasn’t in the mood. “ -- so, where have you been? Did something bad happen?”

Sarah sniffed and lifter her glasses to rub her eyes before nibbling on her nails. Ashlee was alarmed. Sarah rarely got like this, so she had no standard procedure for dealing with it. Ashle stowed the index card she had been transcribing, saved her document and closed the laptop. She banished twenty-first century corruption in federal expenditures from her mind and leaned toward Sarah.

Once she had Ashlee’s full attention, Sarah opened the news bulletin: “I was with my adviser.”

“Did you get your grades back? Did you keep that 2.2 GPA?” Two stifled sobs provided the dismal answer, but it was no surprise. Sarah was one of the smartest girls Ashlee knew, but where the beautiful blond upperclassman had found the time to study between parties, she never knew. “How bad is it?”

Already crestfallen, Sarah's face folded into a tortured wad of anguish. “I'm in deep shit, Ash."

Ashlee stood and moved around to stoop at Sarah's shoulder, placing a tentative hand atop one of Sarah’s cold, limp one. Whispering, she repeated, “How bad is it?"

The confession whistled out of a constricted throat: “1.95.”

While Sarah chugged about a quarter of the beer, Ashlee marveled at Sarah’s -- misfortune, of course, was the wrong word. Ashlee’s first thought was regrettably the one to find voice. “I guess you’re not walking this month.”

“No shit, Ash.”

“Yeah, sorry. What does it to -- to your …”

Sarah administered another stiff dose of the Icehouse. “Do you know what a forgivable grant is?” she asked.

“Yeah, of course I do. You get a grant for education, and if you meet requirements you don’t have to pay it back. It converts to a loan if … oh, no.”

“Eighteen grand right there, baby.” Sarah choked on an ironic chuckle. “Scholarship’s fucked, too. That deal the Finance office cut me in August? Gone. I’m on the hook for all of senior year.”

“And your bachelor’s?”

Sarah glared at Ashlee before emptying the can. Coughing a bit, she said, “Aren’t we being a bit of a raven today?” Remembering Ashlee’s disability with figurative language, she explained, “I’m a dead rotting corpse, and you’re happily pecking out my eyeballs. Like a raven.” A laugh stumbled over Sarah’s beery sobs. “My adviser says he is going to ask to ‘restructure’ my degree plan. It would mean I have to come back this summer and fall if I want to walk in December.”

Sarah aimed the empty can at the coaster, but missed by a mile. Ashlee used one of the napkins to correct the moisture situation again, then carrying the stack, led the now-bawling Sarah to the bed. Sarah flopped prone on the drum-tight blanket, burying her face in one of the pillows. Ashlee sat next to her, removing Sarah’s glasses to the safety of the nightstand, and rubbed her back empathetically, taking a note in the back of her mind to change the pillowcase.

If it were any other pretty girl, Ashlee would be fiercely fighting her urges right now. However, in their two years as neighbors, Ashlee had learned beyond any doubt that Sarah was not interested at all. Sarah was, though, the closest thing Ashlee had to a best friend, and her only connection to the world beyond her Political Science degree with Pre-Law concentration. Sarah had never needed anyone before, and Ashlee felt a little awkward having to provide comfort.

“Fuck it, Ash, I’m dropping out!”

“What? No! You can at least scrape out a 2.0, can't you? They’re giving you a gift! If they wanted you gone, you’d be gone. C’mon, this is UVA! But where are you going to stay? I mean, I’ll still be here in the fall.”

Ashlee had unwittingly said the right thing, for once. Sarah’s weeping turned off like a faucet, and she rolled onto her side to face Ashlee with swollen but mischievous eyes. “Roomies, eh, Ash?” Sarah slid a hand between Ashlee’s thighs. “You’re not getting me into bed that easy, missy!” Sarah squeezed, then pulled her hand out to give Ashlee’s rear a gentle slap. They laughed together, then Sarah swiveled to her back and put her hands behind her head.

“No, you’re right, I can probably do it. I just need a few more C’s. I don’t know how I’m going to pay for it. Take out a student loan, I guess. I’ll have to tell mom she doesn’t need to take off work in two weeks anymore. In January, I’ll be able to take my business degree back to Richmond and get a job, easy. Hey, thanks, Ash! Tell you what: let me go change, then let’s go do literally anything else!”

In ten minutes, Ashlee was doubtfully stepping out to revel in Charlottesville’s May festivities. Sarah, now fiercely texting her usual crew into action, could usually find her way out of tight situations. Eventually, she would grow up.

***

Present day

“So not the first time, then?”

Ashelee had just finished telling Felicity about her interesting Monday at work. They were interwined on the couch in the apartment. The remains of a dinner lay scattered on the coffee table. This was Felicity’s favorite way to have Ashlee. It wasn’t quite eight, but they were both dressed for bed already, Ashlee in one of her long shirts with boxers and socks, and Felicity barefoot in the white flannel pajamas with tiny flowers. Felicity held one of Ashlee’s, occasionally massaging it. Ashlee clasped her arms around her partner’s waist, head resting on Felicity’s breasts. Felicity’s other arm held her close beside her, and as a bonus, it was physically restraining her from clearing the dishes. Felicity wanted to have this moment, and Ashlee wouldn’t die from looking at dirty dishes for fifteen minutes. Ashlee was restive and tense. She reminded Felicity of a childhood dog, who when in her lap would alternately snap her head up with pricked ears, then lie back on Felicity’s shoulder.

Ashlee returned to the relaxed state. “Yeah, I think she got too comfortable again. Sarah needs to work on her follow-through. She starts out great, and she’s crazy smart, but as soon as things stop being easy, she falls apart.”

“I love it when you’re a poet, babe.” purred Felicity.

“Am I?” Ashlee paused to replay the last five seconds. “Oh, I didn’t know it.”

“Ooh, but your feet show it!” Felicity giggled. She reached out and tickled one of Ashlee’s feet.

“Hey! Stop it!” laughed Ashlee. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know. I think there’s more to it, but I forgot.” Felicity gently arrested Ashlee’s lunge for her phone on the coffee table. “It’s okay, let’s just talk. We’ll find out later. So how did she make it out of college?”

Ashlee relaxed again. “Well, someone’s always looking out for her. Professors always babied her, and her adviser swung her a really generous extension. She talks about some charity that got her the scholarship and grant she trashed. I used to see this really pretty older blonde lady hanging around sometimes, and I think she’s the only person Sarah’s really afraid of. She seemed to shape up for about a week after a visit from her. It wasn’t her mom, I know that.”

“Who’s looking out for her now?” asked Felicity.

“I don’t know.” Ashlee said. “Maybe no one.”

“That’s sad.” said Felicity. She stopped to think, and was trying to sort out the double-negatives of “no one should have no one”, when she felt a tap on her knee.

“Hey!” Ashlee was calling. “Earth to Felicity. I’ve had enough of Sarah for now. Can we focus on Ashlee and Felicity for a while?”

“Oh, yeah! Of course!” Felicity tried to kiss Ashlee, but Ashlee craned back to evade her lips. She seemed to be losing interest.

“Have you heard back from that restaurant yet?” asked Ashlee.

“No, not yet,” lied Felicity, but she wasn’t sure why. She’d actually heard Saturday, the day after the interview, that she wasn’t hired. They didn’t give a reason. She had an awful feeling about the white-haired manager; her deep eyes, set in sockets that looked like a heap of black bags visited by a flock of crows, had seemed to penetrate Felicity, leaving her feeling naked and flayed, and the woman did not seem to like what she saw. She just knew that the manager didn’t believe she was a woman.

Felicity hadn’t told Ashlee yet out of an amorphous anxiety. Would Ashlee yell at her again? From Ashlee’s point of view, Felicity had simply soaked it up and forgiven her, but it had hurt, and she wasn’t ready for another round. Would she go and sue the restaurant for trans discrimination, raise a stink, and out Felicity on the TV news?

Ashlee, she was learning, was like one of those Kalahari Bushmen that had come up on a nature show in her YouTube feed. Even though they were slower than the antelope or whatever, the humans could run from sunup to sundown. Like them, Ashlee never gave up on anything that was in her physical ability to achieve.

Felicity changed the subject with something sure to capture Ashlee’s interest: “Let’s clean up.” Ashlee was scrambling out of Felicity’s embrace before the words were all the way out. Felicity trailed behind with a cupful of silverware while Ashlee went ahead laden with plates and bowls.

“Well, call them tomorrow, then try and find something else quick. Actually, now you can get one that fits around your school schedule,” Ashlee said as she staged the dishes in the sink. Felicity dropped in the cup after them, then turned, pretending to wipe down a counter with a dish towel, hiding her suppressed sigh. Ashlee continued, oblivious, “You do have your schedule, right? And I know you finished the FAFSA, so you should have heard from Financial Aid by now.”

“Um, yeah, I think I saw all that in my email,” said Felicity, unsure, and feeling unaccountably dizzy. The experience of Ashlee getting her into school was comparable to the Bushmen scenario, and she sympathized with the antelope.

The dishwasher was full now. “Bring that towel over here and get the sink, please,” said Ashlee. Felicity crossed back over Ashlee and attended to it. She sprayed it out, ran the disposal, and started drying the basin. Ashlee hated things to stay wet. The hard water left spots, supposedly, and wet things were unsanitary.

Ashlee started the dishwasher, and returned to inspect the sink. Her hand took a circuitous route to the paper towels, pulling one off to eradicate the splashes at Felicity’s feet. Felicity suspected that Ashlee had just stopped herself from snatching the dish towel out of her hand. Felicity folded the dish towel -- in thirds, as requested -- and hung it over the oven door handle, double checking color order with the other towels there, and that the drape was even.

Ashlee did a quick out and back to the couch, returning with her phone. “Your feet show it because they’re long fellows,” she declared. “Refers to nineteenth century American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. I think I remember him from American Lit at some point, but I don’t know about anything he wrote.”

“Oh, really?” said Felicity, returning to the couch herself. Ashlee headed to the hook by the door, and pulled a small notebook out of her backpack’s tiny top pocket.

“Okay, let’s see …” began Ashlee, “Done, done …” She took a pencil out of the same top pocket and scratched at the page. “I’ll get to that in a second, then -- oh, Felicity, while I’ve got you, when is your next endo appointment?”

Doctor Robin in Salisbury, her hormone hookup. “Two more weeks, I think. Dad usually texts me a week before, and I get a reminder from them, too.”

Ashlee gave her one of those looks. “Do you want to get something closer? There’s plenty of specialists around here. I’m trying to figure out if it makes practical sense to look for something like that. I’m not an expert in medical law, but you don’t live in Maryland anymore. Is that going to cause a problem?”

“Well, if I couldn’t make it all the way to Salisbury from Chincoteague, I used to drive to the Maryland welcome center and make the call there,” recounted Felicity. “Here I guess it would be pretty easy. We could hit a Starbie’s in Bethesda or something.”

“I’m not crazy about it,” replied Ashlee. She carried her computer over to where her miniature home office was stowed in the corner behind the couch. “And we should think about getting you off your parent’s insurance. You’re living here, so I’m not even sure how they’re still claiming you. So the question is, do we get some kind of stopgap, like ACA, or do we try to get you straight on mine.”

Felicity squinted at Ashlee, now rolling the desk out into the floor opposite the couch, in front of the TV “What do you mean?”

“You know, when we …” Ashlee stopped and seemed abashed. “Well, I was thinking …”

Felicity’s jaw dropped for a moment before she managed to hitch it up enough to ask, “Are you proposing to me?”

Ashley sat in her swivel chair and opened the laptop on the desk. “I was kind of thinking out loud, but I guess I am. I don’t have a ring or anything.”

Felicity blinked back tears, willing Ashlee to look at her. Just like the woman; proposing was on her to-do list, right between “do dishes” and “check work email”. Ashlee seemed to perceive Felicity, and slowly closed her computer.

“Well,” said Ashlee, clearing her throat, “how about it?”

The moment Felicity had anticipated all her life had finally arrived, and she had the answer ready.

“No.”

Ashlee emitted a weird rattle. She looked shocked and bewildered, as if a puppy had exploded while she was petting it. She absently drifted back on the wheeled chair and nearly knocked over the TV. Felicity was scrambling for an answer to the question she knew was coming, and which Ashlee now asked.

“Why?”

The prospect of a lifetime of drying out the shower leapt to mind, but something deeper suggested itself. “Your parents don’t know about me yet.”

“So? They’ll find out after. I don’t need their permission.”

Felicity suddenly felt her values deeply. “If you run from them, you might run from me. I need you all in.”

Ashlee shook her head. “It can be a surprise. You forget; you have parents who actually like you.”

“Do it now and I’ll say yes,” demanded Felicity, but she felt a complete fool and wished she hadn’t. She was almost relieved at Ashlee’s response.

“They’re at trivia tonight. They don’t have their phones. Mom and Dad are very careful about the appearance of impropriety, so they probably left them at home. Pretty smart, actually; they get it from careers in finance.”

The words passed through Felicity’s ears without leaving a trace of significance. She heard “no phones, finance, impropriety” but the only thing she comprehended was that it wasn’t happening tonight. “No deal then.” She saw Ashlee was starting to shake a little, so Felicity rose and stroked Ashlee's shoulder. “It’s okay, but just don’t take too long.” She tried to lighten the mood and pointed at Ashlee’s notebook. “I’ll sneak it in there.”

Ashlee chuckled nervously, and the tension returned to background levels. Felicity returned to the couch. When she looked back up, Ashlee was resting her chin in her hand, and she was gazing into the middle distance.

“Still,” Ashlee dreamed aloud, “imagine what it would be like. Us together, living life side-by-side …”

“We already do that, babe,” said Felicity. Ashlee didn’t dream idly; there had to be more to it.

“You know, cohabitation, household finances, insurance, it all gets a little easier when you’re actually married.”

“Romantic,” snarked Felicity.

“There’s kids, too. Josh used to be in family law before he switched to contracts. He doesn’t think marriage and kids are a good idea in the first place, but marriage makes having kids a bit more straightforward, legally.”

Felicity was flabbergasted. “Back up; you talked to your boss about this before me?”

“Well, he does know more about family law than you.”

True enough. “But where are these kids coming from?”

“Well,” Ashlee’s dreamy look returned, “I kind of want to have your baby.”

Felicity put it bluntly: “Absolutely not. My downstairs --” she indicated between her legs “-- doesn’t work like that. Not anymore. You should know that by now.”

“It doesn’t have to. You go off hormones, and you can produce sperm in as little as six months,” explained Ashlee excitedly.

Uniquely, Felicity could match Ashlee fact for fact here. “Or up to two years, and maybe never again. I heard all this when I went on them. Not to mention I’ll have to put off bottom surgery until you get your sperm.”

“Six to eight months is most common,” Ashlee tried to reassure her. “And think of the timing. By the time I have the baby, you’ll have two IT certifications you can work from home with. I can go back to the office and you can watch her.”

“Her?”

“Or him. I’m hoping for a girl, though.”

“Now we’re gendering, too?” Felicity knew it was petty and a little unfair, but her head was spinning. “I’ve worked a long time on this body, and I don’t know if I can just turn it off. What would it do to me?”

“Why don’t you find out? Ask your doctor. What’s the use in wondering when you can know? I doubt you would die.”

“That’s mean, Ashlee,” said Felicity, straining to keep composure.

Ashlee seemed frustrated with Felicity’s responses and tried to back down. “It’s not like I’m making you do anything yet. I mean, I never would. But things don’t just happen, not important things. You have to work on them, and make sacrifices.

Yes, but what else did Ashlee have planned out for her, and what sacrifices? Felicity needed a break. She hopped to her feet, and turning away, called over her shoulder, “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Felicity ignored Ashlee’s inarticulate protests and crossed over to the bedroom. Felicity lay down carefully, trying not to disturb the hospital corner she’d finally mastered. She tried to rest, but just as with that antelope, it was only a matter of time before Ashlee came jogging up with her spear, forcing her into the chase again.

***

Uyen’s brain screamed at the inside of her head. The day after her reprimand, Sarah was somehow worse than before, a moping pile of self-pity listlessly stumbling through the motions of her duties. Mrs. Blake had given Uyen clear instructions: let Sarah find her own way, but closely monitor and support her. Uyen was going to go crazy. She wasn’t paid enough for this. She couldn’t carry Sarah professionally any more than she could physically.

Bottling the screams and uncorking a courteous tone, Uyen repeated her question: “Pricing system. Did you finish reconciling the personnel roster with the access credentials?”

Sarah morosely clicked and bashed buttons on her keyboard. “You know, if that new marketing guy had just asked us instead of going straight to Hahn, we could have sorted this thing out quietly.”

Uyen tried to take this as the idle gripe it was meant to be, but gritted her teeth at the tone deafness. Frank Bowman, in a client's office on a marketing call late last week, suddenly found himself without credentials for the pricing system. Justifiably furious, he had complained to Mr. Hahn, who, after a short investigation with Mrs. Blake, found Sarah's digital fingerprints all over a botched personnel reconciliation.

You're complaining about Frank? You embarrassed him and made us look incompetent. After a client-facing fuck up like this, the only reason you’re still here is that Mr. Hahn didn’t take the ten other previous opportunities he’s had to write you up.

Uyen paused to bottle these thoughts, too. In her outside voice, she again asked, “Is it finished?”

Sarah sat up and started tapping and clicking with a touch more purpose. “Yes, it looks like the server’s updated.”

“Call Frank and make sure he can get into it.”

Sarah sneered. “I know he can. Why should I have to do that?”

Because you’re about to be out on your butt if you don’t start showing some hustle around here. Frank could have gotten you fired, and he’s step one to getting back on people’s good sides around here. Switching back to external dialogue, Uyen suggested, “Well, I think he might appreciate knowing that you were able to resolve his situation, and you can build some goodwill between us and Marketing.”

Sarah pulled up the directory and found Bowman, Frank. Moody fingers punched in the digits on the desk phone, then went directly to Sarah’s teeth for a manicure. Uyen reflected that as much time as Sarah put into her wardrobe, her hair, her makeup, and her workout, she was never going to have pretty nails.

A male voice buzzed out of Sarah’s handset. “Yeah, Frank, this is Sarah. I fixed your pricing thing. Can you check and make sure you can log in?” Sarah gnawed through the wait, spitting nail fragments into a tissue. Finally, Uyen heard a satisfied murmur come from the phone. “Great,” replied Sarah. Uyen mouthed “apologize”, and Sarah rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry about messing up your client call. It must have been really embarrassing. Let me know if you need anything else.” Sarah hung up before Frank had a chance to respond.

Uyen had googled a patron saint to help her out today. Patience and wayward children were in the special care of Saint Monica, so Uyen had added a prayer to her after a morning rosary. She also included Saint Augustine, Monica's own wayward child, and threw in the obscure Saint Photina, who was supposed to be good for stubborn people. They were going to have to step it up if Uyen was going to make it today.

“Okay,” Said Uyen, checking the clock, “that’s 11:45. Did you bring lunch like I suggested?”

“Yeah, I did,” confirmed Sarah mournfully.

“Let’s go get it. Um, I’ve got a speaker and some spa music ready to go, and a wax burner in the breakroom. It’s got tea tree oil in it right now, but I can throw in some lemongrass or lavender with it.”

Sarah, for the first time this morning, brightened. “Oh, thanks, Uyen. I like all three of those. Load it up.”

Uyen was relieved to smile a little, too. “Let’s just take half an hour to ourselves. Leave your phone here.” Sarah complied, reeling off to the breakroom, Uyen a couple of steps behind. In the cozy space, the wax had just finished melting and the spicy tea tree essence was starting to build. Sarah found the makings of a lunch of sandwiches and diet soda in the refrigerator then collapsed in a chair. Uyen had some bánh mì in a box with regular Coke, but before sitting down to tuck in, she added generous shakes of both the lavender and lemon to the dish of hot wax atop the microwave, and set her speaker to a combination of synthesized strings and windchimes.

Uyen opened the conversation: “How’s Jeff?”

“Still good,” Sarah replied, unusually reticent about her new favorite subject.

“Did you ask him that question we were talking about?” nudged Uyen.

“Actually, yes,” said Sarah. “It turns out -- and please don’t tell Ashlee -- that he just doesn’t want to have sex. He’s a -- you know …”

The unsaid word sent Uyen into a reverie. What an achievement. And him in the Army, too.

Sarah hadn’t finished. “But we worked it out a deal. He’s not opposed to -- lending a hand, let’s say. He did some fine tuning while I did the heavy lifting down below.”

Uyen never failed to marvel at Sarah’s reserve of sexual euphemisms and riddles, and she was stumped again. Transferring her sandwich to her left hand, Sarah held up her right index and thumb and twiddled them in a turning and twisting gesture before Uyen’s momentarily uncomprehending eyes. When it hit her, she was just glad Sarah hadn’t decided on any more intimate demonstrations. Her face was burning, but not just with embarrassment or scorn; it kind of sounded like fun.

Sarah continued, “Everything was under a blanket, over the shirt. It was -- and if you tell Ashlee any of this, I’ll kill you -- kind of sexier that way. I returned the favor, too. Just kissing, though; he wouldn’t let me touch it, but he did let me help clean up.”

Uyen was starting to flush in more places than just her face. Sarah was leaving the meaning of the last statement vague, and Uyen’s imagination ran roughshod over her insides for a few seconds. She chewed and swallowed a centering chunk of bánh mì, then tried a teaching moment: “Sounds like a big step for you. You didn’t get exactly what you wanted, but because you listened, you got something you can value even more. That’s very grown-up.”

“Who are you calling a kid, little girl?” Sarah rejoined weakly. Uyen let it go. Sarah was just trying to get the last word in. Uyen had always been an old soul, and was used to being better than people her age, even those three years older, like Sarah. It was tiring sometimes, though, always being right. Sarah was usually wrong as hell, but she seemed to have fun.

The breakroom door was roughly rattled and flung open, but Uyen was astonished to see Ashlee enter the room. She had wanted Sarah’s old friend to weigh in on the rehabilitation, but something was obviously awry today.

“What’s that smell?” demanded Ashlee.

Sarah was leaning back, eyes closed. “Tea tree, lavender, lemongrass,” she answered musically. Uyen tried to analyze Sarah’s sudden, suspicious serenity: Is she touching herself right now? Under the breakroom table? Uyen withstood a near-irresistible compulsion to look.

Ashlee fished her yellow lunchbox out of the refrigerator, then blinked watering eyes and sniffed, “Well, I’m going somewhere else. Other people have to use this room, you know.”

Uyen still wanted to grab Ashlee, if only to find out what was eating her. “Sarah, I need to ask Ashlee something. You keep -- you just relax for a while, alright?”

“Uh huh,” Sarah confirmed, giving the second syllable a chiming emphasis. Uyen once again throttled her imagination, clobbering it and leaving it for dead in the back of her mind as she followed Ashlee out.

Uyen led Ashlee to one of the windows near her and Sarah’s cubes. Something was definitely out of the ordinary. Ashlee sported subtle bags under her eyes, her cheeks were ashen, and up close she reeked of coffee. The line of her charcoal suit and gold shirt beneath suggested uncharacteristic inattention to her appearance. Uyen asked the obvious question: “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ashlee replied unconvincingly. “How’s Sarah holding up?”

Uyen opted for optimism. “She’s coming along. Just a little rattled, but I think she’ll come around.”

Ashlee chuckled mirthlessly. “She’d better. You can’t even get a waitress job around here. I can’t believe I have to deal with another one.”

“Huh?”

“Forget it. I’m kind of spinning my wheels until El Paso makes up their mind on Homburg. What do you need me to do?”

“What do you think you can do?”

“Sarah gets like this sometimes. We just need to keep kicking her ass. What are you doing now?”

“Lunch. We’re taking a few minutes off.”

“Be careful with that. Sarah will take advantage of it in a second,” opined Ashlee in a sinister growl. “Let me go talk to her.”

Ashlee wheeled back toward the breakroom before Uyen could hold her back. Ashlee barged again into the breakroom, and Uyen heard her say, “All right, girl, let's get this thing figured out. Do you have different-color pens?”

***

The mail crate, heavier than before, threatened to dislocate Ashlee’s shoulders as the plodded home from the Metro station. Even in the extended daylight of early May, the sun was threatening to beat Ashlee home. Felicity had been texting every quarter hour since six, and Ashlee wondered what was so important. She had tried to help Sarah, but Uyen had shoved her aside by half past three. What did Uyen know about Sarah anyway? Then she found a mountain of work from El Paso; more problems for her to sort out. Why her? Because she was the best.

She wrestled her way into her apartment and banged the crate onto the kitchen counter. Her head burned all over, and her eyes watered from the strain of the day. She was dimly aware of the smell of garlic, and then only in that it turned her stomach. Ashlee hung her keys by the door and had only started to collect herself when Felicity ambushed her with a hug.

“Hey, babe, why were you so late? I missed you.” Ashlee turned away her face from the kiss, which landed messily on her cheek rather than on the intended target of her lips. She brushed off the bewildered Felicity and leaned her brow on the kitchen counter by the crate.

“I cooked spaghetti,” said Felicity. “It’ll have to warm up now; I was expecting you an hour ago.” Ashlee couldn’t find the will to respond. She listened to the snapping of dials on the stove and the clattering of lids and spatulas, her fiery face still trying to find relief in the cool counter.

Next thing she knew, arms were wrapping her from behind and pushing her breasts together. She convulsed, swatting the intruder away.

“Geez, what’s wrong with you?” asked Felicity.

“I’m sorry. It’s work. We were trying to get Sarah straightened out. She and Uyen were pissing me off, then all this shit came in.” Ashlee pointed at the box and waited for sympathy, but only got a hard squint from Felicity, who walked past her and slumped on the couch.

Felicity put her feet up on the coffee table and looked icily away from Ashlee. “So, you found someone else’s life to run?”

Ashlee snapped up, her exhaustion replaced by growing fury. “Just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Felicity shook her head and pulled out her phone. “Nothing. Forget it.”

Ashlee marched over, shoved Felicity’s feet down, snatched the device from Felicity’s hands and demanded, “No, fucking talk to me now!”

“You know what your problem is?” Felicity accompanied this introduction by rising from her seat and approached Ashlee. Ashlee tried to back away, but felt the coffee table behind her calves. Felicity was soon an inch away, staring down into Ashlee’s blanching face. “You think everyone’s a robot, like you! You’re some kind of freakin’ machine, and if everyone just did what you said, everything would be fine. I’m getting tired of putting up with some of your stuff. Drying the darn sink? All this college stuff? Do you think I want this? You want it! And now you think you’re going to take control of my health just so you can have a baby who looks like you? You need some therapy. Back off!”

Ashlee tried to, but stumbled and sat on the coffee table. Scrambling, she swung her legs over and took a stand on the opposite side. “Is it crazy to want a clean house? Is it crazy to want to have some damned direction in life? I told you, shit doesn’t just happen in life, Felicity! I’m not sure I need to be dragging your ass along for a ride if you aren’t going to stand up on your own. You don’t want to be a part of it? Just leave! I don’t know where, though. Do you even have a job yet?”

“As a matter of fact, no,” declared Felicity with paradoxical pride. “I found out on Saturday, but I knew you would freak out.”

“How did you fuck that up?” sneered Ashlee.

“The old woman who interviewed me figured out I was trans. I’m pretty sure.”

“So you just decided to take it and give up? You could fight for it or move on, but you were waiting to see what I would tell you to do, right? You really are impossible, Felicity.”

An acrid burning started coming from the kitchen. With quivering lips, Felicity stomped over to the stove and pulled off the pots, then dumped their contents in the disposer. Ashlee sat down and huddled on the couch waiting for the fight to start back up. Soon, though, she couldn’t contain herself.

“There’s grease in that sauce, Felicity! You have to run hot water so the fat doesn’t clog up my pipes!”

“I know that, Ashlee! I’m running the dishwasher now!” She started banging cooking vessels into the racks to wash. “Everything’s about you, isn’t it? That's crazy. I’m leaving until you get some therapy or some perspective. I hope it’s both.”

Ashlee scoffed. “And go where?”

Felicity banged the dishwasher shut and started rinsing the sink. “Home. Mom and Dad. You’re right; I don’t have a future here.”

“How?”

“I’ll rent a car.”

“You’re 21, Felicity, and uninsured. No one will rent you anything.”

“Uber, then.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Watch this.” She marched to where her backpack sat by the door, carefully keeping a counter interposed between her and Felicity. She pulled out her phone and texted Josh: Not feeling good. Staying home tomorrow, Wed. Got everything I need for work. Ill try to come back Thur. She waved the message in Felicity’s face, then hit send. “I’ll take you. Put all the shit you can fit in the car and we’ll leave at 7:30. I’m going to that motel by the Metro station. You know where the keys are. I’ll see you then.”

Five minutes later, Ashlee was storming downstairs with an overnight bag. She sweated in the spring evening. It was never going to work, anyway.