THE MEET UP

GHOSTS AND GROCERIES

I make it home without calling anyone. Small wins.

The apartment feels wrong. Empty in a way that has nothing to do with David’s effects being gone. Three months ago, this place was suffocating — his suits crowding the closet, his golf clubs claiming corners, his presence demanding attention indeed when he wasn't then.

Now it’s just empty. Clean. Mine.

I detest it.

My phone’s in my hand before I realize I’m holding it. Amon’s business card is in my other hand. I don't flash back taking it from my fund. Don't flash back, deciding to look at it like it holds answers to questions I’m too hysterical to ask.

The marriage photo is still face-down on my nightstand. I pick it up. Force myself to look.

David’s smile is perfect. Mine is perfect. We’re both lying.

“ You’re going to be someone, Sarah. ” His voice in my head, smooth as venom. “ But you need someone to guide you. ”

I believed him. Believed I demanded guidance rather than cooperation. Believed his control was love. Believed myself small enough to fit into his idea of what a woman should be.

Fuck that. f**k him. f**k the interpretation of me that accepted it.

I throw the photo in the drawer. Slam it shut.

My phone rings. Mama’s name flashes. I consider ignoring it. Consider pretending I don't live for another many hours.

I answer anyway. Put it on speaker. Start changing out of the coffee-stained blouse.

“ Sarah, my daughter! I've been trying to reach you all week. ”

“ I’ve been busy, Mama. Work. ”

“ Work, work, always work. ” Her shriek carries disappointment across the line. “ It’s been three months since the divorce. People are starting to talk. ”

My jaw handgrips. “ Let them talk. ”

“ Mrs. Nakato asked me at church if you’re planning to marry soon. What was I supposed to tell her? ”

“ That’s none of her goddamn business. ”

“ Sarah! Don't be rude. I’m your mother. I worry. ” A pause. “ A woman your age should be creating a family, not — ”

“ structure houses? structure? A career? ” I pull on a T-shirt, making my movements sharp. “ Mama, I've to go. ”

“ Don't hang up on your — ”

I end the call. Incontinently, I feel shamefaced. Gawk at the phone and considering calling back.

I do n’t.

My stomach growls. Right. Food. I should eat. Should have all the normal mortal effects that feel insolvable recently.

Nakasero Market is chaos and color and everything my apartment isn't. Vendors call out prices. The smell of fresh fruit mixing with exhaust. People far and wide, living their lives, being normal.

I’m examining tomatoes, picking them up, putting them down, unfit to decide if they’re good enough — when the sales assistant gives me a look.

“ Madam, those tomatoes won't get better with looking. You buy or you don't buy. ”

I buy. Make a decision. Feel absurdly proud of this bitsy act of performing.

also I see him.

Amon. Across the aisle. Sketching at a fruit cube like the surrounding chaos doesn't live. He’s fully absorbed, unconscious, beautiful in his focus.

My heart does that annoying flutter thing.

I turn down snappily. Hope he hasn't seen me.

“ Sarah? ”

Shit.

I turn. Plaster on a smile. “ Amon. Hi ”

He weaves through the crowd toward me, tablet still in hand, genuine happiness on his face. Not angry I ran. Just happy to see me.

It terrifies me.

“ How’s the blouse? ”

“ Presently soaking in a stained way and remorse. ”

He laughs. “ I’ve been feeling shamefaced all autumn. ”

“ Do n’t. It demanded to die anyway. ”

We stand there. Awkward. The request flowing around us. I should leave. Should run again. I should cover myself from whatever this feeling is.

“ You buying regale? ” he asks, waving at my shopping bag.

“ Trying to. I’m not as important as a chef. ”

“ What if I helped you carry your groceries, and we grabbed a Rolex from that stand over there? ”he points out. Delays. No pressure in his posture, just an offer. “ Just food and discussion. Two people eating in the same vicinity. ”

I know I should say no. Every logical part of my brain is screaming warnings. But I’m tired of sense. Tired of being alone. Tired of running?

“ Just food and discussion? ”

“ Scout’s honor. ” He holds up three wrong fingers.

“ Were you indeed a scout? ”

“ Absolutely not. But I’m secure. ”

I look at him. Really look. His makeup-stained fingers. His case stops. The way he’s waiting for my answer without making me feel pressured.

I make a decision. Small. stalwart.

“ Okay. But I’m buying my own Rolex. I do n’t do debt. ”

His smile could light the entire request.

We walk together. He carries my bag without asking. I regard him sideways and the miserliness in my casket eases slightly.

also I see David.

At the rolex stand. With her. Zainab. Laughing, his hand on her back, casual power.

My body goes cold. My breathing stops.

Amon notices incontinently. Follows my aspect. Understands.

“ Is that ”

I nod. Ca n’t speak.

“ Do you want to leave? ”

I want to say yes. Want to run. Want to let David chase me down from my own megacity.

But something in me revolutionizes.

“ No. ” My voice is stronger than I feel. “ I want a Rolex. And I’m not letting him control where I go. ”

Amon offers his arm. I take it.

We walk toward the stand together.

David sees us. His expression flickers. Surprise. Also, something darker.

This is going to be unattractive.

I don’t care.