Chapter Six Naomi

Chapter Six

Naomi

October 2022, seven months before her death

“How’s this?” Zee stands on top of the mini fridge holding one end of a happy birthday banner. She sticks it to the wall and jumps down.

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” I tell her, taking in the birthday decorations.

“I wasn’t joking when I told you I cleaned out Party City.” Zee had thrown her long ombré twists into a high ponytail with two strands loose and changed into a bustier bodysuit, wide-leg cargo pants, and platform boots.

I put an arm around the life-sized cardboard cutout of our roommate, Amy, and check my phone to see if she’s replied. After class, I’d bought Amy a little birthday present—a novel about a bookshop owner by Gabrielle Zevin, a Totoro sticker to add to her collection of laptop stickers, and her favorite Kasugai lychee candy.

I suddenly realize I haven’t heard from Amy all day. “Hey.” I turn to Zee. “Do you think something’s up with her?”

“Amy?” Zee asks, distracted by the purple eyeliner held carefully against her lid.

“Yeah, has she seemed kind of distant lately?” I always worry about her pulling too many all-nighters, obsessed with trying to spin her internship with The New York Times into a full-time job after graduation, but recently she’s been gone even more than usual, and when she is home, she’s been keeping her door shut.

Zee shrugs. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

—

In my room, I throw on a cropped long-sleeve shirt, jeans, and bigger hoops, freshen up my curls, and when I return to the common room, Zee is on the couch scrolling through her phone.

I check the fridge to make sure we have enough beer, and behind some cans of Coors Light and JuneShine is a suspicious-looking mason jar filled with cloudy white liquid. Written in permanent marker is ZEE’S—DON’T TOUCH.

“What is this?” I ask, pulling it out.

Zee laughs. “I made homemade vodka!” She jumps up and swipes it from my hand.

The sound of a key turning in the lock makes us look, and Amy rushes in holding a stack of books and her laptop, looking like she’d slept at the library.

“Surprise!” Zee and I shout, as she takes in our party decorations. “Happy birthday!”

I throw my arms around Amy, books and all, while Zee turns up the music.

As Amy takes in the room, her expression flickers from surprise to confusion and then to a teary smile. “Wait a minute…what is going on here?”

“You only turn twenty-two once,” Zee says as she hands us each a shot.

I hold it up high. “Happy birthday to one of the smartest, kindest, hardest-working people I know. You deserve to have a little fun.”

Amy smiles, reluctantly accepting a shot from Zee and holding it toward mine.

“Fine, I’ll come out, but I have to be up early tomorrow.”

“What are you working on? I feel like I’ve hardly seen you.”

Amy hesitates. “It’s research for the reporter I’m working with. She liked what I found and wants me to keep digging. They might even publish what I wrote if we can get the editor’s approval.”

“Your first article!” Zee says.

“In The New York Times, ” I add. “That’s huge, Amy. Congrats!”

“What’s it about?” Zee asks.

“Oh, it’s—” Amy starts, and rattles out the rest. “Just a little thing about the water quality in low-income neighborhoods.” Her eyes slide away to the floor, as if embarrassed.

“Oh you know, just a little thing with very real impact,” I tease, and she grins.

Amy and Zee are way ahead of me in terms of having their lives figured out. Zee has her heart set on Harvard Law and is likely going to graduate summa cum laude, and Amy, originally from Beijing, was the only international student to intern for the Times this summer. They’d recently discussed offering her a permanent position and sponsoring her visa.

And then there’s me: an English major with no idea what to do with my life, working for Labyrinth Books on Nassau Street and daydreaming about owning a bookstore someday. My sister always reminds me how hard she worked for me to be here, and how I need to think more about my future. But she only sees success in terms of money and career. She wasn’t happy when I ended up in the English department, saying that hardly any six-figure jobs existed for English majors, especially those actually wanting to use their degree.

Maya had interned at a Wall Street bank the summer after her junior year, accepting a full-time position the year after…but quickly realized she didn’t fit in. That to be great at investment banking meant to be great at wining and dining people with deep pockets. So when her friend offered her an equally lucrative job at the Hunt Gallery in Chelsea, she accepted and never looked back.

I don’t understand why she feels like she sacrificed so much for me, when every decision she’s made has benefited her . Or why she wants me to work in finance when she hated it. To make her happy, I interned at a hedge fund last summer, but I still haven’t accepted their job offer. It doesn’t feel right.

“Cheers, ladies!” Zee says. We clink our glasses together and down the shots.

Our faces wrinkle in unison. “What was that?” Amy asks.

Zee grins and holds up the mason jar. “Homemade vodka, batch number one.”

“You mean moonshine?” Amy asks, horrified.

I examine my shot glass. “You know, it’s really not bad.”

—

An hour later, Zee’s turned up the music and the room is overflowing with people drinking and laughing. “Hey, Trey! What’s up?” she calls out to our friend as he rolls in the door with ten more people.

I’m grabbing another beer from the fridge when a hand touches my shoulder. “Hey, Naomi.”

I turn around to find Ben leaning against the wall, freshly showered, wearing a denim shirt and black jeans, and feel my shoulder tingle in the spot where he touched me.

“Sweet place,” he says, taking in the disco ball, the wall of Polaroids, and the vintage mirror my sister bought me at a flea market in Brooklyn.

“So Benjamin Wong does wear shirts,” I tease, bending down to pull out a second beer. “Want one?”

Ben laughs as I toss him the can, two dimple lines appearing at the corners of his mouth. He pops the can open. “What you witnessed earlier was a life hack used by only the most efficient launderers.”

“Oh, really?” Now it’s my turn to smile. Suddenly I’m unable to stop myself from picturing him shirtless—his tanned, perfect body as he handed me my sports bra—and I flush.

“Yup,” he says. “It works especially well for getting invites to exclusive dorm parties.” Ben grins when I look up at him and holds my gaze.

For the first time, I notice the fullness of his lips, the way one lock of hair refuses to stay in place, and his eyes, which I thought were black but are actually a deep, warm brown.

I’m normally not like this, but Ben’s confidence is tipping me off-balance. I’m suddenly conscious of how close we’re standing, the clean scent of his deodorant, the way his eyes won’t leave mine. I bite my lip and look away.

“Anyway,” Ben says, turning, and the tension between us eases slightly. “Is that your laptop? I love Studio Ghibli.” He juts his chin toward Amy’s laptop on her desk in the corner of the common room and the Totoro sticker I gave her.

“It’s my roommate’s, actually, but I like Studio Ghibli too.”

“Have you seen Princess Mononoke ?” Ben asks, and I shake my head. “Oh, we’ve got to watch it sometime. Miyazaki’s my favorite director. His mind is weird and brilliant.” I catch his use of the word we, and must have paused longer than is necessary because he points to the speaker and says, “By the way, who made this playlist? I don’t think I’ve recognized a song yet.”

“Woah…you don’t know Tems?” I throw him a mock-offended look.

He shrugs.

“This woman is singlehandedly changing the sound of R&B.” I throw up my hands and groove for a minute.

He laughs. “If you say so.”

—

I’m so into our conversation that I don’t realize how late it is until the room is almost empty.

“We’re going to The Street!” Zee shouts, pointing to a tipsy-looking Amy wandering out the door in a birthday hat.

Zee’s friend Trey comes over, holding two yellow Cap & Gown passes, likely from Zee’s stash. “They said they’re heading to Cap.”

After nodding at Trey, Ben turns back to me. “You wanna get out of here?”