Page 4 of I Did Something Bad
And “failed marriage” will be the last thing that anyone thinks when they see me.
Two
“You’ve having dinner with who tonight?!” Nay screeches, and, because apparently nearly blowing out my eardrums isn’t enough, throws one of my couch pillows at my face.
I jerk the round burgundy pillow back at her. “Why are you throwing things at me?!”
“Because,” Thidar says, grabbing the pillow from Nay’s lap and lobbing it at me again. “That is the appropriate response to finding out your friend is having dinner with Tyler fucking Tun anddidn’t tell you until four hours prior!”
“Okay, you two need to stop yelling,” I say, putting an end to this game of hot potato by propping the pillow behind my back. “I signed an NDA. I’m not even supposed to tell younow,” I say, deciding that it was also the right call not to tell them about the job offer on the table. I don’t need the additional pressure, and while I generally don’t believe in the concept of “jinxing,” I want this too much that I’m going to play it safe on this one, just in case.
Nay whacks my shoulder. “Since when have NDAs applied tous?”
“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” I reach over for the water carafe on the coffee table and refill my glass.
“Are you also inviting us to dinner in an effort to say sorry?” Thidar asks with accusatory, narrowed eyes.
“Ha!” I snort.
The two of them exchange a quick glance. “Worth a try.” Nay shrugs. “How’re you feeling? Nervous?”
I don’t typically get nervous over assignments. Excited, definitely. But not nervous. This one, though—this one makes my gut twist and turn in a way that it hasn’t since my first year of being a journalist. “Actually, yes,” I answer. “Mainly because it’s different from anything else I’ve written, but you know what, I think it’ll be a nice change. You guys know I love what I’ve worked on—”
“That piece on the Myanmar national women’s soccer team still pops up on my feeds,” Nay interrupts. “Also the one about the lesbian couple who couldn’t find a local hospital who would help them with IVF.”
“Ooooh yes!” Thidar says. “You are astar,Khin Haymar. I can’t believe we get front-row seats to all your badass journalism.”
I beam. “I love you guys,” I say. “And I’m proud of both of those pieces, but I dunno, thisVoguething is really exciting, even if I don’t really know what I’m doing,” I admit with a short laugh, because if I’m going to admit my nerves to anyone, it’s going to be them.
Thidar’s eyes light up. “Please, it’s not like your name wouldn’t fit right in on aVoguecover. You’re the best-dressed person I know! Your wardrobe basically looks like the fashion closet inThe Bold Type. If the fashion closet were made up exclusively of secondhand pieces, obviously.”
“‘Secondhand’ has such an un-chic vibe. Her clothes aren’tsecondhand, they’re vintage!” Nay points out. “And vintage is always trendy!”
“That’s true,” Thidar says. “But yeah, this will be good for you. It’s something fresh. Something new. You deserve something good and fresh and new.” I know where she’s going before she and Nay even trade a look. Right as I expected, her voice tapers out into one that’s more subdued. “Look, we absolutely do not have to go into detail on this, and especially not tonight, but, like, how’re you doing? You know… aside from work, which, clearly, you arekillingat?”
Her attempt at trying to cushion the Big Question with a compliment is sweet, but it doesn’t override the fact that I know she wanted to ask,How’re you doing divorce- and generally love life–wise?And what do I say apart from,I am (still) divorced, and that is (also, still) that. Why spend any time dwelling on it? Besides, no one wants to hear the actual answer, which is that divorce is messy, and in my case, embarrassing, and despite the fact that I write for a living and that I’ve had more than enough time to process all of this, I still cannot find quite the right words to explain how it feels when your husband tells you it is over, that there is no point, that the splinters of your once-love are too small and many to salvage.
“Oh, you know, the usual,” I say, and flick my hair over my shoulder. “Spending my one wild and precious life being smart, hot, well-dressed. And humble.”
There’s a hurt in their smiles that I don’t want to investigate more closely. Yes, it hurts to talk about divorce, hence why I don’t do it.
“Well, we were thinking,” Nay says. “You’ve been living here for a few months now.” She gestures around at the space. “And we think it’d be good to officially mark this new chapter of your life with a housewarming.” I grimace, but she holds up a hand before I can vocalize my protest. “And if you’re too busy to do it yourself, which wetotally get, then we would be more than happy to plan it. You just sit back, and we’ll text you the when and where.”
“Surely thewherewould be quite obvious,” Thidar says, scrunching up her face.
Nay rolls her eyes. “Well, obviously. It was asaying.”
They both turn to me expectantly, and when I don’t reply immediately, their hurt smiles reappear. Even if I wanted a housewarming (which I don’t, because I literally don’t have the energy for a party right now), whom would I invite apart from them? Thidar’s fiancé and Nay’s latest Hinge fling? The slew of acquaintances who would only tell me about what projects Ben has most recently signed up for? “That is a very sweet offer, thank you,” I reply. “But my schedule’s going to be so packed that I really don’t have time for a party right now.”
Before they can make one final protest, I down my water, get to my feet, and head for the bedroom. Only when I reach my doorway do I swivel around and face them, crossing my arms. “So are you guys just going to sit there, or are you going to come help me decide what to wear tonight for my dinner with Tyler Tun?” I ask, and breathe a quiet sigh of relief when they erupt into squeals and sprint over, Nay smacking my ass as Thidar grabs my hand and drags me toward my walk-in wardrobe.
Two hours and approximately twenty outfits later, I usher them back out into the living room. “Why dinner? At a restaurant?” Thidar asks as she gathers up her things in her purse. “Aren’t these profiles usually done in the celebrity’s house? That’s what I’ve always read.”
I shrug. “He told my editor he wanted to settle down in his apartment before inviting anyone over.”
“Oh my god!” Nay squeaks. “Does that mean you’re eventually going to see the inside of Tyler Tun’s apartment?!”
I roll my eyes and, one palm on each of their backs, start to move them toward the door. “Thisis why I didn’t tell you earlier.”
