Page 6 of Here for a Good Time
“Is your next book a similar, erm, I’m not sure what the literary term for it is, butvibe? I have to be honest, when I saw this shelved in the ‘literary fiction’ section, I almost walked past it, but it’s not every day that you see the words ‘number oneNew York Timesbestseller’ and a Myanmar name on a book cover so I was like,Okay, fine, I’ll check it out. And it wasn’t boring at all! Please tell me the next one is going to be similar to this one!”
I can feel a flush spreading across my face. The cool air isn’t anywhere near cold enough anymore; in fact, it feels like there’s no air whatsoever circulating in this room. “Well—” I stammer.
“Are Thuzar and Nyunt getting their own story in the next one?Please, please say yes. I can’t imagine what other story you could be writing next!”
I must not have done as good a job as I thought at holding back my grimace, because Chu’s eyes widen in apology. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, that was rude of me. Look at me trying to tell you how to do your job. You must’ve already turned in your next book.” My grimace tightens, not out of anger or even annoyance, but the third A: anxiety. My anxiety, however, simply worsensheranxiety over having said the wrong thing, and as I’m unable to reassure her that she didn’t actually say anything wrong, she keeps rambling. “I’m sure it’s incredible. And I don’t know how, but I already know it’s going to top this one. Sorry, is that too much pressure? I—”
“Hi, I’m so sorry—” Zwe’s hand squeezes my shoulder as he comes to stand beside me. “—but there’s a long queue and we need to keep things moving.”
“Oh of course!” Chu says, taking back her book. “Well, thank yousomuch for writing this book, is basically what I was trying to say,” she says with a nervous laugh, and I will my mouth into a smile. “I can’t wait to read your next one.”
“Thank you,” I whisper up to Zwe as the next reader approaches the desk.
He squeezes my shoulder again, although the familiar pressure barely undoes the knot that is now my whole body. “Anytime, pal,” he says before returning to the door.
By the time the sign in the storefront is flipped to “Closed,” my wrist aches and my fingers are in what we’ve dubbed the Pen Claw.
We’re spread out amongst the cozy corner seating area, Zwe and I sharing the gray two-seater, Auntie and Uncle on the L-shaped couch opposite.
“So we hear you’re taking a holiday together?” Auntie asks.
“Well, I’m trying, but your diligent son here—” I shove Zwe’s shoulder with my own. “—says the store would fall apart without him.”
“I did not—” Zwe starts.
“Please,weneed a break from him,” Auntie tells me, eyes glinting with mischief. “Thamee, we’ll be inyourdebt for giving us a couple of child-free weeks.”
“God, how long has it been since we took acoffee break”—Uncle makes air quotes—“in the stockroom?”
It takes me a second, but a hacking sound leaps out of me. “Oh my god, you guys!” I scream.
When I turn in his direction, Zwe’s face is as pale as the white coffee table in front of us, which is an interesting juxtaposition next to his red ears. “Excuse me while I go drown myself in the toilet,” he deadpans.
“And you tried to use your parents as an excuse to get out of this trip,” I tell him.
“Two weeks is—”
“Too short if you ask me,” Auntie chimes in. When she winks at me, I raise my mug to her. “If it were me, I’d tell you kids to go away for a month. You both have been working so hard lately, and while a good work ethic is important, the last thing we want for either of you is to wake up one day and realize you were too busy working through the good bits of life, too.”
“I dunno,” Zwe says. “I need to check with my bosses. They can kind of be dicks sometimes.”
Without missing a beat, Auntie replies, “Well, I hear they don’t say anything about your two-hour lunch breaks, so actually, it sounds like they’re pretty tolerant bosses.”
Zwe makes ahmphsound, but doesn’t add anything else. I knowhe worries about his parents, and it’s not wholly unwarranted; Uncle had to have major knee surgery last year, and while he’s fully recovered, their age is more apparent now than even, say, five years ago. They move slower, forget more small things. Zwe has taken over almost all the manual tasks such as stocking the shelves and vacuuming at the end of the day. At that, I make a mental note to hire a cleaner to come in at the end of each day while we’re gone.
“What didyourparents say when you told them?” Uncle asks me. “Have you told them?”
I roll my eyes. “What, you think I’d run off to an island with a boy without telling my mom and dad?”
“Nineteen-year-old Poe would’ve done just that,” he shoots back, arched brow daring me to argue, and I laugh in acceptance of the man’s point.
“Well, twenty-nine-year-old Poe is much more responsible than her nineteen-year-old counterpart. Yes, I told my parents,” I reassure them. “They even asked if we could make a stopover to see them on the way there or back, which, like I told them, we can’t, but I promised to visit shortly after we return.”
“Good,” Uncle says. “Remember, family is important. I know it’s not far, but I’m sure your parents miss you very much.”
“I know, I know,” I say. “Great, now I havetwosets of parents guilt-tripping me.”
My parents had moved to Bangkok last year—a dream that they’d had ever since retirement but couldn’t afford. When my Netflix movie came through, I flew all three of us out under the pretense of a holiday and surprised them by introducing them to a real estate agent who helped us pick out an apartment, as well as organizing a meeting with an agency that would arrange their retirement visas. I’m their only child, and although I don’t planon leaving Yangon anytime soon, if ever, this was my opportunity to repay them for everything they’d done for me, particularly all the years they worked multiple jobs to put me through school and university.
