Greta looked over her shoulder.
“On the roof,” Sabine said, and coughed. “There’s, uh, one or two vultures up there right now, shitting all over the chimney.”
“So that’s why you’re lighting a fire.”
“I threw a few rocks,” Sabine said. “They didn’t even flinch.”
“Why is this happening?”
Sabine shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious?”
They were admiring the architecture, Greta imagined. The sunsets or whatever.
“It’s an omen,” Sabine said, and coughed again. “One of us is about to die.”
This may have been Sabine’s way of saying she’d finally visited a doctor, a doctor who’d diagnosed her with advanced cancer and told her she had six weeks to live. But there was no way of really knowing, or asking about it directly, because Sabine was a master deflector.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Greta asked.
Sabine smiled. She looked Greta up and down and then squinted at her face.
“You look real good,” Sabine said. “You look more alive than you have in years.”
12
OM:?Can you state your initials for the transcriber, please?
FEW:?FEW.
OM:?How have you been?
FEW:?[PAUSE] Okay.
“Just okay?” Greta said.
OM:?What’s happening with the Keith situation?
FEW:?I still see his truck in my rearview mirror, but he keeps his distance.
OM:?A hundred yards?
FEW:?I don’t know how far that is.
OM:?He should remain out of your line of sight. Like, completely.
FEW:?I haven’t seen him up close. Other people have, though. He’s been spotted at Cousin’s. Luke’s uncle hangs out there after work and says he sees Keith sitting at the bar alone almost every night.
OM:?He’s allowed to drink? In bars?
FEW:?I don’t know. Maybe he only drinks water.
OM:?I don’t think they serve water at Cousin’s.
Greta hadn’t been there, but Cousin’s was known for its ten-count pours. Its décor: keno, a wall of TVs, and flies. Its patrons: locals, alcoholics, old creeps. And ex-cons, apparently.
OM:?Do you worry about running into him?
FEW:?I have bigger things to worry about right now.
OM:?Such as?
FEW:?Are the words “adult” and “adultery” related?
“Oh boy,” Greta said.
OM:?Good question. I don’t think so. [RUSTLING] Let me check. The word “adultery” may derive from “adulterate,” which means “to debase or make impure by adding inferior or less desirable elements.”
FEW:?Okay, well, my marriage has been adulterated by less desirable elements, if you know what I mean.
OM:?Cocaine?
FEW:?Other adults.
OM:?Did something happen?
FEW:?It’s happening. I mean, it’s ongoing. I haven’t talked about it because—well, I think I’ve been in denial. But this morning I was forced to face facts. And now I feel very… awake.
“What facts?” Greta said. “Which morning?”
Greta paused the audio and checked the date. They hadn’t seen each other on the day it was recorded, a Tuesday, but Big Swiss had uncharacteristically texted, “I miss you. Grievously.” Greta saw now that she’d forgotten to text back, even though the word “grievously” had been rather affecting. In fact, Greta had felt what she could only describe as ecstatic exaltation and had been unable to eat, drink, type, or do anything, really, except roll around in bed, moaning.
“So, you realized that you’re in love with me,” Greta said, and tapped the foot pedal. “Grievously. On Tuesday.”
FEW:?My brain feels… bifurcated. I’m being pulled in two opposite directions. It’s been difficult to maintain my composure, to not do anything rash, like confide in my friends or coworkers.
“Honey, I know,” Greta said.
OM:?Can you start at the beginning?
FEW:?Let me think.
“You showed up at my house,” Greta said. “In your fur coat. You talked about my forearms.”
FEW:?I guess the first thing I noticed was the protein shakes.
“The what?” Greta said.
FEW:?And the hummus. Hummus on carrots, celery, everything.
“Hmm?” Greta said.
FEW:?And then suddenly everything was gluten-free. No more carbs. That whole intermittent fasting thing, keto whatever.
“What’s this now?” Greta said.
FEW:?And he’s working out like crazy. He runs, he jumps rope, he lifts weights. He takes supplements. He drizzles this weird oil all over his salads. He puts the oil in his coffee, too, along with butter. He uses an electric milk frother.
“Uh, where’s this going,” Greta said.
FEW:?He signed up for Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Now he goes to the dojo after work and “rolls,” as he calls it, for at least three hours, and he doesn’t get home until I’m already in bed. He’s constantly washing his gi and talking about armlocks, takedowns, gassing out. I couldn’t even wrap my head around it at first. It’s the last thing I ever imagined him doing, and it’s almost impossible to picture him getting breathed on by strangers, let alone grappling.
OM:?Why?
FEW:?He suffers from tactile defensiveness.
OM:?What’s that?
FEW:?You don’t know?
OM:?You’ve never mentioned it.
FEW:?He has trouble being hugged. He has a hard time wearing shoes, hates tight clothing of any kind, including underwear, and he can’t read his own handwriting. He has intense stage fright. He holds his fork wrong. He holds utensils of any kind like they’re knives. He has trouble brushing his hair. I mean, he holds the brush strangely. [PAUSE] But overall, it’s mild.
OM:?Uh, it doesn’t sound mild. In fact, it sounds pretty serious.
FEW:?Let me ask you something, Om. Am I your only client? Be honest.
OM:?Not even close. I have a very long waiting list.
FEW:?Well, I’m surprised you haven’t encountered people with this condition. They usually have a lot of intimacy problems.
OM:?My clients can’t stop hugging people. They can’t stop hugging themselves. If they don’t wear underwear, it’s not because it’s too tight, and most of them love reading their own writing, out loud and onstage. Has Luke ever been in therapy?
FEW:?Not since high school. He used to not be able to handle noise and strong odors, and so he was constantly walking out of stores, restaurants, parties, meetings. That’s how we met—I followed him out of a loud party he was trying to escape.
OM:?Is he, uh, on the spectrum?
FEW:?Not officially.
OM:?He doesn’t mind your perfume? What is that scent you’re wearing?
“Pussy,” Greta said.
FEW:?It’s called Alien. But I can only put it on in my car. I could never spray it in the house.
OM:?It sounds like jiu-jitsu might be good therapy for Luke. Do you agree? It’s definitely immersive.
FEW:?He does seem more integrated, more like a whole person. His own person, I mean, separate from me. He’s even made a few friends at the dojo. They have a group chat. Sometimes they go out after. One of them is a woman. He talks about how tough she is, how he enjoys rolling with her. Anyway, this morning I picked up his phone to check the weather—my phone was charging in another room—and his passcode didn’t work. It took me a second to realize he’d changed it. He’s had the same passcode for years. That’s when I knew.