Until then—be kind to our plant.
Jamie Gray
Aparna, Kahurangi, Niamh, and I said goodbye at BMI, which was not quite as deserted as it had been when we left. Vaccines had started to roll out and people, maybe too optimistically, had started to travel again. Aparna was heading to Los Angeles and to family there. Kahurangi was heading to New Zealand and Niamh to Ireland, where both faced a couple of weeks of isolation before seeing friends and family.
“I’m looking forward to that,” Niamh had said. “Two weeks of sleeping, eating room service, and screaming at the news.” We all hugged and promised to stay in contact through the KPS Gold Team Discord channel.
The last KPS person I saw before I headed off was Brynn MacDonald, who waved to me and told me to keep a lookout for a new assistant for her. “We can’t replace Tom,” she said. “But I still need someone to do that job.” I promised I would.
Then I was back home, in my terrible East Village apartment, which actually wasn’t as terrible as I remembered it, with Brent and Laertes.
“We missed you,” Brent said.
“I liked the quiet,” Laertes yelled, from the other room, where he was playing a video game.
“Have you even moved from that room since I’ve been gone?” I yelled back.
“It’s called quarantine, Jamie, maybe you should look into it.”
“He has left the room,” Brent assured me.
“I poop occasionally,” Laertes said.
“I’ve missed this,” I said, sincerely.
Brent grinned. “Well, good,” he said. “We’ve ordered Thai, and it’ll be here soon. And in the meantime, I can catch you up on the last six months.”
“Do I really want to know?” I asked.
Brent moved his hand in a seesaw fashion.
There was a knock on the door.
“That was quick,” Brent said, and started to get up.
I motioned him back down. “I’ll get it,” I said. “I have money for a cash tip.”
“Lord our poverty over us, moneybags,” Laertes yelled.
“I love you, too,” I said, put my mask back on, and went to answer the door.
“Pad thai, tom kha gai soup, and oh my god it’s Jamie Gray,” said the delivery person at the door.
I looked more closely. “Qanisha Williams?” I said.
“Oh my god, Jamie,” Qanisha said. She set down the food and reached out a hand to me, then remembered that it was still infectious times and drew back. “I’m so sorry. Last March. When you were fired. I didn’t tell you. I should have warned you. But I didn’t. I was afraid. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “I know what happened. About what Rob Sanders did. That one-dollar bet he made you take.”
“He made me pay him that dollar, too,” Qanisha said. “Can you believe it?”
“I can,” I assured her.
“Did you hear? About Rob?”
“I did.”
“They think he was eaten by wolves,” Qanisha said. “How weird is that?”
“It could have been weirder,” I suggested.
“I don’t know how.”
“How are you doing anyway, Qanisha?” I asked.
“Well, you know.” She motioned up and down. “This is how I’m doing. After Rob sold füdmüd, the new owners laid everyone off. They didn’t want the company or the people, they just wanted the user list. And then it was a pandemic, and there were no jobs, and this was what there was.”
“I get it,” I said. “I’ve been there.”
Qanisha smiled, but then looked miserable. “I don’t know, maybe this is karmic justice, right? I was so scared of losing my job that I let Rob do something shitty to you and those other people. And then I lost my job anyway, and here I am”—she waved down at the food—“delivering your pad thai.”
“It’s not karmic justice,” I said. “It’s just bad people and bad luck. It could have happened to anyone.”
“Yes, well, this time it happened to me.” Qanisha smiled again. “Anyway. Nice to see you, Jamie.” She turned to go.
“Hold on,” I said, reaching for my wallet.
“Oh, no tip,” Qanisha said. “I couldn’t take a tip. Not from you. Not after what I did.”
“It’s not a tip,” I said, and handed her a business card.
She took it and looked at it doubtfully. “What is this?”