ARCHIE, MARY, NANCY, ROLAND, and Ed congregated near the snacks. Archie had turned his back to Anna, granting her the wish of extreme discretion. Outside, Bruno and his friends stood in the street looking at Guido’s new car. Bruno balanced Polly on his hip. Daniela leaned in and tickled her. Polly Jean was a dozen smiles and giggles.
The party continued dully. As was the case with Edith’s party, Anna’s had split into halves—though here it was geography and not gender that divided the room: the native friends of Bruno’s stayed outside, and Anna and her foreign acquaintances remained indoors. How emblematic, Anna thought. They’re free to move in open air through their own world. We are locked in a box of otherness. There’s a line of demarcation. They tolerate our presence but will never welcome it.
Mary announced she’d brought board games. Edith groaned from the station she’d assumed on the couch, and Anna shot her a stare she didn’t look up from her cell phone to see. Nancy’s position was sympathetic and she said she’d be up for playing, if other people were. Mary arranged the choices on the coffee table. Life. Risk. Trivial Pursuit. Sorry. Even the board games pointed a finger at Anna. She caught Archie’s eye and mouthed Please leave. Archie blinked against her request and in turn mouthed In a bit. Anna responded by retreating into the kitchen.
A minute later, Mary joined her. “There you are! You’re missing all the fun! If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to avoid your own party.”
“Mary,” Anna spoke with exasperation. “I told you I didn’t want a party.”
Anna opened the refrigerator. Inside, a layer cake so large that the refrigerator’s upper shelves and everything that rested upon them had been removed so the cake could fit. Where’s my salad dressing? Where’s my mustard? I want to know where my mustard is. Anna shoved the door closed. The fridge made a dramatic rattle.
“Are you mad, Anna?” There was a tremor in Mary’s voice. Anna didn’t want to hurt Mary’s feelings. She had little choice but to inhale the whole affront. “No, Mary. Not at all. It’s a good surprise. Thank you.”
“WHAT ARE YOU GOOD at?” the Doktor asked one afternoon.
Anna scanned her memory, attempting to recall the last time she’d been asked, if ever. She gave a catechumenal answer, born of repetition and praxis.
“I don’t know,” Anna replied, and both women understood this to mean I’d prefer to not talk about it.
The Doktor pressed. “I’m not letting you off this hook,” she said, then crossed her legs and arms and leaned back in her chair as she settled in for the protracted wait that prefigured any conversation with Anna that required initial coaxing. The windows were closed and the room was damp and clammy. The Doktor redirected. “Okay. Let’s try this one. What is it you like to do? Whether you’re good at it I don’t care.”
I like to fuck, was Anna’s on-the-spot response, though she kept it to herself. Instead she squinted and bit her lip and tried to think past the fucking as the Doktor waited for her to answer.
“When I was younger”—Anna drew a pause, emphasizing “younger” as if it were key that a then and now distinction be understood—“I liked to sew.”
The Doktor clapped her hands together once. “Finally! An admission!” The levity came off as inconsiderate. “Now. Were you good at it?”
Anna hadn’t sewn in years. The last time she pulled out her machine—Where was it now, anyway? The attic? The basement?—Victor was an infant and she still had the determination necessary to cultivate a certain kind of home life. Anna told this to the Doktor.
“And why did you stop?”
Anna mumbled a response along the lines of a lack of time and energy.
“And what’s keeping you from sewing now?”
The answer remained intact. “Time. Energy.” She was empty of both. She offered freely to her men all her free hours. She stored up no stamina for herself.