Now it's filled with condos, and they're all a trillion dollars a month. But, in those days, she owned the house, and also a coffeehouse a few blocks away.
I was too broke to pay rent, so every morning saw me behind the counter.
This was the arrangement. I'd just broken up with my ex-a doctor with legible handwriting, an ungenerous top because he was moving to Austin and I wasn't down to do that.
Margo lived with her young son, Walter. Sometimes he went by Walt, the name his father called him, but his father was gone. My aunt had introduced the two of them to me as her Good Friends, which meant they'd cither met at church or been involved in some kind of beauty-shop gossip entanglement but, when I was standing in their doorway, effectively unhoused, none of that had mattered to me.
Walter looked up at me with absolute disdain. Margo only shrugged.
I really appreciate your hospitality, I said, nearly bowing.
Don't call it that, Margo said. It's a favor. Your aunt will pay it back.
This made my aunt's eye twitch. But it wasn't a lie. I'd been living with her for a while, and, ever since she'd walked in on me sucking off a hookup in her living room, every word she lobbed my way felt loaded. So she smiled, pushing me forward a bit.
You'll hardly even notice him, she said, rubbing my back. He's no trouble.
Better not be, Margo said.
Walter kept staring at my face. I scrunched it a bit to see if he'd laugh or something, but he did not.
I'd been a barista before, but Margo still wanted me to make her a coffee.
She sat with her legs crossed at the bar, tapping at her phone. It wasn't a big space: there were three sofas, a few tables, and some drapes lining the windows. The walls were painted the lightest shade of gray. Walter sketched Bluey at a table by the entrance.
Is this a test? I asked.
Only if achievement-based endeavors give you validation, Margo said.
And if I fail?
Denne historien er fra September 16, 2024-utgaven av The New Yorker.
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Denne historien er fra September 16, 2024-utgaven av The New Yorker.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
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GET IT TOGETHER
In the beginning was the mob, and the mob was bad. In Gibbon’s 1776 “Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,” the Roman mob makes regular appearances, usually at the instigation of a demagogue, loudly demanding to be placated with free food and entertainment (“bread and circuses”), and, though they don’t get to rule, they sometimes get to choose who will.
GAINING CONTROL
The frenemies who fought to bring contraception to this country.
REBELS WITH A CAUSE
In the new FX/Hulu series “Say Nothing,” life as an armed revolutionary during the Troubles has—at least at first—an air of glamour.
AGAINST THE CURRENT
\"Give Me Carmelita Tropicana!,\" at Soho Rep, and \"Gatz,\" at the Public.
METAMORPHOSIS
The director Marielle Heller explores the feral side of child rearing.
THE BIG SPIN
A district attorney's office investigates how its prosecutors picked death-penalty juries.
THIS ELECTION JUST PROVES WHAT I ALREADY BELIEVED
I hate to say I told you so, but here we are. Kamala Harris’s loss will go down in history as a catastrophe that could have easily been avoided if more people had thought whatever I happen to think.
HOLD YOUR TONGUE
Can the world's most populous country protect its languages?
A LONG WAY HOME
Ordinarily, I hate staying at someone's house, but when Hugh and I visited his friend Mary in Maine we had no other choice.
YULE RULES
“Christmas Eve in Miller’s Point.”