So Good to See You!

By Venla Mäkelä

Emily, an interpreter, 37, lives in her New York apartment during the week and in the countryside in Pennsylvania with her boyfriend Matt during the weekends. They renovate an old farmhouse, slowly; Matt, a graphic designer, is extremely particular about every detail.
In the city, Emily runs into an old friend from high school, wild girl Marissa. Marissa is having an affair with a younger man, Justin. The next day Emily and Marissa meet for a lunch, and Marissa gets straight to point: she would like to rent Emily’s apartment on the weekends as a “love nest.” Emily doesn't know how to refuse and reluctantly agrees. The apartment is empty nearly every weekend, and she could use the extra money - what harm could “a tenant” cause? The deal starts out simply, but soon Emily is bumping into the lovebirds at every turn. Everything becomes so much more complicated!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Venla Mäkelä
• Release date: Nov 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311131591

Venla Mäkelä

Venla Mäkelä writes screenplays and fiction.She lives in Los Angeles with her family.

Book preview

So Good to See You!

So Good to See You!

Venla Mäkelä

Copyright 2013 by Venla Mäkelä

For Harry

1

Tuesday morning, May 11, I arrived at Penn Station at 8:30. I hopped in the subway and in about twenty minutes I was at an office building on Greene Street. I’m an interpreter and work more or less for the same companies, and the meetings are mostly held in the same few places, in offices in the Lower Manhattan business district or in big hotels with conference rooms and auditoriums.

I had no time to stop at my apartment so I just carried my small suitcase with me. I’m very good at packing lightly and I have perfected a kind of a uniform; a light-colored shirt, gray or navy pants, a blazer or a trench or a cardigan depending on the weather and the type of meeting. I had been living like that, traveling back and forth every week, for about a year now, since Matt and I bought an old farmhouse in Downingtown, Chester County, Pennsylvania. I usually took the early train to the city on Monday morning and returned Thursday afternoon.

The meeting with an elevator company and a Chinese manufacturer took all day and it was already getting dark when I got out. There’s a Whole Foods on East Houston Street, and I went in to get something for dinner, and that’s when it happened. I remember I was holding a tomato when I saw her, a short round woman by the deli cheese section, kissing a younger man. I think I recognized her immediately, those coppery curls, though the scene threw me off — the couple was so mismatched. She was wearing a gold-embroidered overcoat and large earrings, and he looked like a member of a boy band. The woman glanced around, then stole another kiss from the guy and giggled, and then I knew for sure. It was Marissa, my old friend from high school.

I moved to another aisle. I still don’t know why. Perhaps because they were cocooned in this bubble of intimacy that made me feel like a Peeping Tom, or perhaps because I was tired and didn't feel like going through those polite how-have-you-been-all-these-years phrases and all that. And then I convinced myself it wasn’t really Marissa anyway. We had not even been friends, really; she was the type to copy your homework and borrow your pencil and your eraser and not even thank you, completely entitled and narcissistic.

I picked up a small pack of toilet paper and turned — and she was standing right in front of me.

Emily? Emily Miller? she said, her eyes squinting. She still had wild hair. Her stout body was squeezed into tight clothing, and glimmering jewelry cascaded down the full curves. You look just the same as always! she shrieked. Just the same!

Well, I thought… I mean, I saw you, but I thought… Marissa… er…? Her last name escaped me, then popped into my head: Mullins. On school roll call her name always came right after mine, often followed by silence.

Marissa spread her arms and grinned. Brand, my surname is Brand nowadays! Round and happy, she was the type that stays delicious for a long time, like a maraschino cherry lolling in heavy syrup. Her cheeks were plump and rosy and her small eyes very impressive with tons of mascara. She stepped forward and hugged me tight. The roll of toilet paper flattened in between our bodies. A few inches taller than her, I bent like a reed in her grip.

"So good to see you! Marissa said. Oh, this is great!"

Yeah, how funny —

Marissa stepped away to take a better look at me. "So how are you, what are you doing? What — how long is it since we saw each other?"

I can't remember… in high school? I said. I had a feeling she had not been there at the graduation, but I couldn’t remember why.

Oh my God, over twenty years ago! Marissa said.

Yeah —

Oh my God, how old are we? she asked, frowning.

Thirty-seven? I said, because we were.

Shh, don't say it aloud! she said, tittering. "Don't say it aloud or it's true!"

I laughed. Well —

Oh you’re so funny! she said, clutching my arm and giggling as if I had just cracked a fantastic joke. She glanced over her shoulder at her companion who had remained discreetly at the end of the aisle. There's Justin. Justin, come over here, come — Marissa said, scooping air with her stubby arm.

The young man walked up to us. He had a gentle fresh face, his thick hair shaved on the sides. His eyes made me think of retrievers.

Justin, meet my old school mate Emily. Emily, Justin, Marissa said.

We nodded a hello and shook hands, Justin flicking hair out of his eyes. After the greeting he retreated and glanced at Marissa. If I go get the wine now… we should get going…

"Oh that's right! We should! Marissa said, glancing at her gold and diamond wristwatch. She turned to me. We should get going! She whirled back to Justin. Get a good one — a good strong red. It should say something like 'goes well with steak.' I'll see you by the doors! Five minutes! Five!"

Justin nodded at her, nodded a goodbye to me too and turned to go. Suddenly Marissa spurted after him. Justin — Justin — She pressed into his palm the silver-foil-wrapped chunk of cheese she had been holding all this time. Pay for the cheese too, would you?

Justin nodded, took the cheese and walked away. Marissa returned to me, grabbed my shoulders and shook me hard. "So, how are you! Tell me everything!"

Uh… I said, Well, everything's great. I was just here to — I'm just spending a few nights in the city, I have a small place, I'm just working here. We live in a small town in Pennsylvania.

Oh really? Who's ‘we’? Are you married?

No, my boyfriend — I mean my partner, Matt. It's so silly to call him a ‘boyfriend’ at this age —

Show me photos, you must have photos!

Of Matt? I said. I never really took photos. Matt took all the photos, mostly of buildings and signs and artwork. When I took photos they were always blurry or focused on the background, or had a random person walking through. Oh… yeah, some in my phone maybe, I said.

So let's see, let’s see!

I dug into my purse. Marissa took my shopping basket.

Thanks, I said, and just for I moment I thought she's going to steal my tomato, and that's when I should have walked out. But instead I found my phone and went through the photos and showed Marissa a few: Matt in a museum coffee shop; Matt in the yard, smiling, one rubber boot braced on a spade, ready to dig dirt. We were at an exhibition opening… and in this one he's outside in our garden, I explained. Or it’s just a yard, not a garden. We are trying to —

Handsome! Marissa said. Good looking guy! Tall!

I smiled and put the phone away. Yeah, he's… handsome. And quite tall.

She handed back my basket. What's the deal with the spade?

We have this old house. He was planting carrots and stuff, I said. We had just bought the house and were sort of excited.

We had actually got a few carrots last summer, but they had been wooden and oddly gnarled, like something cursed.

A farmhouse?

Just a house, I said. "Matt wanted to — we both wanted to buy it. It's just this old house."

Well lucky girl! Countryside? I'm so jealous!

Yeah, it’s pretty nice, I said. Downingtown. Very peaceful. Do you have family? Kids?

Uh-hum, two. Two boys. They're both in high school already!

Oh? I was quite stunned. Few of our friends had children so far. People were not even getting married any more.

Yeah, imagine. Imagine that! Marissa said. The older one graduates next month.

I congratulated her, imagining a herd of stout and ginger-haired mini-Marissas, only male.

Do you live here too? I asked. "I mean, do you live here? Since we don't. I had now confused even myself. Except I do, sometimes, like I said."

She glanced at her watch. Yeah, listen, I need to get going, but I'd love to take you out to lunch.

That would be nice.

Tomorrow?

…Tomorrow? I repeated.

Yeah, or is tomorrow not good?

No, no, it's okay. I have a break from twelve thirty to two. I work nearby all this week.

Excellent. How about that small Indian restaurant, just up there on Second Avenue? What is it called again? she said, furiously pointing the direction with her thumb.

I think I know it, I said.

Great, I'll see you there! Quarter to one?

All right, I said.

Funny little dimples formed on her upper cheeks just under the eyes when she smiled. She squeezed my arm hard. "So good to see you. Tomorrow!"

Good to see you too, I said. Tomorrow. Bye.

And she left, walking with brisk little steps, her coat flapping like Batman’s cape. She had always moved fast. She had not changed one bit.

My studio apartment, on the Upper West Side on the West 74th Street, near West End Avenue in a pre-war building, was quite bare but I liked it that way. It was very sunny with a beamed ceiling and honey-colored wood floors, and the view was nice: some of the buildings opposite my seventh-floor windows were low and you could even see a glimpse of the Hudson River. There was room enough for a sofa, an armchair and a coffee table, and there was an alcove for the bed. The bathroom was big with a tub, and there was a small closet in the hall. I had decorated the place with a few souvenir statuettes and framed posters. A pop art portrait of Mao hung on the wall, but it was a gift from Matt. I had lived in Beijing and Hong Kong for three years in my late twenties, but I was not a collector and had hauled back only smaller things, like cups and slippers and soap dishes.

When I was out of college and started my first real job, my parents suggested I buy an apartment instead of renting one. I had gotten a small inheritance from my grandmother and managed to save enough for a down payment. Golden advice: in twelve years the price of the apartment had nearly tripled. The years I lived abroad I had simply rented it out. I paid over three hundred dollars in maintenance fees but in New