youthjuice by E.K. Sathue

Author:E.K. Sathue [Sathue, E.K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

9

“I can’t have an orgasm, I’ve moved my forehead enough today.” Gemma is across the table from me in the left Ovary, trying to pout without wrinkling her face. Below the table, the notebook comes alive on my lap under tented fingers, a vital organ. It burns a hole.

“Soph, help me convince Gem not to cancel this date tonight,” Tree says.

“Hm?”

“Tree is trying to set me up with one of her investment banker friends. I keep telling her I’m getting too old to show emotion, so I need to schedule one of our treatments first.”

“We don’t have enough for that,” Tree says.

You think you know someone and then a new dimension reveals itself. Moments ago, I would not have pegged Gemma as someone who needed a date to be arranged. I pictured men flocking to her like appointed angels.

Today she is haggard. From certain angles, a sag beneath the chin. Her future face overlaying her current one in nightmarish compilation, a funeral slideshow. The women of HEBE exist for me in a shimmering bubble, a mythical nowhereisland. Before my eyes, black spots of mold form on the bubble’s cool, opalescent surface. Gemma wearing her age sends a sick dread from the crown of my head to the pit of my stomach. I called the meeting, but the reality of Tree and Gemma in the room has me reluctant to begin. I spent all weekend reading the notebook, pacing the apartment, hiding from Dom, who left sometime on Saturday and never returned. Bruises up and down my thighs from bumping furniture. I press one, a dull pleasant ache that starts deep in the muscle.

I have to tell them about Dom.

“You wanted to see us?” Tree says. Her pretty face falters, a flash of displeasure.

I clear my throat. “Um.”

“Honey, what did I tell you about vocal fry? You have got to work on that or no one will take you seriously in a boardroom. Remind me to send you the link to my voice coach’s YouTube channel, her exercises will change your life.” Tree runs a finger from the hairline to the center of her forehead and presses down. Closes her eyes and massages in a circle. Her forehead ripples like a lake that calms when she pulls her hand away. Her eyes spring open.

“But please. Tell us what’s on your mind, Soph.”

My throat feels stuffed with cotton. I smile smile smile at the Ovary’s salaciously curved walls and try to remember what I rehearsed.

“What about the FDA? And the cops?” Not how I planned to begin, but good enough.

“Is that all this is about? You’re worried about the consequences! The FDA is a joke. We can put mercury in our moisturizer and they’d never know,” Tree says. “And did you know that cops only solve two percent of crimes? I read that in The New Yorker. Don’t be fooled by all their flashy equipment—they’re eye candy. Soph, remember—we’re going to lean heavily on you when we figure out the branding.”

All I can think to say is: “I’m excited to be part of the team.

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