The Vibrant Years(33)

In his last email, he’d accused Cullie of being vicious. I needed a woman who felt more for me than physical attraction. A woman who could access other feelings.

The asshole.

“So send her what you have,” Mom said with all the cluelessness of a mother who’d never had to deal with her child struggling with homework or bad grades.

“I’ve got nothing, Mom!” Cullie snapped. “I pulled this out of thin air because of Binji. I have no idea where to even start.”

“You came up with the design for Shloka when you were sixteen. This is so much more tangible.” Mom looked baffled.

It wasn’t tangible to Cullie. Not even a little bit. Sometimes her mother really didn’t get her. The mountain burying her piled right back up.

Thankfully, Binji was right there with her. Their three-way dynamic. Binji translating between them. “The reason Shloka came so easily to Cullie was that she understood the problem she was trying to solve,” Binji explained.

Mom looked like she always looked when the topic of Cullie’s mental health came up. At once disbelieving and completely convinced that she understood it better than anyone else, simply by virtue of having birthed Cullie.

It was a conversation neither one of them wanted, or knew how to get into.

Cullie understood only too well how her mother processed the fact that Cullie “had issues.” Cullie’s first memories of the waves of noise came with her mother responding by telling her to remember that she was perfect. But that just meant that the imperfection of a mental illness didn’t fit in with that. Over the years Mom had found a way to tidy it all up by creating the narrative that Cullie was her brilliant child whose brain had parts that worked in overdrive, therefore making other parts of her brain not work as well.

Cullie had once overheard Mom explaining it to Radha Maushi, Mom’s best friend. She’d said it was like being a runner. You could either be a sprinter or a marathoner. And the more brilliant you were at one, the more challenging it made the other. It was a matter of focus. In Mom’s view, Cullie’s brain’s focus was taken up with code and numbers, so “processing other aspects of life” got neglected.

For many years, Cullie had believed it was a choice too. And no matter that her therapist had set her straight; she sometimes still liked thinking of it as a choice. Because that meant that when she decided to focus on it, she’d know how to make it go away.

“Binji’s right. I was the problem I was trying to solve,” Cullie said, tone ironic.

“Maybe that’s the case with this problem too,” Mom said, trying not to be intrusive.

“When was the last time you went on a date, beta?” Binji never had a problem being intrusive.

Binji grinned with more than a little self-satisfaction. As the veritable truckload of roses sitting on the table proved, she was suddenly something of an expert on the matter of dating-shating now, because new suitors were already circling.

A grunt escaped Cullie before she could rein it in.

“Exactly!” Binji mimicked her grunt, managing to turn the sound entirely nonsensical. “You have never dated. You have never looked for a person to be with.”

She was aware. She hadn’t gone looking for Steve. He had fallen into her lap. As had all the boys she’d slept with in high school and college. Cullie had lost her virginity at sixteen. Mostly because she’d never been great at holding back her curiosity. She’d had to know what the big deal about sex was.

As someone who had a hard time understanding what everyone around her was chasing—freedom, achievement, pleasure—sex had felt like the shortest path to figuring at least some piece of it out. It was amazing how easy it was to fool around in high school if you didn’t care about things like popularity or gossip. Her reputation for being able to hack lives away with a flick of her hand meant no one dared share anything about her online.

“You’ve never had to search,” Binji clarified as though Cullie might have missed her meaning.

“I don’t want to search now!” In fact, could she undo having found Steve, please.

“You’re twenty-five years old.” This from Mom, as though Cullie wasn’t aware of her own age. “How can you not want to search? It’s a natural part of being human. Unless you’ve suppressed that part of yourself so hard that you don’t even know you’ve done it.” Mom applying her worldview to psychoanalyzing Cullie was Cullie’s least favorite thing, so she ignored it.

Binji’s face softened but her eyes sharpened. That fierceness was back. “Every girl should meet a man who makes her feel exactly right. At least once in her life.”

What did that even mean? Steve had made her feel good. But what was feeling right? Parts of Cullie never felt right. Other parts of her always did.

“Or at least that’s the dream,” Mom said. “That’s why this app has potential. Because everyone feels the need to search for the one who makes them feel that way.” She looked so determined to show no feelings, Cullie’s heart twisted for her. But then she went on, and the sympathy evaporated. “Aren’t you curious? Lonely for companionship?”

“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black,” Cullie said, ruthlessly pulling out one of Granny Karen’s many favorite old-world idioms. “You’re forty-seven, Mom! Aren’t you afraid it will be too late? Aren’t you lonely for companionship?”