Luisa Beltran

How Becca Got Her Apartment Back

My sister lived to torture me. Like a Samurai, she swung the knife and began chopping, cutting up several stalks of celery, a huge glob of kale, six garlic cloves and a carrot. Each strike of the blade sounded like a bullet going off. She poured this heap into the blender. She added a handful of blueberries, a dash of protein powder that she claimed helped her skin and glob of honey. This was her breakfast smoothie. The concoction smelled like stinky feet, but Sonya didn’t mind. 

She was dressed in her finest this Friday morning. Sonya’s charcoal hair was straightened to perfection, the makeup on her face looked like it was professionally applied, and she was wearing a black pencil skirt that was so tight I wondered how she could breathe.

“Workplace romances are inappropriate,” I said as I sipped my café con leche like a normal person. 

Sonya had a crush on the VP at her job and she wanted to get in early so she could flirt. My sister was always an idiot in the romance department. She married her first husband straight out of high school and popped out a baby before she was twenty. When James, her son, was 10 years old, Ramone left her. My sister moved in with me. She split 12 months later to marry Carlos, her soulmate that she found online. That lasted five years before Sonya appeared at my door. “I just love too much, Becca. Help me,” she said through tears. That was 48 months, three days and 6 hours ago.

“Sonya, just don’t rush into something, okay? Just give yourself some time.”

“I’m fine,” she said as she turned on the blender. It was 8 a.m. Whirr, whirr, whirr filled the kitchen, and I could barely hear myself think. I damned myself for letting Sonya live with me again. At least James was finally away at college.   

I gasped as Sonya peeled off the housecoat she wore to protect against splashes. We’re both over 40 now but Sonya, whose never been able to shake the baby weight of her first born, looked like she dropped 20 pounds over night. 

“What happened to you?” 

My sister twirled like a ballerina in the middle of my kitchen. Seriously. Sonya stretched out her arms and spun around so I could get a clear view. When we were young, Sonya had one of the smallest waists and perkiest butts of all our friends. Men used to wait for her to walk down the street, nick naming her the “washing machine.” Sonya claimed to be insulted but I knew the truth — she loved the attention. My sister was blessed with a knockout shape that made her a legend. That all went away when James was born. She spent the next 25 years trying to regain the figure that made her famous.

Now, the body was back. 

“What did you do?” I said again. “Did you have surgery or something?”

“What? Becca, you crazy. I didn’t do nada. You saw me yesterday. I just prayed to God and I woke up this morning this way. It’s truly a miracle.” She looked at me in utter seriousness. 

I couldn’t deny that Sonya looked like a swimsuit model. I tried to think back to the last time I saw her. It was the prior night. I came home late from my job as a financial analyst at an investment bank. My work was boring, and I hated it, but it paid for the two-bedroom apartment I owned in Manhattan. I remembered taking off my jacket, placing the container of Chinese food I had picked up on the counter, and saying hello to Sonya as she watched some novella. My 10-year-old cat, Calvin, lay curled up in her lap as my sister stared at the TV show. She was so involved in the soap opera that she barely acknowledged me. Sonya did, however, take the bowl of Kung Pao chicken I handed to her. 

“We watched TV last night. What else?”

“There was light, lots of lights,” Sonya said. “We were sitting on the couch, and I couldn’t see. Then, I woke up.”

I also remembered a blinding flash but didn’t want to encourage my sister. “That’s weird.”

We both paused as we tried to understand what happened. My sister poured her dark, green drink that was lumpy, into a tall glass. It still stank of feet. I made a face as Sonya drank the concoction. 

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” she said softly, smacking her lips.

“Shut up, Sonya.”

“Yeah, you are. Little Miss Successful can’t handle that I look good.” She smirked and raised her drink as if in victory. I restrained the urge to throw my coffee at her, especially since she was right. It was so unfair. Sonya looked amazing in her va-va-vavoom office attire. Her skirt didn’t appear nearly as tight as I thought, while the silk, ivory blouse, with open collar, she wore looked sexy but elegant. She matched this with three-inch black high heels that made her five-foot frame look nearly normal. 

I, meanwhile, was dressed in a drab, gray pantsuit. My frizzy black hair was pulled back into a bun and the sensible shoes I wore made my large feet look like bricks. All the late nights I spent studying the profitability of tech companies had not helped my figure. I was the bigger sibling in every way. I was four inches taller than Sonya and about 40 pounds heavier. When we were very young, we looked like twins, our faces the same heart shape and our hair cut in similar page boy hairstyles. We were only two years apart. As we grew up, Sonya’s proportions stayed perky and cute while my nose grew bigger, my eyes smaller and my stomach larger. Add the glasses with coke-bottle lenses I wore and it’s a wonder I didn’t jump out the window. 

“You jealous, you jealous,” Sonya said in a singsong voice. 

“Shut up!” 

“I knew it. You’re always so jealous. What’s wrong with you? You need to do more than just play with numbers, Becca.”

“Numbers is how I pay for the apartment we live in and that sofa you sit on at night.”

“Yeah, I know. But Becca you need to get out and have fun. Do something. The only time I see you really smile is when Calvin is with you.”

At the mention of his name, I heard a meow. I turned to find my large, ginger cat lurking by the front door. Every morning, the 15-pound feline would sit on the counter as I ate, which I interpreted as his show of moral support. He’d gone missing this morning, something I had dismissed. Calvin probably needed a break from Sonya’s outrageousness as well. 

“Come on, poppa. Come have some breakfast with us,” Sonya said to the cat. “Come on baby.” She picked up one of his bags of treats and shook it. That always brought Calvin running. 

The cat took a few steps toward Sonya, sniffed the air, and then let out a very loud hiss. I dropped my cup on the counter in shock. Calvin was the sweetest, most gentle cat I’d ever had. In the four years since I’d rescued him, he had never hissed at anyone. We hugged him, carried him around like a baby and he even let Sonya paint his nails. “What’s wrong with Calvin?” I said. 

The orange feline stared at my sister in what looked like kitty horror. His golden-green pupils had grown as large as plates as he let out a low growl that vibrated the floor. “What did you do to him, Sonya?”

“I didn’t do nothing. I’m always sweet to my little man.” 

This was true. Calvin adored Sonya almost as much as he loved me. She once said that her perfect husband would be a guy who cared for her the way Calvin did. This was one issue we were in complete agreement. 

The cat took another step toward my sister. His growl grew louder while his tail had fluffed out to twice its normal size. He looked large and intimidating as he raised a big, meaty paw at my sibling. Calvin appeared ready to strike. “Okay that’s it,” I said, as I stepped toward him. I scooped up the chunky cat and cradled him in my arms like a newborn. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Calvin just stared at my sister, his growl now quieter but somehow more menacing. 

“Maybe he needs to go to the doctor,” Sonya said, her voice shaking. I could tell she was disturbed but was trying to play it off. She picked up her shoulder bag and walked to the front door. Sonya was hurt by Calvin’s behavior. My sister, for all her irritating qualities, adored the cat. “I gotta go. Try not to sell out at your super-rich job, okay? Be a good Mexican.”

“Oh, stop.”

“Remember who you are. Tacos before canapes.”

I just rolled my eyes at my sibling. Sonya used to joke that I just wanted to be like my Anglo coworkers and even planned an intervention when I once considered dying my hair blond. It was a momentary fantasy. She didn’t realize there was no way I could ever hide my caramel skin or frizzy hair. “Sonya, just go be an office cliché, okay? Call me if you want something special for dinner.”

 “Fight the power, baby,” she sang out. 

I heard the door close as my sister left. Once Sonya was gone, Calvin grew much calmer. His growl stopped, his body de-fluffed and he head-butted me in the chin. I kissed his forehead and nuzzled his neck. “What’s the matter, honey?” I carried him to his bowl. I opened a can of food and plopped the contents into a dish and watched as he ate. “Can you believe how pretty Sonya got? It’s so unfair. I do everything here. I pay for everything, and I work so hard, so we can have a good life but it’s Sonya who gets to be pretty? Ay caramba. When will things go my way? It’s my childhood all over again. Nothing goes my way. Nothing.”

I let myself go on my whiny tirade because Calvin was the most patient and understanding of felines. After he was done eating, he began cleaning himself. He seemed perfectly normal. I heard a ping, the warning signal on my phone that alerted me I needed to get to work. 

I ruffled Calvin’s fur. “It’s another day with cat hair on my clothes but people need to just accept that, don’t they, honey?” I heard a soft meow and took that as his agreement. 

Minutes later, I stood outside my building. The neighborhood of east 84th Street was busy. Once construction of the Q subway line finished, even more people moved in, which made everything on the Upper East side even more crowded. But it was a short trip to my office on 23rd street. It was May, still cool, and luckily the stench of urine and garbage was not too strong on the subway platform. I waited about three minutes before the train arrived; it was filled with the usual crowd of executives, students and tourists. I barely noticed anything. The morning’s incident has brought about a “woe is me” attack that my therapist often warned me against. He said I needed to break myself of habitual self-pity, arguing that these incidents could easily descend into depression. “Just stop. Think about all you have to be thankful for,” he said. This man, who clearly wasn’t listening to me, would then list all my success. “You are so lucky,” he would say. 

My therapist just didn’t understand. It’s hard to feel happy when life was clearly against you. I knew I was jealous of Sonya. I had spent my whole life, especially in high school, as the gawky older sister of a homecoming queen. Literally. Sonya was so loved she was named queen of the junior and senior proms. Everyone loved her. Even now, our childhood friends called every year to wish her happy birthday. No one remembered me. 

“You need to just chill. People are scared of you because you’re so smart and successful. Just be nice,” my sister would say. This was her constant advice. More than twenty years after high school, I still had problems talking to her friends and not messing up. I once giggled when one of Sonya’s girlfriends, who was sobbing on our couch, told us how her mother had died. It was an ill-timed, nervous laugh at a horrible moment that I was forever judged. Again, very unfair. 

After college, I landed on Wall Street, living the life of a financial worker bee. My sister followed me here from our home in Chicago. She loved Manhattan. The constant happy hours meant Sonya always had a man or some love interest. Plus, the city accepted everyone, even a single Mom with an awkward sister. 

I braced myself as the subway car swerved, causing me to grab onto a poll next to two teenagers. “Did you see it?” one of the boys, dressed in white exercise pants and a gray sweatshirt, said to the other. 

“Yeah, man. It was weird. Like an explosion, all bright but no sound. Our lights went out,” the other teen said. He wore jeans and a blue hoodie. They both, of course, refused to lower their backpacks on the crowded train car. It was so rude. 

“So did ours. But that’s it. Did anything happen?”

“Dunno. The news said it was just light, but they don’t know from where.”

I barely heard the conversation even though the teens were practically shouting at each other. I was too stuck in my misery. I turned away from their conversation and found myself face-to-face with a newspaper. I remembered when the subway was once filled with people reading the New York Times, but nowadays most commuters just checked their phones for news. “Light Bomb Fills the Sky,” the front-page headline screamed. I angled my body to read more of the story. 

“Officials were puzzled by the aurora of lights that filled the night sky on Thursday evening. The display disrupted electricity in all five boroughs, causing several trains to stop and traffic to halt all over New York City. No one was hurt, officials said. It’s unclear what caused the glow.” 

Any other time, the story would’ve piqued my curiosity. This morning, I just looked away. The train swerved to a stop at 42nd street. The teenagers left in the crush of people exiting the train, only to be replaced by a new throng of riders.  

“I saw it,” a female voice near me said. A roughly 30-year-old woman, wearing a black leather jacket and black-and-white checkered pants, had her hand on the same pole I was using. “I saw the lights last night, too,” she said. 

“What?”

“I saw the lights last night, too. The flash lasted several minutes. Knocked out all my electricity.”

“Oh.”

“But I don’t remember anything after. It’s just so strange.”

“Oh, that’s so sad.” I tried to make my voice sound concerned but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was too busy replaying all the misery of my life. Did I mention that the guy I was in love with in high school, that I spent years pining after, ended up asking my sister out? Sonya wouldn’t go out with him out of loyalty to me. Of course, she made sure I knew it. I was forever the runner up. 

“They said it might be aliens.”

I realized that the train woman was still speaking to me. I tried not to yawn. “I doubt immigrants have anything to do with the electricity in New York City.”

“No, not those aliens,” the woman said, her voice growing loud. “Those aliens.” She lifted her hand and pointed up. 

“What?”

The woman sighed. I was not the right person for her tales. “I don’t remember last night after the flash,” she said.

“Really? That’s so weird but I don’t either.”

Before we could discuss the lights further, the train came to a sudden stop. Several people nearly lost their balance as the car doors whooshed open. I realized it was my exit. “Lots of people don’t remember,” I heard the woman shout as I raced out to the platform. I waved at her as I tried to navigate the crowds, weaving in and out, to get to my job quicker. 

I forgot all about the subway conversation once I was seated at the desk I had left 12 hours earlier. I turned on my monitor and braced myself for another day of spreadsheets. First, I needed some coffee and made my way to the break room. 

“Hey, it’s the Queen of Wall Street,” a male voice yelled out. 

“Happy Friday, Henry!” My best work buddy, who stood about four inches taller than me, leaned his slight frame against the counter. He was impeccably dressed, as usual, in a dark blue, pinstripe suit, freshly pressed white shirt and pink tie. Henry didn’t do business casual. “What’s wrong, Becca? Sister still bothering you?”

“Of course, she is.”

“Then, why don’t you kick her out? It’s been years this time. No one would think bad of you for taking your apartment back. “

I sighed in response. Henry and I started out more than twenty years ago in the same analyst class at the bank. We had both dreamed of becoming investment bankers, of setting the business world on fire, but the discrimination and hazing were too much. I was one of the few Latinas at the bank who wasn’t a secretary or the cleaning lady. One year, as a joke, some of the bankers sent me toilet brushes as a secret Santa gift. I laughed it off. I had applied to many positions in banking but somehow was never picked. Only Henry understood. He was an openly gay, black man who loved to spend his evenings at drag shows singing Lady Gaga songs. He would often show up at work with blush still on his cheeks, dripping glitter and stinking of tequila. But Henry was brilliant with financials and forecasting. He knew when to exit a position before anyone on the Street. He also never made it out of research.  

“Where would she go? Queens? I can’t do that to her.” I slammed my cup on the counter and poured some coffee into it. I promised myself to stop at four cups. “It’s not that.”

“Then what? Tell your best buddy what’s bothering you.” Henry smiled at me like a Cheshire cat. 

“It’s just so wrong…” I began and stopped. Henry had long talked about getting plastic surgery to fix all that was wrong with his face. My friend wasn’t very attractive despite the $5,000 suits he wore. His ears were as big as Dumbo’s, his cheeks looked like he stuffed them with hamburger rolls, and his lips were always heavily chapped. But Henry was terrified of doctors and needles. There was no way he could endure any cosmetic procedures. 

This morning, he looked different, better. “Did you do something? Did the Frownies finally work?”

“What? I’m just too sexy to listen to you right now.” He turned his face away and I could see the outline of his cheek bones. Henry’s face had always lacked definition, no matter how much bronzer he used. His ears this morning looked like he taped them to his head and his mouth appeared smooth and velvety. 

“What did you do? You’re beautiful.”

“Me? I’m as innocent as a newborn baby.” Henry batted his lashes at me which were long and glorious. Another change.

“You look fabulous. Better than Idris Ilba.”

“This is why I love you, Becca. You always tell me the truth.” He picked up his coffee and gulped. “I have to go flirt with some of the guys in credit. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Before I could respond, he shuffled off. This was unusual for Henry, who always stayed and listened to me. Henry was one of my oldest friends in NYC; he knew all about my frustration with Sonya and badgered me to “take a stand.” He was gone now, another person whose fortunes had improved. Unlike me. 

I returned to my cubicle and prepared myself. As an analyst, my firm provided investment ratings of public companies. This involved conducting research and interviewing the management teams of the businesses we covered. I had a 10 a.m. call with the young CEO of a company that had gone public months earlier. Their numbers didn’t make sense, their losses were escalating, but my employer desperately wanted their business. The company would likely pay lots of fees before they likely went out of business. I needed to be pleasant and appeasing with the management team. I had a mortgage to pay. 

As I prepared, I felt someone looking over my shoulder. I turned and found Maggie Sinclair, one of the heads of the investment bank. She was older, about 65, and famous on Wall Street for breaking down barriers for women. Maggie was tall and slim with shoulder-length, grey hair that lightly fanned her face. She was impeccably dressed in a steel-colored designer jacket and matching skirt that looked like they belonged in Vogue. Before I grew disillusioned, I modeled myself after this woman.  

“Hello, dear,” Maggie said, her voice cool and polished. “How are you?”

I was stunned. Maggie was one of the highest-ranking execs in the bank. She was too powerful to bother with someone like me. She stood outside my cube, chatting as if we were old friends.

“I’m good. How are you?” I tried to appear confident. 

 “Does it seem normal here to you today?”

“Normal?” 

Maggie stepped back and waved her hand at the rest of the floor. I stood up and looked around. Many of the desks were empty, which was weird. The offices should have been busy with people making calls or Zooming or holding in-person meetings. Instead, there were maybe five people scattered throughout the floor. Their laptops were on, but they weren’t typing. Some help up their phones to their faces, but I couldn’t hear any talking. I realized they had reversed the camera and were just staring at themselves. 

“It’s the lights,” Maggie said. 

I stared in confusion. 

“The lights from last night,” she repeated. “Didn’t you see them? People are not themselves today. It’s like the Greek myth of Narcissus. He died because he couldn’t stop looking at himself.” I tried not to make a face. Maggie, who like nearly everyone I worked with, had attended an Ivy. They always felt the need to educate. 

“The whole company is paralyzed. You’re one of the few working.”

I realized that Maggie only spoke to me because she had no other choice. We were surrounded by zombies but not the flesh-eating type. My hopes of a promotion faded. 

“Anything different happen with you or your family?” she continued. 

With any normal person, I would’ve spent 20 minutes complaining about my sibling. Maggie might’ve been a legend, but she didn’t even know my name. I felt myself grow angry. She didn’t deserve to hear about Sonya’s physical changes, my cat wanting to kill her, or my misery. “Everything’s okay.” 

Maggie looked puzzled. She scrunched her peach-colored lips and smiled at me. “Well, if you want to talk about anything, I’ll be in my office.” 

I sighed in relief as I heard the exec tip-tap away. I turned my attention back to the call. 

The CEO I was supposed to interview didn’t answer my calls which was very odd. I emailed my boss to tell him, but he never responded, and that made me happy. I spent the rest of Friday leaving messages with other executives. Everyone was gone. Hours later, I boarded the six train back to the Upper East Side.

“Lucy, I’m home,” I shouted to my sister. It was nearly 6 pm, an early evening “You didn’t call so I picked up Ethiopian. I know you wanted to do the veggie thing.”

I slipped out of my jacket and flipped off my shoes. I walked to the kitchen and found two empty cartons of Ben & Jerry’s chunky monkey on the counter. Sonya’s favorite. I placed the food next to them. 

“Sonya! Did you eat all that ice cream?” The TV wasn’t on. I was momentarily scared because my sibling love to watch Netflix in the evening. That’s what we did. “Where are you?”

“In here.”

I walked to her bedroom and found my sister standing in front of the window. She was dressed in grey shorts, a t-shirt and bunny slippers. She had her back towards me and was looking out at the street below.  

“Whatcha doin?” 

Sonya didn’t respond. She pulled open the curtain and pointed out the window. “What do you see?”

I stepped forward. I could see garbage bags tied up on the curb (tomorrow was pickup), a bike locked to a post, a rat running around a tree trunk. “What? I don’t see anything.”

“That’s the point. There’s nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

Sonya tapped my forehead with her finger. “Do you notice nothing? You are so involved with your personal trauma that you don’t look.” Again, she pointed outside. “See? There’s nothing there. No one is on the street. That’s not correct. This is Manhattan, it’s beautiful outside and there’s not even a car honking its horn.”

I realized Sonya was right. Manhattan was one of the busiest and noisiest cities in the world. It was so loud I would sometimes put on the vacuum cleaner just so I could think. There were always people around. Tonight, the street was completely empty and eerily quiet. 

“Becca, there’s something weird happening,” my sister said, her voice shaking. “You remember, Mike, right? He’s the guy I like at work. He grew three inches.”

“What? Like his hair?”

“No, his height. He was normal sized, like 5’9” or something. Now, he’s six feet tall.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“No. He was showing everyone at work today.”

My sister’s words brought back my earlier stress. Everyone around me was getting prettier but not me. My sister had changed again. Her hair was even more shiny while her skin was so smooth, she looked like she was 20 years old again. All around me people were growing more attractive while I remained stuck in ugliness. 

“Did you eat all that ice cream?”

“Yes, I was starving,” Sonya said as though it was the most normal thing in the world. My sister had tried for years to lose weight. She looked thinner than this morning, even after a sugar binge. The unfairness made me want to cry. 

“You’re upset.” 

“Of course, I am. You’re getting all beautiful and skinny and now you can eat ice cream? It’s so wrong.”

“You want this to happen to you? What would you change?” she said.

I couldn’t believe Sonya had to ask. “My feet could be smaller, I could lose 30 or a 100 pounds, and I could use a new nose.”

“I like your nose. It makes you look like you.” My sister padded into the living room and sat down on the sofa, that was still miraculously off-white after so many years. I had bought it because Sonya liked all the pillows. I heard a hiss and saw Calvin lurking in the kitchen. Normally, he liked to snuggle with my sister at night but now he just glared at her. 

“I think it’s aliens.”

“What? You don’t like immigrants either?”

“Dios mio, are you that clueless?” Sony rolled her eyes at me. “Aliens.” She stomped to the window and pointed outside, at the night sky. “The aliens from other planets pendeja. They’re responsible for all the lights.” 

I didn’t respond. 

“You do remember the lights this week, right? It’s been every night,” she said. I knew I was dense sometimes, but I could tell she was growing very frustrated with me.  

“Really? When?”

“I know you remember the lights, Becca. Stop messing with me.” 

“I’m not messing with you. It’s just all hazy. What time does it usually happen?”

“Like around midnight.”

“Every night?”

“Yes, every night. At first, I didn’t remember but now I do.” My sister shook her beautiful hair. It was long and glorious and flowing around her shoulders like a sheet of black rain. Her cheek bones looked like they’d been chiseled by an artist. Even her lips were shaped like a rosebud with a hint of red.

“Your face has changed again.” With my finger, I touched the skin on Sonya’s forehead and checks. It felt smooth and very warm. “You’re not wearing any makeup, are you?”

She shook her gorgeous head. 

“You’re pretty, Sonya, but not this pretty. What’s going on?” My sibling had also grown more articulate but this detail I didn’t mention. Sonya already thought I was a snob. 

“So, you’re finally seeing this? I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s the lights.”

The problem when you are the older sister of a good-looking sibling is that you grow used to tuning them out. Tonight, I forced myself to really pay attention to her.

“You think the lights are making you pretty?” 

My sister grimaced and I knew she was fighting not to yell at me. “I think whoever is bringing the lights is doing something to us.”

“Why can’t they do it to me?” The words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

 “Seriously, Becca? We’re being invaded by aliens and all you can think about is that you’re not pretty?”

“Well, it would be nice.” I pouted for a moment. “And how do you know they’re invading?”

“Have you not been paying attention this week? People aren’t going to work. When they do, all they do is stare at their computer screens.”

I paused as I thought back to my conversation with Maggie. There were a lot of zombies at work, I admitted.

“But why?”

“People are stupid, Becca. We do everything to be attractive. I get a million ads on my phone for diets or new exercises that’ll help me be thin. It’s so annoying. And I download all of them. What if these aliens know this? They don’t have to give us a virus or blow up our factories to take over. They just make some of us beautiful, and we forget everything, everyone. Did I mention that I spent nearly all of today in the bathroom staring at myself? I was so worried the pretty would go away.” She paused and stared at me. “And those that don’t get these gifts are too upset to fight back.”

“What does that mean? What can I possibly do?” 

My brilliant sister was too busy to speak. The TV remote was in her hand and Sonya sped through the channels like a video game champion. She stopped at a news program. “Reports are coming in that lights have appeared over many of the world’s major cities. While the lights don’t appear to do any harm, some believe they are responsible for the physical changes experienced by certain segments of the population. The changes appear to impact adults between the ages of 20 to 45 years of age,” the male TV anchor said. 

“I’m still in that age group,” I said as my sister shushed me. 

“People who have had some sort of severe illness or physical defect do not seem to experience the changes,” the announcer said. 

“That is so not fair!” I shouted at the screen. “Just because I had cancer once doesn’t mean I should be left out.”

My sister said nothing. Instead, she tilted her head at me as though she was listening to a song only she could hear. Her eyes darted left and right several times as she stared. It was as though the aliens were silently talking to her.  

“What happening to you, Sonya? You okay?  What’s going on?” 

Sonya tilted her head at me, like a robot receiving communication. “You mean a lot to Sonya,” my sister said, her voice flat and emotionless. “She doesn’t want to leave you.”

The words tumbling from my sister’s mouth were obviously not hers. “Who’s leaving? You can’t mean Sonya? Why would she go?” I grabbed my sister’s hand, which felt hot and clammy. Then I noticed the odor. My sister liked to wear lavender perfume that she said reminded her of spring. Right now, she stank of spoiled milk, the sort that’s been sitting in the fridge too long. The smell made me a little nauseous. “You can’t leave me, Sonya. You promised you wouldn’t.”

My sister pulled away and stood up. The t-shirt she wore was so loose it slipped off her shoulder. Last week, the same top had been tight. She had grown several inches and was close to my height now, while her skin had taken on a yellowish tint. She looked like a pencil with long hair. 

“I can’t stay here anymore, Becca.” She sounded like her normal self. “The cat knows what I am…now.”

“Calvin loves you.”

“He wants to kill me.”

“He’ll get over it.” I grabbed her arm and tried not to flinch. “Sonya, please don’t go. I can’t make it without you.”

I finally admitted the truth. My sister irked me. I hated her weird foods, her constant perkiness. But she was part of me, the best part. “Please, Sonya. Tell them, whoever they are, to take someone else.”

“I’ve been given a gift.”

“Give it back!” I couldn’t help but shout the words that came out in my typical bossy style. “Please.”

“I have to go.”

“What about James, your kid? Remember him?”

“He’s already with them. He made the cut.”

I flinched at her words. I wasn’t good enough for her new family. At that moment, Sonya’s head swiveled to the side like a doll out of a horror story. The aliens were calling to her. She ran to the window, which was open, lifted the screen and jumped. This all happened in less than a second. I rushed to the window and saw my sister’s scary, skinny body skittering down the street.

I immediately picked up my phone and dialed 911. “My sister ran to join the aliens,” I shouted at the person who answered. 

“That’s happening to a lot of people,” an older male voice said. “Sorry, honey. We can’t help you with that.”

I hung up and sat down. With Sonya gone, I was lost in the home I’d owned for ten years. The sofa seemed too soft, the kitchen was filled with useless spices, the rooms were too big. I spent the weekend pacing back and forth, waiting for my sibling to return. Sonya couldn’t leave me to face the demise of humanity alone. 

The following Monday, I ran out of coffee so I went to work. The subways were out so I walked. It took me a little more than an hour since there was little traffic. I passed empty restaurants, cars sitting in the middle of the street, and hundreds of teenagers zooming around on bikes and skateboards. They were looting. I was so miserable and angry that I didn’t care. 

When I arrived, the floors of my employer were empty, the cubicles deserted as though the pandemic had returned. Henry was nowhere to be found, and I wondered if he was home staring at himself. Or maybe he left to join his new friends. I tried calling but the phone just rang and rang.

I found Maggie sitting in the break room by herself. I nearly didn’t recognize the executive. Her grey hair was pulled into a ponytail, while her jeans and T-shirt appeared slept in. She looked like a normal person.  

The exec didn’t bother saying hello. “We have days before the country descends into chaos. A vital segment of the population has gone missing,” Maggie said as though she were addressing a room full of executives. 

I was sick of her proclamations. I headed to the refrigerator for some half ‘n’ half. I opened the door, and the stench of rotten food nearly caused me to vomit. No one had cleaned it out. There were bags of sandwiches, pizza slices and left-over salads sitting on the shelves. 

“You heard me say chaos, right?” Maggie stared at me over her cup of tea. This weirded me out because the executive was a hard-core coffee drinker. “The coffee maker is broken.”

Someone had jammed an envelope of powdered milk into the single brew machine. I stared at the busted appliance in terror. 

“What am I going to do now?” I said.

“Chaos. We’ll be eating the bark off of the trees next week.”

“If there are any left.”

I felt my hands and feet begin to shake. These were the first signs of withdrawals. Maggie pushed a cup of hot, black tea into my hands. “This will help,” she said.

I tasted honey, Ceylon and a whiff of orange, which felt strange on my tongue. I chugged it. 

“You look so lost,” the executive said as she eyed my outfit. I was wearing the same yoga pants I’d fallen asleep in, along with a big White Sox t-shirt and chunky sneakers. This was my “going to the supermarket” attire that I’d hadn’t changed. 

“I’m comfortable and it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” I didn’t mention that Sonya hadn’t returned all weekend. I had spent the days walking the streets, looking for any tall, slim, long-haired woman. All I found were kids robbing and vandalizing stores. At night, they burned fires in trashcans, drank beer and smashed bottles on the floor. I did meet up with a few senior citizens, but they ran in terror from me. Even Calvin had dropped into a sort of “cat depression” without my sister to baby him. He refused to eat his crunchy treats. 

“You want to join them, don’t you?” Maggie said. 

“What?”

“I can see it in you,” the executive said. “You were never one to break the rules or do something unexpected. Which is why we never picked you for banking. You were too predictable.”

I restrained myself from throwing my drink in her face. Maggie, or someone, should’ve told me this years ago. Instead, she let grow me stale in corporate obscurity. “I thought it was because I was brown. Only people like you get the big promotions.”

“That’s also true.” She paused. “Well, don’t look so surprised. There’s no reason to lie now. People like you don’t get the banking jobs. But you were so good at crunching numbers that I couldn’t let you go.”

“Fuck you.”

I slammed my now empty cup onto the counter, which felt sticky. I raced back to my desk. I could feel Maggie eyeing me from the break room, but I didn’t care. I picked up my phone. “If anyone is there, this is Becca, Sonya’s sister. I’m nothing without her. Please tell her to come home. I’ll do anything. I can’t go on like this,” I said to the receiver. 

I texted the same message to 311, the help line for the city. It bounced back. I popped open my laptop and was amazed that the Internet still worked. I sent out the message using tweets, emails and social media posts. Then, I went home. It took me two hours since I kept stopping at the bodegas and stores. Many had been looted. I made sure to pick up anything caffeinated, as well as all the cat and junk food I could find. I figured I had a month before everything ran out. Luckily my apartment sat at the top of a six-floor walkup. I hoped any thieves would be too tired to make the hike. I dragged myself to my apartment. 

“Lucy, I’m home,” I sang out. I heard a soft meow and the pitter patter of a feline. My cat sauntered toward me, weaving his way around my legs. At least someone was happy I was home. I changed the water in his bowl and fed him. As I watched Calvin eat, seemingly unaware that the world was ending, I called Sonya’s cell. “Bitch, call me. This is your sister and it sucks that you left me here. It’s very unfair and wrong of you. And Calvin is sad. You made the happiest cat in the world sad, do you hear me? Get home!”

I sent out multiple texts to my friends and got no response. Of my circle, only I had not joined the aliens. Our mother had died during the pandemic, and I was glad she didn’t have to witness the conversion of her daughter to a beautiful alien. Luckily, Netflix still worked. I fell asleep on the sofa, Calvin perched on my chest and seemingly standing patrol as I watched a “Doctor Who” episode. I dreamt of my childhood. Sonya and I were celebrating. We sang “Happy Birthday,” while Sonya turned into the Hulk and blew out her candles. Then, she took all her gifts and left. It was terrifying.

“You stink, you know that? You need to take a shower.”

“Shut up,” I said groggily. I tried pulling the blanket over my head but could see the sun peeking through the curtains in the living room. I heard a meow and found Calvin staring at me. My sister was holding him. Glitter nail polish sparkled on his orange toes. 

“Oh my God, where have you been?”

“Making new friends.” Sonya smiled and I realized she was back to her old, normal-looking self. Her waistline was thicker, her hair curlier and she had shrunk. She smelled human. 

“You stink.”

“No, you stink more. You stink like old shoes, Sonya.”

“Oh yeah? You stink of white bread, boring white bread.”

“You can’t stink of bread, silly.” I paused. “I’m glad you’re back. Calvin was so sad.”  

She hugged the cat to her chest.  “I asked them to let me go. They said I couldn’t keep the pretty if I left. But that’s okay, you know?” 

I knew it wasn’t. My sister had given up beauty for me. There were likely other things she had sacrificed. I wondered if the aliens would’ve given her superpowers; maybe she would’ve been immortal, or she could fly or something cool like making plants grow. I thought it better not to ask.

“You were pretty enough, Sonya. You don’t need them.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” She sighed and nuzzled Calvin. The feline purred blissfully in her arms. “I told them I had to come back to my family. My little man.” Again, she hugged Calvin, who head-butted Sonya in the chin. 

“What about James?” I had forgotten my nephew in my terror. 

“He busted out. Can you believe it? The aliens were too boring for him.” She smiled at me. “Yeah, you can stop screaming into the phone. They got all stressed over that. ‘Why can’t your sister chill? Didn’t she want to be free?’ I told them we’re a package. Like Twinkies. You don’t get just one Twinkie, you get two.”

I smiled, stood up and gasped. My BO could’ve melted metal. “I reek. How did I not notice? I need to take a shower.”

I followed Sonya to the kitchen as she began to make breakfast. “Oh, they did have one thing to tell you,” she said, as she took out a container of pinto beans that she was preparing to mash. “If you want to join the invaders, they’ll consider it. You didn’t have bad cancer so they can make an exception.” She stopped moving around. “But no Calvin. Little man can’t go with them.”

“You told them no for me?” 

My sister was so busy she didn’t hear my voice waver. She cracked some eggs into a frying pan, and I watched them sizzle. The scent of butter filled the room. 

“I told them I would let you decide.” Sonya was so sure of me that she didn’t bother to look at my face. If she had, she would’ve noticed my eyes widen and my mouth pop open.  

I padded to the bathroom and stared at my reflection. My hair was so frizzy it looked like I’d been hit by a lightning bolt, while my skin was as dry as sandpaper, and my boobs sagged like one of those native women in National Geographic. All that could change. I could finally be the pretty sister. Somehow my phone was in my hand as I considered my fate. It would all be so easy to just say yes. I turned on the screen.