Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“But he doesn’t have time. The house is sold. He’s …” I let out a jagged sigh I pray isn’t a sign of pending tears. “He’s already gone.”
Lance turns to me and, like reading some lame quote from a relationship column, says, “If he truly loves you, he’ll come back.”
I snort. “Oh, great. Then I’m definitely shit outta luck.” I give up on dinner and fall back against the couch.
Lance falls back too, joining me. “You don’t know that.”
“I most certainly do.”
“Love has a thousand weird forms.”
“Spare me.”
“Chad threw a lasso around my ankles and took me straight to the ground. I made him wear a hot pink jockstrap to a party.” He eyes me. “I know what I’m talking about when I say love is weird.”
“But you and Chad were practically fated. Hated each other in high school. Fell in love at your high school reunion. Diego and I … we’re just two people who rub each other the wrong way.”
“You certainly rub each other some way,” he mumbles.
“Why didn’t I stop him from leaving the bar?”
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t torture yourself over this. Just give yourself time. Let him have the space he needs. Even if it’s … way more space than you want to give him. You’ll never be alone. You’ve got me and the guys. You’ve got your gals, too. And you’ve got …” He gestures at the TV. “… whatever the fuck this is.”
I sigh. “Thank you for the meal. I’ll pay you back.”
“Don’t you dare.” He pats my leg, then sits back up to resume eating. After a moment, I do, too.
Sometime later, after cleaning up and putting away the half of a steak I couldn’t finish, we relocate to my bedroom because Lance is suddenly obsessed with looking at old yearbooks since he kept none of his. We laugh at how we looked back then. He had longer hair that curled at his shoulders he only halfway misses. I was so skinny and scrawny looking, this being way before I decided to put some time into a gym in my twenties. After I take a quick trip to the bathroom, I come back to find Lance having fallen asleep on my bed, face pressed to the wrestling team photo in the yearbook.
I cover him with a blanket and turn off the light.
He snores, by the way.
In the kitchen, I sit alone with my phone, no closer to having any answers. Two more tries, Diego’s phone still goes straight to voicemail. After toiling over what to say, I finally decide to send the only text I can think of to get his attention.
SOS.
After all, he told me he’d always come when I send one, right?
It delivers.
Then I stare at the screen, waiting for him to read it.
I’m still staring half an hour later, but now sideways, as I’ve since laid my head down on my outstretched arm on the table. My eyes keep feeling heavy, then light again, then heavier. Suddenly, they’re closed, and all I know is the hum of the fridge nearby.
That hum becomes an engine in the morning.
I lift my head at once at the sound.
Through the kitchen window, a tow truck.
Hooked to Diego’s father’s car.
“Wait!” I shout, bursting from my front door. “Hey! You can’t take that! What’re you doing??” I trip on my way over the lawn, nearly eating the grass. The morning sunlight blinds me. “Stop!”
The bearded man pauses, looking up at me with equally tired eyes. “What?” he grunts. “Get the wrong car?”
I nearly crash into him when I finally come to a stop. “Why’re you taking this vehicle? What’s—Why’re—Give me a second, catching my breath …”
He frowns, reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his phone. “Marcos and Charlotte Valdez.” He points at the screen. “This is their residence, isn’t it?”
I freeze, staring at their names on the screen.
They ordered the car to be towed?
“Oh.” I step back, not understanding. I step back again. Then I drop to my knees in the grass, exhausted suddenly. “Sorry.”
The man doesn’t say much more, getting back to his work. I’m just a pile of limbs as I watch, defeated completely, as he finishes the job. Then the car is taken away, just like that, slowly at first, then vanishing around the corner, out of sight, gone.
Just like him.
Did he finally give up fixing the car?
Do his aunt and uncle know he left, too?
Or is it just a courtesy given to the new homeowners, whoever they are?
This feels like a message.
Even if it isn’t.
Making Diego’s departure official in a way that the empty, unresponsive house last night wasn’t.
He really is gone.
—30—
Diego
I sit in the lobby staring off at the window, morning sunlight burning through like the world’s on fire.
Cup of cheap free orange juice from a machine.