“Oh yeah.” Sarcasm drips from her tone. “It’s a coincidence that you were mind-fucking Grant just now.”
I gasp, hands meeting to clasp over my mouth. A new emotion emerges behind her eyes. Success. I just gave myself away.
“I was not!” I move my hands to my throat in slashing motions, as if that’ll help my case. But Rosie is the smartest person I’ve ever met, and I can never fool her.
“Oh please. It was the same look you have when you see Mark Ruffalo in13 Going on 30.”
I want to defend myself, because the way Mark’s character is hopelessly in love with Jennifer Garner justifies any thoughts I may have of him, but I’m cut off.
“Besides, with that story you told me, I don’t blame you. I didn’t know he had lines like that. ‘I didn’t forget about you, Liliana. Not for a second.’” She sighs dreamily, and the reminder almost pulls one out of me, too. “It makes sense why you’re horny for Grant.”
“Rosalie!”
I knock over the soy sauce and chili oil dispensers in shock. We use our government names in dire, serious situations. Despite that, her laughter continues to grow.
I react quickly and pick up the glasses before they spill anything, but the damage is done. People are looking, and Rosie is doubling over, uncaring of my red face and prickling skin.
“I am not... that... for him!” I’m not sure if she’s really listening to me, or if she can even hear me over her laughter. Annoyed, I latch onto her arm. “And I told you not to use his name when we’re in public.”
“Oh my gosh.” The sentence makes her laugh harder. From my peripherals I see customers whispering and glancing at us, and I ask myself if it’s possible to choke on ramen,on purpose.
“Lil, my stomach hurts.”
Her laughter is barely evening out when she takes account of my grip, smacking my hand away and leaving crescent moonimpressions in their place. She giggles a few more times before clutching her chest.
“That was so fucking funny.”
“I’m mortified.”
“And hilarious.”
And considering drowning myself in the Charles river if the people three tables down continue talking about us.
With the small relief from her torment, I bite into the depleting noodles. I cringe. They’re lukewarm, and soggy. I sneer at her over my bowl, and thankfully, it’s enough to bring her back to earth.
She apologizes a few times, swears she won’t allude daydreams of any kind, and asks how progress on my short story is going.
“It’s good.” Maybe a little better than good, because at the very least, I’m not dreading every time I have to sit down to write. “I told you about my first act grade already.”
“Yes, I’m so proud of you, girl.” She lightly claps and nods like there was any reason to doubt me to begin with.
“It was only a B.”
“B could stand for ‘Better Than Everyone Else In Class.’”
“It doesn’t.”
“Well, now it does. To me,” she says assuredly. Rosie is always so confident in me and my abilities, no matter what the evidence against it proves.
I hold onto the feeling of support when I say, “Well, the grade was nice while it lasted. Next week my story’s second act draft is due.”
“Okay. So write the second draft.”
My head tilts, eyes squinting in annoyance. “Thank you so much for your advice. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“You’re welcome. What would you do without me?”
“Save at least fifteen dollars a month. You buy too much popcorn.” My roommate doesn’t argue, shrugging while I continue. “I’m serious, though. I’m happy I got that grade. It gave me a little bit of a boost. But what goes up, must come down.”
