She shakes her head. “You actually moved. When you told us you wanted a change, I expected a haircut”—she gestures to my shoulder-length bob of natural curls—“not uprooting your life to come up here. And with no job? Our father must still be staring at the wall.”
It’s not funny, but it is. I could’ve reenacted Angela’s STD confession fromWhy Did I Get Married?without him batting an eye. So long as his baby girl has financial stability and a roof over her head, Benjamin Beckford won’t worry.
I have one of the two, and the savings account I fed from a lack of a social life should last me nine months.
“Change was overdue,” I confess into my wineglass. Everyone else evolved. Why can’t I?
The occasional texts from the few friendships I managed to sustain are now family holiday cards with matching outfits,Kierra included. She met a viscount during an international rugby trip and traded DC life for French luxury. Two kids and a dog later, her new net worth could solve famine in smaller countries.
I have noBridgertonfantasies to live out, but I want more than my degrees.
“Are you sure a certain ‘friend’ didn’t inspire your relocation?” I roll my eyes at Marcela’s Cheshire Cat grin and push down the memory of chicken wings and kissing that’s creeping out of its lockbox.
No one knows about my failed attempt at a one-night stand, the one that ended with Antonio’s head propped in my lap inside an ER. He did have a broken nose from my attempted rescue mission to free my wig from his watch.
We were both a mess. I looked like I got into a bar fight with my “Set It Offbraids,” as he called them. My skintight dress and his high-tops, three sizes too big, did me no favors in avoiding stares. Neither did the burly man I was cradling, who had a tampon up his nose and the fragrance of dried semen coating his dress pants.
I vowed to never see or speak to him again out of pure embarrassment. That didn’t stop him from asking around for my number after we parted ways and texting me until I responded.
TheBeen to any good bars lately?messages turned into weekly check-ins. Over time, we just clicked. We became friends, communicating through frequent messages and video calls I accepted when he was too excited to text. I still kept my distance from DC when I lived in Maryland, but it was nice to have someone to talk to who wasn’t a PhD candidate.
I was Antonio’s second call when he got the news that a developing rugby team in Buffalo was interested in him playing professionally. The subsequent offer came out of the blue, but Ihad my noisemaker ready once the deal with the Buffalo Steel became official.
He was my first call when I had a moment to myself after obtaining my PhD. Antonio never asked to come to the ceremony, and I never offered. That didn’t stop bouquets of flowers from finding their way to my doorstep.
Aside from my sister, he’s the only person I speak to on the phone weekly. Our friendship was the surprise I never saw coming.
“We’re just friends,” I tell my nosy sister. Since our New Year’s Eve in the emergency room, Antonio and I never kissed or made attempts to hump body parts again.
Our platonic relationship aside, I’m no fool. Antonio isrepent and put a little extra into the offering platefine, but he’s also a player. I’m neither arrogant nor ignorant enough to think a one-night stand would’ve meant more to him. Erasing his scent, those eyes, his lips, and that body took more time than I’d care to admit, but I did it.
I’m not the kind of woman to trip his radar anyway. Not that I want to be.
“Where is Muscles? I’m not carrying another box upstairs,” Marcela huffs. She’s never met a form of physical labor she didn’t cuss out.
“Probably at practice. Their season starts in a few weeks. I didn’t want to bother him.”
“Bother him?” She laughs. “That man would’ve driven down to get you and that moving truck, blizzard or not.”
It’s true, which is why I’m taking my time to acclimate myself to these disrespectful temps and to us being in the same city.
Antonio left DC to start his professional rugby career two years ago. We’ve both been in moments of transition at different times. Now that our foundations are settling, I don’t want to make it weird.
He’s a friend and will only be my friend.
Then why are you so nervous to see him?
Hush.
“What’s on your agenda next week?” My subject change flies under Marcela’s BS radar and incites a scowl.
“Too much,” she says. “We’re having an MLK celebration for the kids at the community center on Monday. You should come and help with the engineering station.”
I grab my glass and resume pulling books out of a box.Add “build a bookshelf” to your to-do list.“My calendar is open. A perk of being unemployed,” I say.
We manage to sort through the boxes designated for the living room and kitchen. Marcela leaves, and I end the night with a shower and some light reading on my mattress on my bedroom floor.
No thoughts of Antonio whatsoever.
