Carlos speaks up. “Was Tonya Harding guilty?”
Lina snorts.
I chime in. “Well, I think she was found guilty of impeding the investigation?—”
“But she didn’t do the actual crime?—”
“But she knew it was happening?—”
“So that means she’s guilty, because she didn’t tell the police?—”
“I bet she told her husband to do it?—”
“I think her hus?—”
I clap my hands in a call to attention:clap-clap-clapclapclap. “All right everyone, this is a really productive conversation, and I’m so glad you all clearly did some pretty in-depth research. I want everyone to write down their opinions on more… controversial Olympics events. We can have a full class-wide debate when I get back from the conference.”
Lina smiles at me. “Have a good time, Ms. Roberts. Don’t have too much fun,” she winks.
“Don’t worry,” I answer, thinking of Elias and my jam-packed schedule. “I won’t.”
NINE
Elias
Somehow,in the last seven days, I’ve gone from “oh, this woman I’ve known my entire life has tits,” to “oh, this woman I’ve known my entire life hasnicetits,” to “I’m going to massage her nice tit in my hand, suck on her neck, and then dry hump her twice.” I think that my life is falling apart, and my resolve is crumbling, has crumbled already, or maybe it’s always been like this.
Have I ever been able to say no to Mia? I think back on our lives together and realize I’ve always given her everything she’s ever wanted, that it’s a phenomenon that began with my toys.
“I want car,” two-year-old Mia would say, looking at me with her giant blue eyes. I would give her the car, and that was the end of that.
Maybe it’s so deeply ingrained in me, a learned response with almost thirty years of reinforcement, that it’s virtually pretty impossible for me to deny her anything.
Another memory pops into my head (why does this keep happening, it’s like my life is full of flashbacks lately, forcing me to reckon with my past or some shit), the one when Leo had just told me he was moving out, he wanted to live on his own, and Mia was there.
“My lease is ending. And I hate my roommate,” Mia said.
“So?” I asked.
“We could find a place together.”
“No, thanks,” I’d said, thinking how fucking weird it would be for my best friend’s little sister to hear my weekend shenanigans.
Three weeks later, we signed a lease on a two bedroom in Bed-Stuy. My only requirement was that our rooms were on opposite sides of the apartment.
It felt like I was on the verge of snapping. The rope that represented the last of my resolve was fraying, almost broken in two, and this last boundary felt like the last bit of twine holding the entire rope together. This was the last straw. There was no universe in which I could say yes to Mia’s request to get physical. The rope would snap in two, and then I would drown, or fall off the cliff, or whatever dangerous thing the rope was keeping me from.
I had hoped to come on strong with our last interaction, maybe scare her away, likeyou don’t want this; this is a terrible idea. Except Mia has apparently chosen option two, regardless of our conversation earlier, forgetting that it happened, doubling down, and becoming even fiercer than before.
“Am I doing this right?” she demands to know, shoving her phone in my face.
I take the phone regardless of the splitting headache caused by Mia, the hour and a half ride on maybe three separate trains we had to take to get to JFK, and the hour long security line.
I look at their message thread.
I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the summer.
About what, specifically?
