“I don’t need anger management classes.”
“Yeah, and I don’t need a car, so I can stop relying on the T,” Anjie calls from the front door. “Do you know what those two statements have in common? They’re both lies from the pit of hell.”
You could’ve sworn Key and Peele were in the room with us the way these two are laughing. Tears stream down Anjie’s face and Sewa kneels on the floor with half her body on the couch. If I had telekinesis, I would make the ground open up and swallow them because staying angry while they laugh is impossible.
“One more time, please.” Anjie barely gets out the words.
I take a deep breath, roll my eyes, and take another look at the complaint on my phone, which I found between the couch cushions.
After a quick charge, I learned it was mid-afternoon and, more importantly, Saturday. Which explained Sewa’s presence and why I hadn’t woken to my work alarm but not why Anjie was here instead of at her restaurant. ACupid’s Bownotification popped up, and foolishly, I opened it.
The message read:Complaint received. ACupid’s Bowrepresentative will be in contact with you soon.
To which the girls chorused, “What complaint?”
To which I said nothing at first, waiting for drunk Moyo to respond, but she’d left me yet another battle to fight sober.
I clear my throat and read the sixth complaint I left on the app last night, which I’d addressed to Saturn.
“…or better yet, shove one of your seven rings up your ass, experience an orgasm, and leave the rest of us alone.” My attempt at a deadpan delivery instantly fails, and I bust out laughing with them. My laughter builds off of Sewa’s, which builds off of Anjie’s.
“That was wild,” Anjie says, wiping tears from her face. “So, why the drinking and the numerous complaints?”
I look toward Sewa, who has taken a strong liking to her fingernails.
“No, don’t look at her,” Anjie says, commanding my attention. “She texted me something was wrong and said you weren’t talking. So, now that we’ve had our laughs, let’s have our chats.”
Their eyes bore into my soul. Sewa’s huge ones pleading, holding space for whatever I’m about to share. Anjie’s smaller ones as calm as a tranquil lake, ready for whatever comes their way.
“I’m surprised neither of you mentioned the trench coat,” I say. Then, I tell the story.
“So, I downed the rest of that bottle, along with some other things, and filed so many complaints I’m surprised the app didn’t revoke my membership.” The rawness in my throat from crying as I recalled last night’s events ruins my attempt to infuse humor into the conversation.
My two best friends look at each other, grab their keys, and dash to the door. Sewa, the taller of the two, gets there first.
“Where are you going?” I reach them before they leave.
Once again, they look at each other.
“To murder a Caucasian. Why do you ask?” Anjie’s soothing voice makes it sound pleasant, not like premeditated murder.
Sewa’s voice is bland, like she’s talking about the weather or the horrors of the Red Line. “I was just planning to break some kneecaps, but murder sounds more thorough.”
“You don’t have to do that?” It comes out as a question because I’m stillunsure about my feelings. I’m hurt and infuriated, but the more I think about it, the more I want to let it go.
I try again. “You don’t have to do that.” This time it comes out firm, and they step away from the door.
“We can make it look like you had nothing to do with it,” Anjie says sweetly.
Once again, the idea is tempting, but I took the Hippocratic Oath. Plus, getting revenge on a cheating ex is younger Moyo’s thing. And although it felt good to see my college-ex lose a few on-campus positions as well as his stellar reputation after a series of complaints—thatIhad nothing to do with—another time would be overkill.
“The universe will deal with him,” I say, eerily calm. I’ve never felt this way before, but it is incredibly welcome. Is this what happens when you’re older and wiser?
“Same universe that sent him to you, but okay,” Sewa mutters.
“Tell her, oh!” Anjie echoes.
I want to argue, but they’re right, and it’s hilarious. The success stories ofCupid’s Boware out of this world. Almost every match I’ve heard of ended up in marriage or a long-term partnership. It works, evidently. Maybe this year just isn’t my time. Perhaps this disaster with Cole means I should take a hiatus to recoup and reassess my desires.
