Thirty minutes later,my phone buzzes on the coffee table where I left it, because for once I’m not playing on it while also watching a movie.
“Ugh, rude,” says Ben, as I roll my eyes and flip him off. “You’re ruining theimmersion.”
“Your mom is ruining the…” I start, then see that it’s Javi and forget where I was going with that sentence. Ben gives mea raised-eyebrowsoh reallytype of look over Amy’s head. I pretend I don’t see it.
“I gotta take this,” I say, already pushing the green button before I can second-guess myself, heart tripping over itself in my rib cage. “Don’t pause it—I’ve seen it before! Hi.”
“Hi. Am I interrupting something?”
“If you were, I wouldn’t have answered.”
The sound of an explosion tears through the surround-sound system—byfarthe nicest thing in this apartment—and I’m sure Javi can hear it.
“What are you watching?”
“Fury Road.”
“Oh, Wyatt loves that movie.”
“It’s a good movie,” I say, walking into the kitchen and shutting the door behind me. “What’s up?”
“Invitation questions,” he says. “Since you’re fancy, if the woman of a married couple is a doctor and her husband is just a mister, who do I put first on the invitation?”
I blink at cabinets for a moment.
“Weren’t these supposed to be out last week?”
“Shhh.”
That’s not much turnaround, and tight deadlines make me kind of anxious, but not my circus, not my monkeys, et cetera.
“I don’t know, I’m notthatfancy,” I tell him. “How formal is this anyway? Are people going to refuse to come to the wedding if we get the order of their titles wrong?”
“I think that depends on Doctor Jones’s attitude,” he says, and I laugh.
“Oh, she won’t give a shit,” I say. “Next question.”
“Your grandmother’s gentleman friend,” he says. “Not her husband? Different last names?”
“Different last names,” I confirm. I check that the counter behind me is clean, and then hop up onto it so I can go through awhole guest list with Javi and debate what to call people. On one hand, it’s the twenty-first century and this is a low-key wedding; on the other hand, a lot of those guests are older Southern folks with thoughts on How Things Ought To Be Done.
“All right, that’s it,” Javier finally says. “Thanks.”
“Isn’t the bride supposed to do this?” I ask, since I don’t want to get off the phone just yet.
“The bride has never done a mail merge in her life and isn’t going to start now,” he says. I can hear him walking through his apartment, then the creak of a couch as he sits. Half a second later, Zorro meows. “Nor is the bride at all interested in hand-addressing these, so here I am.”
“I hope the bride is showing proper gratitude,” I say.
He huffs out a laugh. “Well, she did keep me alive throughout my childhood. I probably owe her something,” he says, and I can hear Zorro make a noise of protest in the background. “You need to get back to the movie?”
“I’ve seen it,” I say quickly. “I’m over at Ben’s place. They’re still watching it. Probably don’t even know I’m gone.”
I’m sure I imagine the beat of silence that follows.
“Oh,” Javier says. “Fun?”
“Just pizza and movie night. It’s been a long week,” I say, pointing my bare toes and kicking them back and forth, careful not to kick the cabinets. “What are you doing?”
