His name floods my recent calls despite what he decided for us on Sunday because I’m delusional enough to think that I need one more conversation with him where I can stare into his eyes while I convince him wecando life together.
I scroll past his name despite my muscle memory egging me on to call him one more time just in case he woke up and changed his mind about us today, but I’ve called and texted enough. I’ve sent him enough voice messages to last a week. I’ve begged him and God so hard that my voice has a rasp to it now.
My finger lands over “Yessi” and that bone-chilling feeling clings to me even tighter.
I’m back to square one—back to how things were when I landed at Bush with nothing but a broken heart.
I press Yessenia’s name and put the phone to my ear. It rings…and rings…and rings.
“Your call has been forwarded to voicemail. The person you are trying to reach is una?—”
I hang up and squeeze the side buttons to turn the phone off, but she calls right back despite my sorry attempt at running away.
I stare at her name on the screen, rifling through all the different ways I can pour sugar over the embarrassing pile of shit I need to tell her about. Finally, I press “accept” with a shaky hand and put the phone to my ear, but nothing comes out.
“Lovie?”
Her voice feels more familiar than home does right now. The sounds of the city sneak through the speaker and fill me with this weird nostalgia that’s more regret than wistfulness.
“Yessi…” I croak back.
“Where are you?”
“Still…still in Houston. I know you’re headed into the office around this time, but…”
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yessi…”
“Please tell me you’re okay.”
I’m not.
I can’t.
It’s the first time somebody’s asked me that since Sunday, and I can’t breathe or even make the words come out of my mouth.
“I’ve been so worried. I promise I didn’t tell that bastard agent of his anything. He came to the office, swinging his dick around—throwing his status and title around and asking folks if they’d seen a girl up here with a Chanel bag. Thankfully Jodie was here and not Sarah. He told me if I tried to warn you or tell you about him coming up here, he’d go to Sarah and tell her what I did behind her back to get you out of New York. You know I need my job for Paco…”
The mountain of words she spits out makes me grab the side of the bathtub. “I’m sorry.”
They’re the only words I can get out without collapsing from the weight of everything I’m running to and from.
“No, I’m sorry,” she says. “I wanted to call, but I didn’t know if AJ had that phone or not. I didn’t want to get you…get you hurt or ki?—”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay. This isnotokay. He came to Houston, didn’t he?”
“He did…”
“Fuck. Fuck, Lovie. Do you know his agent waltzed his arrogant ass intomycubicle and pointed his finger inmyface saying I’m trying to sabotage his abusive piece of shit client? The client that broke you down into nothing. That dude had you so scared that it was literally in your voice when you finally told me his name that one morning on the train.” Her voice cracks. “He tried to make me sign some document.”
“The NDA…” I mutter, burying my face in my hands. “God, I’m sorry.”
“He tossed that shit on my desk and Jodie flung her white privilege around and told him it was against the law for him to coerce us to sign anything. I thought she was just calling his bluff, but it got his ass out of there. I’ve been paranoid all week about him reporting me to Sarah.”
“He won’t do it. They found me, so you don’t have to worry about that or him anymore.”
