“Maybe it’s from correction of cleft lip or cleft palate.”
“Huh? What is that, and how do you know anything about it?”
“Because I graduated high school. And I can read.”
“Fuck you. I can read.”
“Yeah, at a third-grade level.”
“Well, I’m a better mechanic than you, and I’ve never had formal training.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. But I’m an actual mechanic, and you’re a muse. I bet you didn’t even know what a muse was when that rich guy hired you.”
I flip him the bird, but not without grinning.
Monroe laughs because he knows me too well. “I gotta wash my sheets,” he says, standing and stretching his arms over his head. “Clean sheets gets my girl horny.” He smirks while passing the sofa.
After I spend the next hour mindlessly clicking YouTube videos on rebuilding engines, I throw a frozen burrito in the microwave and fetch another beer. Naomi waltzes through the door, eyeing me while removing her heels and curling her wavy blond hair behind one ear.
“Oh, hi,” she murmurs.
The “oh” is an obviousoh, you’re still living here?
“Oh, hi,” I parrot like,oh, you’re still sleeping here?
I want to like Monroe’s girlfriend because he’s my friend, but she’s so judgmental. Her way of doing everything is always the right way, like bath towels must be folded vertically. I disagree—they don’t have to be folded at all. And when she speaks, she uses this tone, like she’s talking down to everyone else. Except with Monroe she ends every sentence with an exaggerated fish-lipped kiss while pinching his chin like an angry mother.
“Aren’t you tired of living on a sofa? You eat, sleep, and drink on that thing,” she says, opening the fridge.
“Thanks for your concern. This sofa feels like the only stable thing in my life. I can’t imagine ever leaving it or this apartment for that matter,” I say, just to get her worked up.
She lifts her head out of the fridge and wrinkles her nose. “Do you know how pathetic that sounds?”
“You mean heartbreaking? All I have are an old sofa and the world’s best friend. I would never survive without either of them. Did you know Monroe and I shared a foster home when we were thirteen? And then we ran into each other at a gas station several years ago. I was living out of my car. He took me in. That’s the kind of friendship that lasts a lifetime.” I take a bite of my burrito and chew slowly while she scowls at me.
“Where is he?” she asks, slamming the fridge door and marching toward the bedroom.
I laugh just as my phone dings with a text:I feel violated
It’s two minutes after eight. It has to be her. So I call the number.
“When someone texts you, you don’t call them. That’s not cool. The whole point of texting is so you don’t have to call people,” she says in a tone which sounds like a song even if she’s trying to sound exasperated with me. She’s no match for Naomi.
I put her on speaker just long enough to add her to my contacts. “Where are you?”
“You think the solution to my feeling violated by your adding yourself to my contacts and setting a reminder in my phone to call you is to ask my whereabouts? My parents taught me better than that.”
“Lucky you. I didn’t have parents or anyone to teach me shit. So that’s probably why I didn’t hesitate to violate you.”
“That’s just sad,” she says.
“I don’t want you to be sad or feel bad for me. I’m just stating facts.”
She laughs. “Okay. You got my attention. Now what are you going to do with it?”
“Dunno,” I say, trapping my phone between my shoulder and my ear while carrying my plate and empty beer can to thekitchen. “I still can’t believe you called. I have never caught a falling star—until today.”
“I’mthe falling star?”
