Thompson appears from the weight room, towel over his shoulder. “Did Marchetti just try to break the spoiler policy again?”
“He is very persistent.”
“And you held the line?”
“I held the line.”
“That’s why you’re my favorite, Hájek. You understand what’s sacred.”
In the group chat an hour later, Thompson posts a reading-pace check. I send my chapter number.
Thompson
Hájek are you reading at the speed of light?
I type.
I am reading at the speed of wanting to know what happens
Marchetti
UNFAIR
Mueller
HOW?
My apartment is quiet at night. Third floor in Midtown, close enough to the Beltline that I can walk to the path within a few minutes. My bookshelf is the biggest thing in the living room. Twenty-seven romance novels in nine months, some with sticky notes on the pages, some with page corners folded because those are the pages where someone said the truth and the world didn’t end. I know folding corners is a crime but I don’t care. Those pages earned it.
I eat leftovers standing at the counter. I send my mother the photo of Bagel and the sunflower. She sends back six heart emojis and a voice note I will play later.
I open Instagram. Two hundred and seventy-one likes on the sunflower photo. Two DMs from the foodie group asking about the flower stand. I tap through my stories.
His name is there. Third row. Damián Mareš. No follow, no like, no comment. Just the view. For three years, his name has appeared on the list, a constant refrain. I close the app and don’t think about how often I think of him watching my stories when I post. At this point, it’s almost a required daily action.
My phone buzzes. Tomáš.
I pick up because I always pick up. Not picking up leads to a text that says are you dead and another text twelve minutes later that says I’ll assume you’re dead and a third text four minutes after that which is just a photo of his disappointed face.
“Hi, Tomáš.”
“Tobík.” His voice fills whatever room he is in, through the phone, across time zones. “We land Thursday. The whole squad, little brother.”
“I know. You told me last week.” I stand in front of my bookshelf and run my fingers down the spine of one of my favorite books.
“I am telling you again because you do not always read your messages.”
“I read my messages.”
“You read your messages the way you read your calendar. Eventually and without urgency.”
“Tomáš. Get to the point.”
“I am excited, that is all. I want to see the rink. I want to see your apartment. I want to see these places you keep posting about.”
“You were here at Christmas and saw most of them.”
“Yes, but it was cold. Now it’s not. Listen. Damián is asking about restaurants. I told him you know everyone and everything in Atlanta. Show him around when he has free time. Take him to the good places. He won’t ask for himself, you know how he is, so I’m asking.”
