We don’t say that often. In our family, it’s implied more than vocalized.
In a rare moment, the typing indicator appears.
May: are you in crisis? are you dying?
Me: No???
May: k cool. love you too ig
Who needs friends when you have little sisters who give half a fuck about you?
I sit at my desk and open my laptop again. The reminder of today’s meeting brings me back into reality. I want to be fully open and honest with Bri the way she is with me, but she has had enough hurt in her life.
If the roles were reversed—if she saw Natalie and said she’d beworking with her—I would think about her every time Bri left the house, reopening my wound and renewing my desire to get her back. Bri and I promised we wouldn’t do that.
It won’t hurt if I wait to tell her.
Nine
Bri
It would be easier on my psyche if Liem had a flaw. Just one. That’s all I want.
But no. He cooks like a head chef—flavors you wouldn’t believe, never a complaint while making it either—practices great hygiene, cleans up after himself, holes away while working from nine to nine every day. Never in my life have I had such a chill experience living with someone else.
Besides that, I’m making bank. This week alone, I’ve picked up two regular dog-walk clients, four additional pet visits, and five task jobs. Back home, I needed a car to do any of this, leaving me barely breaking even after my car payment, insurance, and gas. Here, all Ihave to do is stroll a few blocks to find work. At this rate, I’ll have enough for the flight and a deposit on a reasonable apartment in a month. I shouldn’t stay that long, but . . . I secretly wish I could.
I still feel bad for not contributing any money to our living arrangement, so I’ve aligned my schedule with Liem’s, taking him on as another job. The man has concentration like I have never seen. He will sit at his computer for ten hours straight and not get up once to pee or eat. I bring him water, lunch, and snacks at regular intervals, and he seems surprised and thankful every time.
Truly, the only bad part of staying with him is that I really,reallywant to have sex, and he’s always six feet away, lookingsogood. I’m a few days away from ovulating, and I amferal.
Everything about him is so . . . fuckable. He’s smart, sexy, and kind. Taking care of me when I was cramping was the sexiest thing a man has ever done for me. That might not be saying much, though.
There weren’t many men who stayed in my life long enough to take care of me—until David. Still, we got togetherafterthe worst of it. The years of struggling to stay within my allowable absences in school, blowing through my sick time at every job, struggling to find a partner who would stick around when my bad weeks stretched into bad months, stealing whatever sex life I wished I could have. And to think my endo was consideredmild.
Though my treatment plan worked, and my pain is significantly better than before, my life still hasn’t caught up. I lost years to my pain, years I could have spent completing college on time, years I could have spent starting a career rather than racking up medical bills for fruitless treatments, years I could have spent living my life for more than the two pain-free weeks I had per month.
I’ve accomplished nothing, and now I’m a few months away from a milestone I’ve dreaded most of my life.Turning thirty.
My urge to make up for lost time is worse than before, especiallyafter the breakup, and it’s difficult not to project that onto the opportunity a room away.
Liem is in his bedroom sitting at the desk, staring at his dual monitors as per usual. His screen scrolls through those wild pages of numbers likeThe Matrix. I gently tug his headphones from his ears, breaking his concentration and ridding him of his RBF—his RestingBroodFace. I hate to admit it looks good on him. I haven’t been able to break my habit of staring at him for enjoyment since we met.
“Hi,” he says, his grin convincing me he isn’t miserable.
I drape my arms over his shoulders and ask, “Have you consumed water recently?”
“You know I haven’t.”
He’s like a houseplant, needing me to water him on a regular schedule.
I pat him on the chest. “I’ll make dinner tonight so you can keep working.”
“I can help. Let me finish this last thing up, then I can chill until my meeting at eight.”
Being in the Eastern time zone must be rough for him. His team working until nine in Seattle means he occasionally has calls at midnight.
“I’ve got it. Don’t worry.”
