Me: Of course
The video call chimes. I answer it without giving a thought to how I look. Her face appears, and it feels like a sigh of relief. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she says. She’s lying on a couch or a bed, holding the phone above her. “How’s Seattle? It’s not raining?”
“No, it’s still summertime, kind of. The darkness hasn’t consumed us yet,” I joke, though it’s partially true. Any minute now, it will be the last glimpse of sunshine for the next nine months. Unless I get to see my human sunshine instead. “I found an apartment.”
“You did? Show me!”
“I’ll be there in five minutes. Tell me about your day?”
She groans. “Where to start.”
To my enjoyment, she gives me a full download, skipping no details. Keisha is breathing down her neck, riding the bus is surprisingly better than getting stuck in traffic like she used to do, but no progress on the job front.
“I went to two of the studios I applied to when we were in Brooklyn, and they looked at me like I was speaking Swahili when I tried to give them a printed copy of my résumé. Everything is online now. No one cares about putting a face to a name anymore.”
“That sucks. You have a nice face.”
Pursing her lips isn’t enough to hide her grin. “You’re one to talk, handsome.”
Somehow, I manage not to lose her in the elevator. “Here it is.” Inside, I flip my camera to give her the tour. It doesn’t take long to get through five hundred square feet. “It’s small but—”
“Liem . . .”
“Yes?”
“You don’t have a bed frame.”
Of course she calls me out for my typical male behavior. “I just moved in!”
“Are you shopping for one this weekend?”
“I am now!”
I crawl onto my mattress and lay the phone down between my pillows, staring down at her like she’s lying beneath me again. The ease of her smile matches my mood, but at the same time, it reminds me of the way she looked at me that night. The way she looked at me when she wanted to make sure I would be okay. The wide-eyed gasp when she learned how much I wanted her—how easily I could unravel her. The way she felt when I finally made her come for me. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have one more night with her.
The memories stir in all the wrong—andright—places.Ask her.
“I would hate to make you do work for me, but I really needsome help decorating this place. I feel like I’m living in a hospital right now.” My jack-of-all-trades, lover of creating spaces, master of comfort. “Do you have time to help me?”
“No, I’m too busy with my burgeoning career,” she quips. “Yes. This will be fun. Send me your floor plan and some pictures. I’ll come up with a scheme for you.”
“I’ll pay you for your time.”
She scoffs. “Fuck you.”
“Seriously. If I got anyone else to do it for me, it would cost me anyway.”
“I’m not going to take your money, Hoodie. You’re my friend.”
Friend.“Yes, but I’m asking a lot.”
“I’m happy to do it.”
“Then, um . . .” How many times have I invited her to stay with me, and yet I still worry she’ll turn me down. “Would you let me fly you up here to help me get it all together? We can exchange suitcases at the same time.”
Her expression falls into her usual frown when I offer her anything. Well, anything except food. “Liem, no. That’s—”
