Page 69 of Witch You Would
“Yeah, but, like, he never asked me out. I didn’t ask him, either. Doesn’t that mean something?”
Emelia made an exaggerated fake-clucking noise.
“I’m not a chicken!” I spun the hotel pen on the desk as I talked. “Okay, maybe we’re both chicken. But maybe I built up athing that wasn’t there. Maybe we didn’t know each other well enough to catch actual feelings. Maybe I was crushing on animaginary version of a real guy, which isn’t cool.”
“That’s surprisingly mature, coming from you.”
“Thanks.” I didn’t tell her my mature insight came from Leandro talking about having that exact problem with his fans.
“However!” I could imagine her holding up her finger like she did when she wanted to make a point without being interrupted.“If you’re not sure where you stand, the obvious thing to do is ask, instead of sitting around like a sad cartoon donkey whilea rain cloud dumps on you.”
“You sound like Rosy.”
“Sometimes your friend knows what’s up. So?”
“So, I emailed him right before they took my phone.”
“And?”
“And I got an auto-reply that he wasn’t checking emails because he was going out of town.”
“What about now?”
“I haven’t looked yet.”
Emelia clucked again.
“I called you first!”
“Comemierda. Put me on speaker and look!”
I did. A bunch of emails popped up. Random stuff from stores, Jinxd updates, an email from my landlord... nothing fromGil. I guess he was serious about not checking while he was out of town? Unless he was trying to find a way to let me downgently and hadn’t—
Wait, my landlord?
My brain flushed Gil while I opened that email and skimmed it, then read it again, more slowly, because I couldn’t believewhat it said.
“Did he email you?” Emelia asked.
“No,” I said, my throat tight, “but apparently the rent on my tiny illegal efficiency is going up. By a lot. Or I have tomove out.”
“Fffff. And you don’t have a job.”
“I don’t have a job.”
“So you’re fucked.”
“I’m extremely fucked.”
We sat there in silence.
“Well,” Emelia said, “if you’re already fucked, you might as well do some fucking, right?”
“Eme! Coño! This is not funny.”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t be mad. That’s how she was. I catastrophized, Eme joked. Maybe that’s part of why I liked Leandro in spite of myself:he reminded me of her.
