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I wiped down the sticky counter with a dirty rag and stuck two glasses on it, just barely pouring a pair of drinks before the bell sounded. That was my cue. Like I was a fucking cow or something.
No, sorry. No complaints.
I pushed myself up onto the bar, revealing the entirety of my red, lace bodysuit to the rest of the club. For the two songs I was required to dance, I thought about one thing and one thing only. Jonah would hate to see me up here. That’s what I always thought about as I ignored the crowd of people in want of a drink while I wasted all our time up here gyrating. I loved to dance. I loved that I was making a living. I even liked the costumes they put me in sometimes. But I just knew Jonah’s grumpy ass would hate this place. Almost as much as I secretly did.
The bar finally closed at 5:00 a.m., and I began clean-up. I was a bartender, dancer, sex-thing, and cleaner all in one, for the very low price of not-even-enough-money-to-live-comfortably. I made it home by 6:30 a.m. Not bad. That gave me three whole hours to sleep before heading to my Friday morning class at 10:00 a.m. At least I had that going for me.
Before I knew it, I was awake once again and pulling myself together for the day. Using a smile to cover up the throbbing in my tired head, I made sure to look like I was paying attention in each of my classes, nodding every few minutes. The act was arguably harder than school itself, and time seemed to just pass by whether my consciousness was in it for the ride or not.
I knew I was tired, I knew I had a headache, and I knew there was no end in sight to the way I felt, but I noticed little else. The stress and burnout had accumulated to such a point that I’d need a full reset if I wanted to feel any better. If only I could stick myself in a bowl of rice, blow into my console, or try to unplug myself, wait five minutes, and plug myself back in.
By the afternoon, I found myself sitting in the university’s dining hall across from Ana and Rachel with my usual grin plastered across my face. I sent a new post up to my client’s Instagram page while simultaneously trying to decompress from the day and confirm my plans with the girls for tonight. “What’s new, ladies?”
“What are you so giddy about?” Rachel asked, her hand dragging down her temple and smearing black mascara over her cheek as her finger trailed.
I clicked around on the screen to make sure all recent comments and messages were answered. “I’m young and alive, Rachel. What are you so down about?”
“We drank way too much last night,” Ana said with a giggle. I knew that. I had been the one to serve them. It was pretty funny, actually, until I had to clean their insides off the bathroom floor. They’d eaten a green salad before going out. It was a mistake they would not make again.
“Well, today’s the first official day of Semana Santa, and I’ve convinced Javi to get me the whole week off,” I reminded them, finally being able to reap the benefits of the weeks of begging my manager—who also happened to be my boyfriend—for a rest. Last year I’d worked part-time at some bar downtown, and it was a decent balance between working at parties and enjoying them. But this year? At this bar with Javi as my manager plus a daytime gig plus school? Life was all work, no play. “So, I say we all get home by 5:00 and revive ourselves. We’re meeting at my parents’ house for dinner at 9:00, aren’t we? Then out on the town?”
“Yes.” Ana’s blue eyes shined through the pain I knew she felt. I bumped her fist with mine. She was a trooper.
“Ugh.” Rachel hid her smile behind her fingers. I grabbed her shoulder and shook it ferociously in celebration of our confirmed girls’ night out.
Ana and Rachel were great. We had lots of things in common. For example, we were girls, we were in college, and we grew up in the United States. Their willingness to rally and explore the world with me was truly unmatched, and I couldn’t have asked for better partners in crime. Sure, they were no competition for my Jo and Oli. But honestly, I wasn’t sure I would ever move back to California, so I had to at least try to enjoy my new life and friends.
After a coffee, a nap, and a shower, I found the girls once again at the front entrance of my parents’ apartment building, the day zipping before my eyes as usual. We buzzed in, climbed the stairs, and arrived at the apartment to find that the door was already cracked open. I wasn’t sure why Mom and Dad hadn’t come to greet us as they usually did. Perhaps they were getting tired of me. It’s not like we never saw each other.
I entered and rounded the corner to leave my shoes on the rack, replacing them with my designated pair of house slippers as I looked around. My mom stood in the kitchen, but she made no effort to come and say hi to me. Strange. I was surprised to see her speaking to a girl through the doorway, and my brain failed to produce even a single idea of who she could’ve been. The girl’s back was turned, so I couldn’t make out any distinguishable features, but I noted her long, brown hair and the smile on my mom’s face. Not once in the last year and eight months since we’d moved had my parents invited someone over when the girls and I came for dinner.
Just then, my father slipped out of the bathroom. I caught him on his way back up the hall.
“¿Quién e’ esa tipa?” I whispered to him. Who is that chick?
He just smiled and led me into the living room as my confusion grew.
Ana and Rachel were still standing by the door, so I motioned to them to follow me in, determined to figure out what was going on. My parents never kept secrets, so my best guess at what was occurring was that someone had wiped their brains and turned them into minions. There was no other logical explanation as to why they’d fail to greet me or tell me about a house guest.
Once in the living room, I caught sight of two heads poking over the back of the couch. One was noticeably burlier than the other, with short, brown hair. The other was much smaller, with long, pitch-dark hair. Instantaneously, it all made sense, the puzzle pieces snapping together almost magnetically in my head. My heart flew out of my chest and right through the open window.
Without a word, I ran toward the couch and dove face-first between the heads. My nose crashed into the cushions, and I began the process of flipping myself over until I was face up on the seat with my legs over the back of the furniture. Jonah and Oli tackled me in a hug, and I squeezed the life out of them, trapping each of their necks in my arms.
For a while, I was genuinely scared I’d never see them again. I knew in my heart it wasn’t true. They were my best friends. There was no way I was really going to live the rest of my life without them, but I sure as hell wasn’t in a position to afford a plane ticket or a vacation and I just couldn’t see the end of it.
But those had become worries for another day, because they were here, right in front of me, holding me. The untroubled daughter my parents knew and the hollow party girl my girlfriends knew both hid away for a moment, allowing the nail-biting, shirt-pulling, penny-smushing Kai to finally crawl back out into the light.
It turned out the chick in the kitchen was the infamous June Sharma; Oli’s pride and joy, his true passion, the one thing he couldn’t get enough of. I recognized her immediately once I finally saw her face. How could I not? She had the most beautiful, brown eyes and the most excellent eyebrows I’d ever seen. She was breathtaking, and Oli was so desperately in love with her. His smart, beautiful Juni.
We all sat down in a circle across chairs, couches, and a loveseat, and I found myself overwhelmed with joy as I looked around at the room full of people I loved. This was precisely what I’d been missing all these months. The fluttering in my heart moved down my arms and to my hands, and I was simply engulfed by the sensation.
Margaritas, I thought. My specialty. That would make this perfect moment even more perfect. My wiggly, happy body slipped off to the kitchen to prepare drinks for eight as the difficulties of my life disappeared like dirty water being slicked away from a windshield.
I hadn’t even gotten all of the limes prepared for drinks yet when a familiar voice sounded from the doorway of the kitchen. “Need help?” Oh, how I loved hearing him right behind me and not through a phone speaker. His voice was so familiar and so sweet, and he over-articulated every syllable in a way that was just so intrinsically Jonah.
I jumped up and down in place, my energy and excitement having nowhere else to go but out. “Jonah.” I let out a breath as I turned in little hops to face him.
He had grown since the last time we saw each other. He was still wearing a black, short-sleeved button-down and black skinny jeans. That much hadn’t changed in seven years. His pants never differed and his shirts were on a steady rotation of the same few tees on most days, a big black sweatshirt on colder days, and one of three dark, short-sleeved button-downs when he was meant to look presentable. His hair still hung past his shoulders, draping around his face. But he had become lankier, more angular. He even looked more apathetic than ever. Really progressing on all counts.
