Page 113 of Raspados & Regret

No pendejo.

At how much I noticed you.

I stop breathing for a second. Then two. The sound of the fan clicking in the corner takes me back. To how the room smells like him and my body aches from him. And now he’s texting me from Mass that he noticed me before he knew how to let himself notice me.

This is bad.

This is so fucking bad.

Elías

Careful…

Fabián

Why?

Elías

Because if you keep talking like that, I’m gonna think you like me.

A long pause.

Too long.

Fabián

Maybe this is my way of saying I do.

Like you.

I sit up so fast my whole body complains.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

My phone feels hot in my hand, and I stare at it and feel something in me step forward before I can stop it.

Elías

You saying that in church feels illegal.

Fabián

Probably is.

Elías

Did you at least genuflect after?

Fabián

I’m Mexican, not a monster.

I laugh, then I reread the “maybe this is my way of saying I do,” and the laugh leaves my face.

Because this is how it happens, isn’t it?

Not with declarations or stupid flowers.