Page 50 of Raspados & Regret

Fabi.Sin.Filtro

But I’m way too lazy to go around the corner to el puesto.

I sit on the edge of the bed, shorts in one hand, phone in the other.

Lalo.Con.Limón

So you’d rather starve than go eat?

Fabi.Sin.Filtro

I’m sure I've got something in the fridge. My tía likes to drop stuff off while I’m at work. As if I’m not a fully functioning 28-year-old.

I stare at that for too long. These are the most words he’s ever typed out to me. It’s like we’re actually talking, having a real ass conversation.

Lalo.Con.Limón

You could get one delivered. Those apps do exist, you know.

Fabi.Sin.Filtro

Yeah, I’m not paying $75 to have a burrito delivered when I can walk a block and get one.

Ugh, fine. I’ll go.

What did you eat for dinner?

Him asking that shouldn’t do anything to me, but it totally does.

Lalo.Con.Limón

In typical Mexican mom fashion… on this lovely 98-degree day… I had albóndigas.

Fabi.Sin.Filtro

Lucky.

Lalo.Con.Limón

You want me to bring you some? She has a huge pot full.

No…. I shouldn’t have sent that. Except maybe I meant it.

Except I mean it. I’d bring him some soup. Probably make a joke about balls somewhere in there, but I’d bring it.

The room goes silent around me, and even the fan seems to pause.

The bubbles appear, and my throat gets tight.

Please don’t tell me to fuck off.

Then my phone rings, and it’s a video call from Instagram. I drop back onto my bed and stare at it wide-eyed.

I shouldn’t answer; not only am I only in my underwear, but my hair’s still damp from the shower. My room is a disaster. I have one pair of black shorts in my hand and the red pair on the floor because apparently I’m auditioning outfits for a man who is one dry text away from becoming my cause of death.

Now he is calling me—video calling me.

Fabián Salcedo, who texts like a hostage blinking in Morse code, has decided to put his face on my phone. I stare at the screen until it nearly stops ringing. Then I panic and answer, and the first thing I see is his ceiling.