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“Everything,” Gia sighed. “I’ve built a world I can control. I have a routine; I can avoid the things I need to. But there’s unknown in L.A. And—”
“And?”
“Never mind. No and.”
Theandwas the biggee. If she finished the sentence, if she were vulnerable as instructed in the prior week’s meeting, she’d risk breaking a promise to herself: no relationships for a year. Goddamn that promise.
“Nope, not how it works. You have to answer,” Roxi pressed. Did she already know?
“And—I don’t want to relapse.” Gia turned a coin in her right hand—a 120-day sobriety token. “I just got this. I’ve given one of these back before. I don’t want to give it back.”
Though thatandwas believable, it wasn’t the other half of the unfinished sentence. The car behind them tapped its horn, pushing Roxi to go again in the game of stop and go. “Lo siento,” she said aloud and waved through the back window. “Makes sense. I’m right there with you,amiga.I don’t want to relapse, either. So, let’s not. It’s me and you and the City of Angels. The only highs we’re chasing are from celebrity sightings and sunsets.Lo prometo.Deal?”
“Okay, deal,” Gia exhaled. Roxi and herprometos. “My turn, right? Tell me about your family.”
“Nope. Has to be a single question.” Roxi turned the radio volume down a notch. “Try again.”
Gia waited a beat. What did she want to know that living with Roxi for a month hadn’t taught her? She knew about her brothers, Rodolfo and Ricardo; that everyone in Roxi’s immediate family had “R” names—it was a thing; she knew Roxi liked romantic comedies and both ‘80s metal and ‘90s grunge; that she filled her coffee cup with 1/3 cream before pouring in coffee and two heaping spoonsful of sugar. Gia knew Roxi had a more-than-adequate singing voice, and she used her accent and Spanish vocabulary selectively. What she didn’t know was why she stayed with Savannah for so long—why money was enough to keep a comatose relationship on life support. Why she was willing to sacrifice her prime dating years avoiding relationships. It was time for the gloves to come off.
“I know why I am, but why areyouscared of relationships?”
“Takes one to know one, huh?” Roxi referenced their first conversation. “Why’s anybody?”
“Fair, but as I understand it, that’s not how this game works. You can’t answer a question with a question.”
“See! You’re a rule follower.”
“That’s not news,” Gia smiled, her shoulders relaxing—finally. The knot was coming undone. “So?”
It was Roxi’s turn to exhale forcefully. “Because I’ve been hurt. Duh.”
“By?”
“Are you using a question?”
“Yep. Who hurt you?”
Roxi sighed and maintained her focused stare on the bumper in front of them. “Angelica Morales. The love of my life and reason I go to meetings. She uncorked something in me I didn’t understand, and I uncorked more than a few bottles when she decided she wasn’t gay and married some Chicano from Oxnard.”
“Oh, Rox, I’m so sorry. We don’t have to talk about it,” Gia backtracked. Everyone has a story they don’t want to tell. She’d stumbled into the right question for the wrong story.
“Está bien. It’s fine. That was years ago. But I don’t want to feel that way again.”
“Savannah knew?”
“About Angel? Yeah. We’d been over for years. She was actually great. Tried to cheer me up by taking me to concerts. We went to a lot of concerts in L.A. and the burbs. If a band came anywhere near PS, she’d get tickets and we’d make a night of it. We sang loud, drank too much, and slept in her old truck bed in the parking lot wherever we were. She helped turn something horrible into something less horrible. Look—you can see downtown!”
“Wow,” Gia said, taking it in—the city, the answer, the gravity of it all. The concerts explained Roxi’s T-shirt collection. And the heartbreak explained why she panicked whenGiapanicked after they’d kissed—she didn’t have emotional space for rejection. The confidence and coolness were a front. Roxi was as scared as she was.
As they approached the city, short buildings led to tall ones, which led to skyscrapers that rose out of the earth and marked their presence with Hollywood-inspired authority. The hills beyond were hazy—or was that smog? Gia’d seen video and photos with the Los Angeles skyline, but something about seeing it in person was powerful. The city held plenty of secrets, she thought. How could it not?
“Yeah, it’s magical, isn’t it? I used to dream of moving to the city and getting signed to a record deal. I was going to be a one-name artist. Cher, Madonna, JLo, and Roxi.”
“I can see it. Do you wish you’d tried?” Gia asked.
“Sometimes. But let’s face it. There’s only room for one JLo.”
“You really have a JLo thing, huh?”
