Welcome to Envy Park (14 page)

"That’s not it," I said, a little
too quickly.

Roxie smirked. "I suspected that
was it all along. You went away to escape your mom’s plans for you
and I know you’re back because you got lonely. Going away again
isn’t going to fix that."

"
You
figure out what the hell you’re
doing with your ex," I said. "And leave me out of it."

-/\/\/\-

So when my mom called that night,
asking me if I was coming over for the weekend, I tensed up
quickly. But I tried not to let it show. "I’ll visit," I
said.

"You will? That’s great. I’ll make
paella. Your dad will take out the coffee maker. And I can tell you
the great news I just heard."

"What news? Tell me
now."

"No, let’s wait for when I see
you."

When she did this, it made me
nervous.
I have big news but I won’t tell
you!
"What’s the difference? Tell me now.
If it’s that great."

"Your tita wants to buy the
condo."

"What?" I nearly shrieked. "She
can’t. And I’m not done paying for it yet."

"But that’s it, exactly. She’s
willing to just buy it off us at a good rate—we won’t have to pay
for it and you make a little extra on your investment. Not so much
because she’s family, so I gave her a family rate, but—"

It was like the tiled floor had
dropped from under me. No wait—it was like a giant version of my
mother had appeared, ambled toward Tower 3, aimed for the tenth
floor and pulled it right from under me. But to admit that to her
would just escalate this into one of our epic
shoutfests.

I bit my lip before speaking, and
then swallowed a lump of nerves, to keep my voice level. "Mom. You
can’t sell my condo. This is mine."

"Yes but she already offered, and
I thought you’d appreciate that you wouldn’t have to—"

"Why are you so worried that I’ll
lose it? You haven’t spent a thing for this. If I can’t afford it
then
I
lose it,
you won’t have to throw money away just to—"

"Moira, it’s my loan too. I think
it’s smart to take your tita up on her offer. Besides, you can’t
make that a permanent home anyway. It’s got one bedroom. What
happens when you have kids? It’s not a house. I won’t risk my
pension on something that isn’t permanent."

"Oh my God, Mom, you’re not
risking anything. This is
my
investment. If it’s a bad one then I lose, but
don’t take this from me."

"You’ll thank me when your head is
clearer."

"Mom, don’t say that. Don’t tell
me what I should do."

"You’ll be calmer when you come
over and have paella."

"Keep your stupid paella, Mom. I’m
not coming over!"

"Don’t be childish, Moira. Your
dad wants to see you."

"No, I’m staying here, because
I’ll spend every minute I can here before you kick me
out."

I might have hung up on her. And then I hid my phone
under a pillow and didn’t look at it the entire night.

No one was going to call anyway. Not Roxie, not
Ethan, maybe Allie, but I didn’t have the energy to heal her soul
just then.

I almost cried. I almost raced to the convenience
store to get tequila. But I checked my email, thankfully, and found
happy news there.

From Kylene at Bennett:
"
I’m happy to let you know
that..."

From Stacy in Thailand:
"
Moira, I’m pleased to inform
you..."

I let out a victory grunt and fell back on my bed,
feeling a no-alcohol-required rush. Fucking finally.

Chapter 18

Recently all the days were the same to me, but
finding out that I could be employed soon brought that weekend
feeling back.

When I was working in Manila, weekends were just
extensions of my week. Most of the fun stuff happened during the
week anyway, like spontaneous dinners or drinks with friends, but
Saturday meant I got to sleep in. When I moved, the weekend became
more precious, maybe because I had to make rent and deal with
strangers and didn’t have that many friends to spontaneously have
dinner with. I looked forward to it, lived for it, and anyone who
seemed remotely fun was invited to a weekend thing.

I was so randomly celebratory and everyone I saw got
some of my happy vibes. I bought a dozen cupcakes and gave some to
Kuya Alan, the receptionist at the lobby, the teenage girl from the
eleventh floor who never smiled (and finally did, buttercream was
the key), and a few more people who just happened to cross my path.
What had started out as a weekend of no parents and no plans had
become all about me just basking in the glow of plans actually
beginning to take shape.

Stacy’s email to me explained that she was going to
endorse me for the job. It was probably going to take some time,
and she was going to send over a list of what was required of me to
get the necessary work permits, but she was glad to have met me and
hoped that we could work together for a long time.

Which meant I probably could still take the Beckett
job, and make enough money while in town to make sure I started out
with something when I moved...

And then came the inevitable mental inventory of
what I needed to do. What I would need to bring. Paperwork I’d have
to fill out.

I shuddered a little but I wouldn’t have to deal
with that right now. It then seemed so odd to have worrying about
this when I had only been technically jobless for a few months. But
of course the uncertainty of it made time seem to stretch. Now that
there was some sort of certainty, the days seemed all too short
again.

So I just sat there with my cupcakes and enjoyed
myself.

-/\/\/\-

On Monday I spent dinnertime at JM’s, eating my own
takeout and watching him eat his special meal. The whole time I had
new thoughts swirling in my head that I was fighting not to
accidentally say.

Like,
Julian?

Stripping?!

So I kept looking around this apartment he was
renting. It had a slightly different layout from mine, and wasn’t
furnished when he got it. He and his manager had had to put
together furniture from everywhere, and it showed in the mismatched
chairs. Actually, the mismatched everything.

I also wondered if he and Sarah met here. They
probably did.

I coughed.

"What’s this? I can’t eat
it."

"It’s a cupcake," I told JM. "I
got two jobs recently. I’m celebrating. Surely you can have a
cupcake."

He couldn’t, or wouldn’t. How could anyone think I’d
actually date him? Or that I’d be in a relationship with someone
who wouldn’t even eat a cupcake? What would we do all day, grill
meat?

"You can have it," he said. "So,
we shot another segment yesterday."

"How was it?"
Don’t think about the stripping. Don’t think about the
stripping.

"Better. Didn’t take as long as
the first time."

"Confidence, that’s all you need,"
I said. "It’ll come to you."

"Thank you," JM said. "I really
couldn’t have done it without you."

He sounded so grateful and sincere
that I felt guilty about imagining him in his undies. "Well I’m
glad I helped while I had the time to do it. Because soon I
won’t."

He told me more about the show, the segment they
shot, the interviews he had upcoming. When we were done with
dinner, he cleared the table and told me about another hosting gig
as he washed the dishes.

JM rarely asked about me, I realized. I threw back
some questions and appropriate responses as I wandered around the
apartment. I made a mental note to tell him about that, that he’d
be a better interviewer if he were at least curious about the other
person.

But then why would he follow my advice? I didn’t ask
about him at all. And that bit of distance actually kept us from
discussing the awkward stuff (like the exotic dancing) and that was
probably why we were still friends.

"What?" JM said, his voice
suddenly much closer.

"I said—" I turned around and he
was right behind me, and more of him, because he wasn’t wearing a
shirt. "Whoa. What?"

It was exactly like his pic on the
internet, except without the oil. JM smiled. "What?"

"I don’t get it."

"I asked you to come over so I
could thank you." And he started to reach for me, like that meant
something other than an expression of gratitude.

"Wait," I pulled my arm back, and
stepped sideways. "You already said thanks."

He paused and then tried again. "I
just thought—"

And I stepped to the other side,
avoiding him. "No, you thought wrong."

"But—"

"JM,
you’re welcome.
That’s
enough."

He started laughing. Thank god. I started doing that
too.

"I’m sorry," he said. "I guess I
was hoping—"

"What?"

"It would just be easier for me if
we were together," JM said. "I don’t know. You’re beautiful, and
single. I’m single. I thought you’d be okay with it."

Easier than being with a married woman, was that
what he meant?

"You’re sweet," I said, "But no, I
think we’re going to be fine just as friends. Do you need my help
with anything right now?"

"Well, no, not really."

"I think I should go."

I had no doubt that JM would
become a friend for life after this, but I just suddenly really,
really wanted to be with someone else.

Chapter 19

It was eleven, so he had to be home by now. It was
laughably easy, had always apparently been easy, for me to take one
short elevator ride down and just show up at his door. But I never
did it.

None of that silliness anymore. I
was going to do this. He was single; I was single. The rest we
could argue about later.
I will show up at
his door and just pounce on him.

By the time I got to the elevator, my nerve failed
and when the doors closed, a shaky finger hit the ground floor
instead.

Once around the park, I told myself. One walk
around, calm my nerves, calm my hormones. I took the long way out,
through Towers 2 and 1, and then out into the far end of the
business park. Took a path through the buildings, around the mall.
Just walking.

Breathing.

Asking myself if I really wanted to do this. Ethan
was leaving. So was I. The same problem, in theory.

In fact, we had even less time now than we did when
we started.

That exact sentence was all the excuse I needed. It
clicked into place in my head while I waited for a car to pass, and
as I crossed the street back to Tower 3 I knew what I was going to
do. Go to his apartment already.

My pace was determined. I was not
to be stopped. Until I actually got stopped, physically, when a
hand tapped my shoulder as I walked past the Tower 2 convenience
store. It was Ethan, with a takeout bag.

"Hi," he said,
tentatively.

"Hi," I said, taken aback. "What
are you...? I thought you'd be home by now."

"I just went out to get dinner.
Hotdog."

"From there? It's probably going
to be terrible."

He shrugged. "This is how I
usually have dinner. Are you going anywhere?"

"Yes," I said, collecting myself.
My voice was steady. I was sure. "I was going to head up to
9J."

"Huh? Why?"

"You invited me once to try your
shower. I'd like to do that now."

He blinked. "Now?"

I nodded. "Yes, now."

I didn't want to have to say anything more, and
thankfully I didn't have to.

"Let me just go back in and buy
something," he said.

"Get as many as you need," I said,
deadpan.

He coughed before he went on his quick errand.

Other than that, it was just like any of our walks
around the park. His stride was longer and he was, again, half a
step ahead of me. We stepped into the elevator and took our
respective favorite spots, except only the ninth floor button was
pressed. I got off the elevator first. It helped that I knew
exactly where to go. It was exactly the same number of steps down
the hallway from the elevator to my apartment. I waited the three
seconds it took for him to turn the key in the lock, the two
seconds to be let inside, the single second for a light to come on
so I could see where I was going.

But I didn't need the light. The apartment was the
same layout as mine. I headed straight for the bedroom.

Behind me, various sounds: A paper
bag being dropped onto a tabletop. The clink of keys landing
somewhere. I pulled the shirt off over my head and the next sound I
heard was my own gasp, muffled into his mouth. I was going to make
a snarky comment about the bed being unmade but never mind, my back
was already on it, no sense in complaining. Absolutely no sense in
snarking on household chores when there was kissing, again, that
wonderful thing we said we'd stop doing, and more. I caught him
smiling, a little, during those few times when his mouth wasn't on
some part of me. "What?" I actually said, one time.