The Desire Variable | Rewrite

⸻ FOUR ⸻

"Now that you told me all about the uninteresting things, on to the good stuff. How about that sexy boss of yours?"

I wince and look away from the screen, not knowing how to explain it to Kate without her getting any weird ideas. "He's strange," I eventually say. "Apparently, he is some sort of asocial genius, so he's super rude."

"But he's hot."

"It doesn't make up for being a total douche. The asshole thought I cheated to get in. He couldn't believe I did it without the help of a male friend."

"That dick!" she protests with an appalled face, finally getting my vibe. "I hope you proved that idiot wrong."

"You know I did. I made him regret his insulting remarks."

"That's my girl!" There is a short moment of silence, and I look away from my phone to my messy room. "Did you finish unpacking?"

"No. I still need to muster the courage to even start."

"You've been there for three days. Stop procrastinating and get your lazy ass to work."

"I can't tonight. I have plans," I pretend.

"What plans?"

"I'm gonna Netflix and chill."

"I know you mean Netflix and actually chill," she answers, not duped. "Since you haven't unpacked, you most definitely haven't found Idris yet."

Idris, named after one of the sexiest men to have ever lived, Idris Elba, is my clitoral massager, my most trusted companion in the darkest hours of the night. I'm a little offended, even though she has every reason to assume I'm not talking about a real human.

"Maybe I meant an actual man in the flesh."

"No, you didn't. You never do."

"But I can't unpack right now... I'm exhausted."

"Well then, tonight you rest, but tomorrow you unpack, and I want a picture to prove you did it."

"I swear I will," I promise. My phone buzzes in my hand, and on the top of my screen, I see it's my mother. "Mom's calling, I have to go. Love you!"

She barely has time to reply before I hang up on her and take my mother's call, eager to hear her comforting and familiar voice. With a broad smile on my face, I put the phone over my ear. "¡Hola mamá! ¿Cómo estás?" Hi mom! How are you?

"I'm great, mija. And you, how are you?"

"I'm great too. Except I miss you guys."

"We miss you too," she says with palpable emotion. I hear my father's voice, close to the phone. "Your dad says hi.".

"Hi, dad!" I yell, hoping he can hear me.

"Hey, peanut!" He definitely has his ear pressed against my mom's phone. "We're very proud of you, you know?"

A twinge of melancholy tightens my heart. My parents and I are close, especially since I only moved out of the family house three years ago, upon getting my first proper job. It was still in Portland, though, so I never lived so far from them.

Both my mother's parents were first-generation immigrants. I barely got to know my abuelo, but my abuela, Maria Carmen, has been living in the family house for the past twenty years and some. On my dad's side, everyone was cut off before I was born--no racist bigots allowed in this family.

My parents are the cutest couple I know, and I wish for everyone to find what they have. Thirty-something years together and Michael and Isabella Walker are still smitten with one another. My father's loving gaze when he looks at my mom is the reason why my standards are so high. I won't settle for anything less than that.