The rest of the week, I'm immersed in press releases and and extra shifts at Robbers. Refreshing the job search engine for every new opportunity. Lara finished drafting her newest screenplay, and she passed it to me for feedback and editing, providing my nighttime reading for the past few nights, and a distraction that doesn't involve booze or hookups.
Timmy's shirt still sat in my closet, on the ground, balled up behind my laundry basket.
**********
"So when's that famous friend of yours coming back?"
As I pour hot water from a kettle over ground coffee in a paper filter, Rosie's words make my chest jump.
"Because that skinny white boy is very nice to look at. I mean, I'm happily married to the most beautiful lady in the world, but if I were ten years younger and liked boys — " She makes a noise that sounds like a chuckle.
I press my lips together, laughing through my nose, continuing my pour over.
"Also, you never told me how you know him! Spill!"
I could just tell her that we matched on Tinder, but I also think that by this point, it's a really inaccurate way to explain everything. But do I want to get into all of that right now?
"We matched on Tinder."
"He's on Tinder — you're on Tinder?!"
"Well, you know I'm twenty-two and desperate."
She slides her hands into the pockets of her apron, throwing her cleaning rag over her shoulder and leaning against the counter. "Well I'm not sure where to begin here. You're desperate?" She cocks her head. "Thought you might be taking some time...off."
I shrug. "On a serious note. I really am fine. I had eight whole months, I go to appointments once a week, I live with my best friend, and I'm really starting to be happy again. For real."
"Okay. As long as you're putting heart and mind first. You know, if you ever need anything at all—"
"I know. You're family. I know I've got you."
She smiles, then waves her arms. "Alright, enough with the sap. You'll make me cry. So tell me about how you matched on Tinder with a celebrity."
I look at the ground, pressing my lips into a smile. "I mean, it wasn't — well, we matched and met up at that one bar on 7th and 1st. Might've hooked up after. It was pretty casual."
She's dumbstruck. "Marley, you win at life."
I shake my head, laughing through my nose again, but a giggle comes out on accident.
"You're not telling me everything."
"I mean, it really was nothing. Didn't really work. It was mutual." I mean, that last part is basically true.
"Mutual, huh?" Rosie says, looking in the direction of the door.
I look also.
And nearly drop the kettle of scalding hot water.
The tall boy with wavy brown locks and thin frame shuffles in slowly, hands in his pocket. We make eye contact for a moment. Then his eyes drop to the ground, lingering by the entrance and eyes wandering his surroundings. It's all very cinematic.
"Do I need to talk to him?" Rosie asks, low voice, in a serious tone.
I shake my head. "No. No, not all."
"So do we like him?"
In the corner of the cafe, he pulls a chair out and sits down, resting his folded hands on the small circular table. Staring at his twiddling thumbs, one of his legs shaking. He runs a hand through his brown waves, tucking a fallen curl behind his ear.
I look back at Rosie, giving her a look which tells her my answer.
"Well then. Do us both a favor, and go over there and figure that out. It's about time for your break, anyways."