30
Emmy
The cab from the airport pulled up at the corner of my pedestrian-only street. I'd had the driver stop at the other end so I didn't have to walk past my own place to Armand's, but still I peered warily ahead. To think I'd left here at the beginning of the week totally clueless at how sideways life could go so fast. Four days and three nights later and everything looked the same, but I was a completely different person.
I hadn't even gotten laid, but I felt vulnerable and a bit screwed over. How weird was that? Had we had sex? Did phone sex count? It felt like it did. If I was honest with myself, it felt categorically like the most intimate sex I'd ever had.
My wheelie bag made an absolute racket as I walked up the road, bouncing along the stones, but it drowned out the fact my heart was pounding in my ears. I started jogging as the gate to Armand's place around the side of his little café came into view, and I didn't stop until I'd made it through his gate, past his little courtyard, up the iron stairs that hugged the building and was banging on the door to his studio apartment.
I'd barely gotten in three knocks before the door swung inward.
"Something chasing you?" Armand asked, his eyes wide and amused.
"Just my self-esteem," I grumbled as I breezed inside. I let go of my bag and went straight to his French doors with the Juliette balcony that looked over the street. Sweeping my gaze left and right and not seeing anyone but a group of tourists outside the art gallery four doors down, I breathed out a huge sigh of relief.
"Is it out there?" Armand asked, settling himself onto the corner of his futon he'd probably gotten up from to answer the door. He was in jeans and a black button down and looked great—already dressed for our night out.
"No," I answered and turned back to the room.
He was drinking a cup of something with one leg propped up, ankle over knee. "Trystan came by. You just missed him."
I turned sharply. "He did? Did you tell him I was coming home?"
"He asked as if he already knew.”
I swallowed. “What did you tell him?"
"When I realized he'd figured out you might be coming home, I told him he could stay at your place, that you made other arrangements."
"Oh. Good."
“I told Annie we were going out dancing tonight. Maybe she texted you and he saw it. I don't know. I forgot to tell her about the phone situation."
So all my deciding what to tell him was for nothing. And now I felt horrible as if I'd lied.
"Emmy, he seemed like a guy who just got brushed off by a girl he really liked. He seemed . . . disappointed."
I refused to pay attention to the brick forming in my stomach that felt a lot like guilt. As if I'd done something wrong. "What else did he say? He must have said something else for you to think that."
"He didn't. But I also know you, mi amor."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I think something happened between you two. And I think you got scared. Things maybe happening too fast?"
"That's not fair. And not true! I'm not the one with the intimacy problem."
Armand took a calm sip from his cup. "If you say so."
"Ugh!" I threw my hands up. "That's not fair. You don't know what happened."
"You could tell me."
I flounced across the room and landed on the other end of the futon. "I'd rather not. And I'm not even sure if I can explain it."
"Okay. So we don't talk about it. Fine."
"Good," I said. But I went and plugged in Trystan's phone. I'd have to face him sooner or later and return his phone. "So what's the plan tonight? Oh no!"
"What?"
"I have nothing to wear. As it is I'm a day past my three-day travel wardrobe." Getting anything from my house was out of the question. "Do we have time for me to throw everything in your washer and dryer? I'll wear jeans and my black cami."
"We'll coordinate." Armand gestured down his body.
I had a quick flashback to one night a year ago when we'd all gone clubbing and crashed here because my place was rented. "Did Annie ever pick up her dress?" It wasn’t like she'd have been able to wear it while pregnant.
Armand got up and opened the laundry cupboard doors. Hanging on the inside of the right hand door was a little black dress. "I can't tell you how many questions I get about this thing when people stay over. I'm almost sad to let you wear it."
I laughed. "I can give it back when I'm done."
"See that you do. And don't tell Annie I still have it."
"Weirdo."
"That's me. Now go shower and get ready, then I'll tell you all about my mother coming from Colombia to visit this Christmas. If you're still single by then"—he nodded to the charging phone—"you may need to pretend to be my girlfriend."
"Yikes. And don't look at Trystan's cell phone like that."
"Like what?"
"Like it has something to do with my single status."
"Doesn't it?"
"Ha. No." I pursed my lips. "Maybe?"
Armand's eyebrows popped up.
"Kidding," I grumbled. "Kind of." I slunk over to the coffee table and picked up the device. Was it weird that when I looked at it, I was aware of a low-grade fever bubbling away inside me? As the phone came to life, there were texts on the home screen and my insides swooped like a rollercoaster. "Shit."
They were from earlier today.
Armand cackled. "Your hand is shaking."
"It's not," I argued.
"Mi amor. What happened between you two?"
"Honestly, Armand. I'm really not sure what the hell happened this week. Let's just go out. I'm going to dance my ass off and have a good time."
I laid the phone gingerly on the table.
"Okay, mi amor. Go get ready." He pressed a kiss to my forehead.
I showered quickly in Armand's tiny bathroom, careful to keep my hair dry, then put makeup on and slipped on Annie's short black dress. I'd have to wear my flats though, which sucked.
A knock came at the door.
"Yes?"
The door opened and a pair of strappy black high-heeled sandals came through the gap, hanging off Armand's fingers. "She left these too after the Cinco De Mayo party."
"God, I'll kill myself in those. No way."
"Come on!"
"No, they're too big anyway."
"Try them."
"You're a bully."
"I'm a good friend is what I am."
"Argh. Fine. Give them to me." I took them and opened the door to pass him.
"Ooh la la! You look good."
"Whatever I look, it will have to do."
Armand smiled.
"You're being weird, you know that?"
"I'm always weird. It's why you love me."
"Meh," I tossed out over my shoulder as I went to the couch so I could sit and tie on the female torture devices. The phone still sat charging on the side table.
The first text from Trystan came in as we were leaving to head to Django.
Suit Monkey: Are you back in Charleston?
My pulse sped up.
"What is it?"
"It's him," I told Armand. "My instinct wants to respond but . . ."
"Instinct? Your heart? Your gut?"
"You're saying I should?" I asked.
"Emmy, I have no idea what the guy did wrong—"
"He didn't do anything wrong. But he might be wrong."
"Okay, but I can't help because you won't talk about it. So I don't know what you should do. But he's got you tied up, and you're no fun right now because you are not here. You are wherever he is."
"Which is ironic because he's likely less than three hundred yards away from us."
"Exactamente. This is crazy."
I let out a sigh and texted him back.
Yes. But your phone was dead and I couldn't tell you. Sorry.
Another text came through as I negotiated the cobblestones in Annie's shoes.
Suit Monkey: Tomorrow we'll meet up and trade phones. You should know I'm following your advice tonight.
What about?
Suit Monkey: Getting to know my family.
Good luck. No matter how much they've upset you, family is precious.
Then I felt a little on my high horse.
But also, take no shit. Gotta go.
Armand grew exasperated. "We should go home," he moaned. "Actually, better idea, let's walk back two minutes and you can have this conversation with him in person."
"No way," I said, and at that moment our Uber arrived. I shrugged at Armand then got in the back seat. "Anyway, he's with his family. I promise as soon as we get there, I'll put it away and not think about it."
He climbed in behind me, and the car began moving. "Do you want to hear from him again?"
"I—" I looked out the window as the sidewalks flashed by. "Yes. No. I don't know."
"Let me help you. The answer is yes. So stop brushing him off."
I glared at him. "He's a man-whore," I hissed.
Armand shrugged. "Why do you say that?"
Pulling up all the dating apps, I started reading them out loud. "Why does this not bother you?" I asked when I got to the end.
"Because I don't think it's a big deal. So he dates? So what? That's what normal hot-blooded single people in their thirties do. It's what I do."
"So you're okay if I show up sobbing into my granola in your restaurant with a broken heart," I snapped.
"Oh, mi amor. Listen to yourself."
"What? Okay, maybe not a broken heart, but you know what I mean. A very bruised ego. I'd like him way more than he’d like me, and then he'd be gone, and I'd be here."
"So you should stay in your safe castle with your kitty cat. No chance of getting hurt. Or having fun." Armand shook his head at me.
"Stop looking at me like that!" I turned my head away in irritation. "I have fun."
He shrugged. "Sure. How long has it been again?"
"Ugh. I haven't found anyone I could be bothered to get naked for." Until Trystan, I added in my head.
"Well, let's hope he's as taken with you as you seem to be with him. Because one of you needs to take the first step, and I guess it needs to be him."
The beat of the Latin music spilled out onto the night air outside the club. Annie, Armand, and I had been coming to Django since we were friends in college. Being from Colombia in South America, he'd sought out any flavor that reminded him of home. But the lines on Friday and Saturday nights had become annoying. Not enough to stop coming, obviously, but still.
"Remember when this place was uncool?" Armand grumbled.
"Was just thinking the same thing. It's like when your best-kept-secret breakfast place three doors down is suddenly seven deep at the counter when you're late for work and only want a coffee." I looked at Armand pointedly and slipped my arm through his. Heads of all genders swiveled as we passed because Armand was basically a dead ringer for Enrique Iglesias with slightly longer hair.
"I told you I can have a cappuccino ready to go at the same time every morning. You just need to get into a routine."
"I know, I know." I was chronically disorganized in the mornings.
Greeting the guy who'd worked the door as long as we'd been going, we then slipped through the rope and into the darkness and the swirling sultry beat.
Keeping my promise to Armand, I handed him my phone since I had no evening purse. It lit up as he took it.
"What?" I shouted.
"Nothing," he mouthed and slipped the phone into his back pocket. Then he made a let's get drinks motion, and I followed him to the bar.