With my tongue sticking out, I slide the earbuds back in. I love my job. Sam hired me years ago, and I’ve never regretted it, or considered other jobs. He’s less interested in pumping out more work as fast as we can than most businesses. Instead, he wants us to pump out the best work, no matter how long we take. Exceptions happen, but even those aren’t bad. It also helps that I have a great relationship with Sam and his wife.
Once I drag the files over to the drive, I wait for the transfer to start. The timer starts at six hours, but quickly drops to slightly over fifteen minutes. Not terrible considering these files are huge. I check my watch—perfect.
While the files are saving, I grab my phone, building keys, the case to my earbuds, and my wallet—in case the mobile pay isn’t working today. I’m almost at the door, but stop as someone shrieks my name from the other side of the room. Kennedy. For a split second, I consider going through the doors without acknowledging her, but she’d inevitably run and catch up anyhow. Alone time escape plan foiled once again!
“What’s up, Kennedy?”
“We’re going next door, right? Ugh, thank god! I’m like, so dying over here!” She’s overly dramatic, and the vocal fry adds an extra edge to it. “Seriously, I’m going to fall asleep on the keyboard if I keep staring at these fucking logos. I’m also starrrrrrrving.”
It’s phrased as a question, but she’s not really asking permission to go; she never does. Her giant purse is already on her shoulder and she’s ready to go. I wonder what she’d say if I said I was going somewhere else. I don’t bother testing it—more than likely, she’d still want to tag along and I’d be stuck finding somewhere else to go.
“We’re getting java, Silva!” I yell out as we pass the empty desk in the lobby.
“Roger, Roger!” comes a voice, yelling from somewhere in the back. “Okay, don’t worry about me!”
“Hey, did you hear about the new club that opened up a few weeks ago in WeHo?” Kennedy asks as we step outside and we’re both blinded by the mid-day sun.
“Fuck, my sunglasses are at my desk.” I squint and keep my head down as we’re walking. “Yeah, I went already. It’s fine, but I’m not sure it will last. They’re overcharging, and the whole place is trying too hard to be different, but really it’s just more of the same you’d see in other neighborhoods. The branding is way off-target. It’s a glorified sports bar.”
“What if we go there to pick up guys? Like, the best part of sports bars is the guys.” she says, pushing my shoulder like it’s supposed to be cute. “Let’s check it out!”
“Kennedy, it’s in WeHo, which means it’s a fucking gay bar. Most of the guys there don’t want you,andyou’re straight, so the woman are out, too.”
“Lame! What if they turn it into a straight bar in WeHo?” In her mind, this is the most brilliant idea ever. My eyes roll back so hard they might pop out. I’m grateful that she changes the subject. “So, there’s a party this weekend in the hills. I might go, but Michelle from accounting said Tony from sales is going. God, he’s so boring. He just wants to talk about some new tech toy he bought or whatever.”
“I always thought Tony was cool.” He’s a bit of an asshole until you get to understand his sense of humor. He’s also something of a man-whore, but not an absolute dick about it. “Wait, didn’t you and Tony?—”
“Oh, we did, like two weeks ago in the bathroom. That’s kind of why I don’t want to go. Since he’s, like, been calling me and stuff, wanting to hook up again. Like, the guy doesn’t understand how a fling works, and now he’s obsessed with me. It happens all the time!”
I’m half tempted to text Tony and see what he says, but something tells me I already know. Kennedy talks a big game and throws herself at everyone, but she’s about as trustworthy as a Trump with factual details about her life. He’s probably called her once—if that.
Kennedy stops by the entrance, still pretending to be engrossed in her phone, until I open the door for her. The scent of fresh coffee hits me, and I’m drooling like Pavlov’s dogs. Life in Los Angeles comes with plenty of options for vices. Mine is coffee. I need coffee before I can function appropriately in the morning. If I’m offered coffee or a cocktail, I’ll choose coffee in every setting but a bar. At the bar, I’ll drink people under the table thanks to college life and growing up in North Carolina.
“Oh my god, why is there such a fucking liiiine,” Kennedy whines, laying on the valley vocal fry extra thick and flicking her hair.
“It’s not that bad. At least the lunch crowd has died down,” I defend the shop and wave to Zack behind the counter. I’ve got a soft spot for this place since it’s become something of my escape. I’ve spent more money and time in the corner booth in the back than I care to admit, but I enjoy the place’s kawaii vibe and fun pastel colors. Besides, it’s one of the few places around here built with lots of seating and plenty of outlets for the nerds.
My phone rings, and I tell Kennedy not to save my spot since the line is moving. I read the name on the screen, and I’m sure the groan is audible since several people glare at me. I answer my phone when I get to the back of the shop.
“Hello, Marc.” My voice oozes sarcasm right from the start.
“Oh, Alexis! Hi! I, uhm, I thought you’d be working.”
I’ve told him a million times not to call me that; I’ve never been fond of my full name. “I am working, Marcus. I took a break to get a coffee. We’re allowed to do that in the twenty-first century, assuming the warden allows for it.”
“Sounds, uhm, nice.”
Marc isn’t my type. He prefers church services and volunteering for the Boy Scouts to my bar hopping and pride rallies. He’s also somehow stuck in the nineteen-fifties, even though he’s in his early thirties. To appease my mother, I agreed to give him a shot, which we agreed means three dates. Total. So far, Marc and I have been on two dates. They were the worst dates I’ve ever been on.
“Something you need, Marcus?”
“Look, Alexis, I just…I’ve had a pleasant enough time with you, so please don’t take this wrong or anything. I just…” He takes a breath and his next words come in a deeper, authoritative tone. “I need to step back and sort of rethink the nature of our relationship.” I force myself to hold back the snort-laugh. Especially when he sheepishly adds, “If that’s okay with you.”
YES! I want to shout with my excitement, but I keep it all inside. My sigh of relief is loud, and I’m not even ashamed.
“Your refusal to grow spiritually and insistence on fighting conformity is too much for me. I understand that our mothers meant well, but you’re…uhm…” His voice trails off. I picture him turning bright shades of red, like he does when he’s put on the spot. I bet his mother is standing behind him, feeding him lines. It takes a lot for me not to laugh into the phone, considering the first date was a shitty wartime movie he picked, and the second was an open mic night for Jesus. Fun. He was less than excited about the rainbow boots I wore that night and the pin with my pronouns listed as she/her/they/them. I’m sure I’ll be hearing aboutthatnext time I talk to my mother.
I’m a rebellious teenager stuck in a thirty-four-year-old body. At least that’s what I tell myself.
