"He thinks he's Bogart." I push past my painful memories. Try to hold on to the good ones. Where Casablanca felt like home. Even if it's a home I'll never have again.
"Yeah. Like he's an icon, even though he's a short alcoholic." Sienna shakes her head. Checks the still empty counter for her drink. "Oh my god, this is taking forever!"
My phone buzzes.
Sienna notices. "Are you talking to a girl?"
"No."
"Are you talking to a gender non-binary individual?"
"No."
"So you are talking to a guy?"
"It's not a big deal."
"Mm-hmm." Her eyes flit to my pocket. "Then why don't you reply?"
"I'm talking to you."
"Well, I'm going to get some napkins. So you won't be talking to me for a minute." She moves to the counter with a wink.
I check my cell immediately.
Ty: Done.
Done.
He'll pay my sister's tuition.
And the mortgage.
Done.
Indigo: You don't know how much it is.
Ty: I've already agreed.
Sienna returns with a fistful of napkins. "Who's the guy?"
"No one."
"Uh, yeah, someone." She motions to my lipstick. My long necklace. My low-cut top. "You're dressed up for him."
"I can't dress up for myself?"
"You just happened to dress up for yourself the same day you started texting someone? Please." She drops the napkins on a small table. Adjusts her ponytail. "It's for a guy."
My cell buzzes.
I want to see Ty's text. I want to let my guard down and fall into that perfect summer we spent together.
It's May. Almost three years since we met.
Three years and so much has changed.
Mom got sick. Died. Left me with bills I couldn't pay.
I went from holding up half the world to all of it.
"Indie…" Sienna's voice gets singsong. "Who's the guy?"
My fingers glide over the edges of my cell. I want to see him. To hear his offer. To let him assuage my doubts.
"Oh my god." Her blue eyes light up. "It's him."
"It's who?"
"Mr. London."
How did she guess that?
"It is!" She claps her hands together. "I can't believe it. After three years. I knew it. I knew he'd see the error of his ways. Beg to win you over."
She's not wrong. She's not right either—this is about Ty getting what he wants—but she's not wrong.
Thankfully, the tearista saves me from contemplating the matter. She calls our order. Black tea, hot. Royal milk tea with boba.
Sienna jumps out of her seat and skips to the counter.
I check my cell while she's distracted.
Ty: Meet me for dinner.
"Is it really Mr. London?" Sienna holds my drink to her chest. "I'm going to keep this until you tell me."
"You're going to stain your sweater."
"Don't care." She sets her boba on the table. Holds my take-out cup with both hands.
She looks adorable, holding my tea hostage. Sienna tries to embrace her inner badass sometimes, but it never works.
Don't get me wrong. She's tough. A soccer player with the strong legs and the constant ponytail to prove it.
But she's got the world's sweetest face. Hazel eyes, button nose, chestnut hair.
All of Mom's coloring. And her resting sweetheart face.
Whereas I look more like Dad.
Pale skin, intense blue eyes, dark hair.
And the resting bitch face.
Though no one says that when it's a guy's face. It's more that he looks tough. In control. Serious.
Not that anyone ever complained. Not when he was alive.
And not now.
That's the one upside to death. All compliments.
"In-di-go…" She says it louder. Loud enough the people in line turn our way. Which only makes Sienna laugh. "Tell me. Please." She taps the lid of my cup. "Your tea is getting cold."
"What if it is him?"
"Then I need every detail."
I shoot her a really look.
She nods hell yes. "I know you remember that summer. Because I remember the look you had when you came home." She makes a show of fanning herself.
I seize the moment. Grab my tea. Take a long sip.
Mmm.
Yes, it's mediocre, but it's still warm and strong and full of caffeine.
"It is him," she says. "I knew it."
"I didn't say—"
"Why don't you want to tell me?"
"I don't want you to get your hopes up."
"My hopes that you'll finally get laid?" she asks.
Uh…
"How long has it been?"
"A reasonable amount of time that is none of your business."
"That's too long. You should go. See him. Enjoy that, at least."
"I can't."
She raises a brow. "Why not?"
"Because…"
"Because… you're gay?" she asks.
"No."
"It's okay if you are."
"Do you think I am?"
"Well… you haven't been with anyone in a long time. And you do have an asymmetrical haircut."
I can't help but laugh. "You shouldn't stereotype."
"I know. But you also have an eyebrow piercing."
I double over.
God, I love Sienna. She's so… Sienna. Loud and bold and unapologetically herself.
She's been through as much as I have, but she's still bright and vibrant.
Whereas I can barely stomach picking up my guitar.
"What? It's true. And it's not a bad thing. If you're gay. Or asexual. Though we both know you aren't. You're already blushing."
I am.
"Mr. London… I wish I knew more about him. I picture him as different celebrities. Right now…" She presses her lips together, thinking. "Kit Harington."
I shake my head. "Too pretty."
"Tom Hardy?"
"Closer."
"Jeremy Irons."
"He's like a hundred."
"Maybe that's why you won't tell me."
I shake my head.
"Idris Elba."
She's getting warmer. Too much warmer. I call upon my poker face. Well, my annoying customer complaining his wife doesn't get him, but I'm such a good listener… face. "I'm not telling you."
"Why not?"
"Because." It's mine. That world we have together is mine.
She makes a show of pouting. "Okay. Fine. But… why is it you aren't rushing to reply to Mr. London?"
"Because I like him." My shoulders ease. It's a relief, admitting it to myself, but it's terrifying too.
"Isn't that a good thing?" she asks.
Maybe. I miss that feeling. The warmth in my chest, the flutter in my stomach, the lightness in my limbs.
But the ache in my soul that came after… I can't do that again.
"It's different for men. Sex doesn't always mean something to them. And he… It won't mean anything to him."