Victor:
If it does, then he’s not your best friend.
Ian:
Good point.
Victor:
Do you want me to put you in touch with that friend I told you about?
I talked to him, he said it’s fine.
You don’t know each other.
So at least you don’t have to worry about him judging you.
Could be good for you.
He’s cool.
The messages say Read right away, but his answer takes some time. A balloon pops up with an ellipsis, indicating that he’s typing, then disappears, appears again, disappears, and appears one more time, as if Ian were writing the first book of the Old Testament with his fingertips.
I can almost see his brown eyes as he contemplates whether contacting Henrique is a good idea or not. And when the answer appears, it’s only two sentences long.
Ian:
Maybe.
But, like … I wouldn’t be bothering him?
Victor:
If you are, he can block your number.
But I doubt he would.
Sometimes people like to help without expecting anything in return.
You should try to let yourself be helped.
It’s so much easier to offer advice when you’re not the one who needs it.
“What’s with all the typing?” Sandra asks, annoyed with my silence and my eyes being glued to the screen. “You’re really not talking to Henrique, right? Because if you are and won’t show me, I swear our friendship will be hanging by a thread!”
“It’s not Henrique!” I smile and show her Ian’s name and picture on my phone.
“Whoa, you get over your exes quickly.”
“He’s just a friend, I swear!” I answer.
“Right …”
I turn my attention back to the phone and read the last message from Ian while Sandra goes back to eating her lunch.
Ian:
Hey, you barely know me!
Victor:
If I tell you a secret, can you keep it to yourself?
Ian:
I’m now an Olympic secret keeper.
Yours is safe with me.
Victor:
I can read people’s minds.
And I know you’re the type who hates accepting help.
Whether for practical reasons or emotional support.
Ian:
And you figured that out just by reading my mind?
Victor:
Of course I did.
Ian:
Most frauds who say they can read minds rely on common sense.
Like, when a guy says, “I see you are suffering because of a family issue.”
Hard to find someone without family issues.
I laugh, which makes Sandra look my way again. She raises an eyebrow and goes back to her food in silence.
Victor:
Believe whatever you want.
I can read minds.
Period.
Ian:
Fine, then, Sookie Stackhouse.
Thanks for chatting with me.
I really needed it.
I send him Henrique’s contact info.
Victor:
My friend’s number. His name is Henrique.
Talk to him and see what he has to say.
Ian:
Could be a good idea.
Victor:
You’re a cool guy.
:)
Ian:
I’m sure Henrique thinks the same about you.
Are you guys, like, dating?
The question makes me uncomfortable, but the great advantage of texting is that the person on the other side can’t see your expression.
Victor:
It’s complicated.
Ian:
He’s positive, and you’re not.
If we were playing chess, this would be checkmate.
Victor:
I’m sorry.
I don’t want you to think I’m insensitive.
Ian:
No worries.
I’ll try to talk to him.
And we can chat more later.
A little later, he adds:
Ian:
Oh, and thank you so much.
Victor:
I’m the one who should be thanking you.
Ian:
For what?
Crying on your shoulder?
Victor:
Of course not.
Ian:
Then for what?
Victor:
It’s complicated.
:)
Ian:
Has anyone ever told you that you’re complicated?
Victor:
Believe it or not …
You’re the second person to tell me so just today.
Ian:
Once is chance, two times is a coincidence, three times is a pattern.
At least that’s what they say about serial killers.
Victor:
I hope there’s no third time.
Or I’ll start worrying.
I lock the phone and shove it in my pocket.
“Finally!” Sandra grumbles when I look at my food, basically untouched and now cold. “If you’ve found a new best friend, you better tell me right now. It’ll save me a lot of time I’d need to spend searching for a new one.”
“And I’m the dramatic one,” I answer, cutting a piece of steak and eating a forkful.
I’M ON A CROWDED BUS heading toward central Rio, squeezed between one man who doesn’t know the concept of personal hygiene and another who wears an exhausted expression, his hands holding on to the metal rail and his head resting against his own shoulder, as if praying silently for someone to let him sit down so he can sleep a bit before he gets home. My head starts throbbing, and when I try to distract myself with my phone, I notice a text from an unknown number. At first I think it might be a mistake, but as soon as I read it, I realize who it is.