Fifteen
N atalia was right. There’s an entire Reddit thread filled with guys I’ve flirted with and dodged, including a former Havana Bar employee I haven’t thought about in years. After a little digging, Krystal finds some videos on TikTok of a few guys grossly exaggerating what our interactions were really like. Luckily they don’t have many views and it appears none of my followers have seen them.
“You don’t have to respond right away,” Krystal says when I open the camera app. “We haven’t eaten all day. Let me make you dinner.”
“I’ll think about it,” I tell her. “But I should probably post an update on the scavenger hunt, even if it is a disappointing one.”
“All right, you can record here. I’ll try not to make too much noise in the kitchen.”
I’m sitting on Krystal’s couch when I hit record.
CAPTION:
A DISAPPOINTING UPDATE
@ANGELA CLOSED CAPTIONS: After a long week, it looks like I’m officially back to square one on this scavenger hunt plan. I wish I had better news for y’all, but I’m not giving up yet. Until then, I have a few videos scheduled but if you guys want to see content from me aside from the scavenger hunt series, let me know.
Once I’m through filming, Krystal allows me to explore as she cooks something that smells delicious. Her eyes watch me as I inspect the corners of her apartment I didn’t get to last time. As I’m taking stock of her music choices, it hits me that she’s never once played the radio while I’ve sat in the passenger seat of her car. The only music she plays is her own, the artists she’s collected for herself displayed on this shelf.
“Taylor Swift, Taylor Swift, Taylor Swift.” I flick past all eleven studio albums. Krystal chuckles softly from her place on the edge of the barstool. “How did I have no idea you’re a Swiftie?”
She hides her smile by taking a sip from her beer. So far mine has sat on the floor next to me, untouched. I don’t know why I said yes when she asked if I wanted one. I don’t even like beer. But she’s an impossible woman to say no to, even in something as irrelevant as a drink request.
“I guess it never came up.”
I make a mental catalogue of each vinyl I come across and look up unfamiliar names on Spotify, marking them to check out later. Before I know it, I have an entire playlist full of artists I’ve never heard of. Before I can analyze what I’m doing too closely, I name the playlist after Krystal and tuck my phone away in my jeans pocket.
It’s just a Spotify playlist , I tell myself. So what if you put a heart emoji by her name?
“What else don’t I know about you?” I rise from the floor, ambling toward the kitchen. She hops from the stool and follows close behind.
“That I make a mean chicken alfredo,” she says. “It’s a lot simpler to make the sauce than people think. It’s just cream, butter, and a shit ton of parmesan.”
My stomach grumbles from the yummy, artery-clogging description, and we both laugh.
“I’d offer to help, but I fear I’ll only hold you back. I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”
“Look at us, learning more about each other.” She smirks. “Your turn now. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
“I think you know pretty much all there is to know about me.”
“That can’t possibly be true,” she says, dumping nearly an entire container of parmesan into the pan she’s working in. “I saw you reading a historical romance a few weeks back. What do you like about them?”
“About romance books?” I ask, surprised that she remembers, and she nods. “Living vicariously through made-up people’s romantic lives, probably. Guess I have that in common with a lot of my followers.”
“Why historical in particular?”
“This might sound reductive, but I like reading about women who are still virgins,” I tell her. “It’s one of the only times I can actually relate to a character in romance. In contemporary, there seems to be this unwritten rule that leading women who are still virgins in adulthood are at best unbelievable, at worst un-feminist, so you rarely see them as much anymore. I think we can all agree that the 1800s was one of the worst eras to be a woman in, but I think it’s kinda nice to see the female characters in these books fight back against the rules that constrain them, including the whole virginity equals purity thing.”
“I never thought of it like that,” Krystal says, grabbing two plates from a cabinet. “I remember getting into an argument with my mom over the plot of one of those books.”
“What was the plot?”
“I hated how women were described as ‘ruined’ after having sex out of marriage, or even perceived to have. I can’t imagine my whole future being taken away from me after one kiss in the garden all because some nosy busybody was out trolling for gossip.”
“And now they’re forced to be married. You’d probably hate to know that’s one of my favorite tropes.” Her eyes bug out at me as she hands me a plate. “But the heroine can gain freedom after being ruined too—as long as it’s by the right man willing to strike the right deal, that is. And then they surprise themselves by falling in love in the process.”
“Does reading these romances ever make you want one for yourself?”
“More like it quenches my thirst for one,” I explain, twirling my fork in the pasta. “It works for a while, anyway. Makes me feel a little less alone.”
We don’t want you to be lonely.
My mother’s words come unbidden. Am I lonely? A few weeks ago, definitely. But that hollow feeling in my chest gets a little bit smaller the more Krystal and I hang out. If there’s no longer a scavenger hunt, does that mean we won’t see each other as often anymore?
“Are you okay?” she asks when I’ve been silent a moment too long.
I glance back up at her. Heave a long-suffering sigh. “It’s a long story.”
“I like long stories.” She flashes an encouraging smile, taking a bite of food as I explain.
“My parents went to San Juan a couple of weeks ago,” I tell her. “They seemed worried about leaving me.”
“Why would they be worried?”
“Before they left, they said something I can’t get out of my head, about them not wanting me to be lonely.”
“Are you?” She looks at me beneath her lashes. “Lonely?”
I close my eyes and take in a deep breath, but it does nothing to thwart the sudden stinging sensation in my eyes.
“Yeah.” The reply comes out breathless, like it takes every spare breath I have to get the single word out. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
I can’t stand her looking at me the way she is, the concern and pity swimming in her eyes beneath her creased brows. But she won’t leave me alone. Krystal follows me to the sofa, both of us leaving our food behind, and takes a seat beside me, so close there isn’t an inch of space between us.
“I’m a good chameleon,” I say. “It’s how I got through college without anyone knowing I’ve never been kissed. I figured the kind of shit people would say if they knew, so I did everything I could to bury the truth. I hid in plain sight.”
“I remember.” She nods. “You had Jacob wrapped around your finger when he worked at the bar.”
Jacob worked at Havana Bar around the time Marcela and I graduated college. He was cute, with his boy band haircut and easy grin. Huge flirt too. After a bit of back-and-forth, we made a deal that for every free drink he put in my hand, he’d earn one digit of my phone number. Unfortunately for Jacob, the ninth drink resulted in his termination.
“He was in the Reddit thread we found earlier. I’d totally forgotten about him until then.” Krystal shoots me a disbelieving look, and I shrug. “What? It’s not my fault he was forgettable.”
“Did you end up giving him the final digit?” she asks. “He did risk his employment for you.”
“About that.” I bite down on my bottom lip. “Aside from the area code, I was giving him random numbers the entire time.”
“ Angela. ” Her tone is quelling, but her mouth is wobbly from holding back a grin. She gives a single shake of her head before bursting out a loud laugh. “Poor Jacob.”
“Poor Jacob ? He’s currently telling anyone who’ll listen that I led him on and got him fired!”
“Angela…” She pats my arm. “You did lead him on and get him fired.”
“I never told him to ply me with free drinks; he made that choice himself.” I let out a sigh when her expression doesn’t change. “I know I’m partly to blame, but in my defense, I never know what to do when guys come on strong. I just wanted to flirt a little, not actually date the guy.”
“No angel, despite your name.” She laughs when my mouth drops open.
“I took the chameleon thing too far,” I concede. “But I guess that wasn’t the first time either.”
“What do you mean?”
I’ve avoided my cousins for too long. I’ll have to deal with them at some point, clean up the fallout, but I don’t know where to start. Maybe talking about it is the first step. I’ve told her most of what happened, but I still haven’t gotten my feelings off my chest.
“I’m sick of my cousins,” I confess. “I get that I’m the one who fucked up. I lied to them instead of telling them how I really felt. I thought it’d be a better way to get my cousins to back off than the truth, and I was right.”
“I can’t say I blame you,” Krystal says, punching a fist into her palm. “And I’m more than willing to teach them a lesson for you.”
“As nice as it is to have someone willing to fight my battles for me, I haven’t even gotten to the worst part.” Her brows furrow, eyes narrowing dangerously. “When I lied about the guy, they were so… happy . I couldn’t figure out what it was then, but now I think they were relieved to finally have me figured out. I wasn’t someone they could understand or relate to before. It’s funny.” I huff out a humorless laugh. “Well, maybe it’s more sad than funny that the first time we got along like family is supposed to it’s because of a lie.”
It’s been exhausting, keeping up the facade. Pretending to know what I’m doing when guys flirt with me. Brushing them off at the end of the night. Unintentionally getting them fired for serving one too many free drinks. Merely playing at playing hard to get. Coming out alone couldn’t erase the years of comphet. Changing my wardrobe little by little has helped, as well as being honest with myself about the type of romantic relationship I want and who I want it with. That’s not something I see my cousins ever understanding. And ever since Natalia brought it up, I can’t help but wonder if my followers will understand either.
“Briana and Esme think I’m lying to thousands of people on the internet.” I shake my head. “That’s what’s believable to them. That’s the version of me they prefer. The version everyone prefers. At least then I’m someone they can understand. But now…”
I wish I knew then what I know now. I wish I grew up with the community I’ve built online. Maybe then I wouldn’t have thought it was so shameful to be as inexperienced as I am. I wouldn’t have felt the need to keep up this facade for a third of my life.
“You’re not the person you worked so hard to convince everyone you are.”
“Yeah.” I rest my head in my hands, blinking back the sting of tears. “Yeah, that’s exactly it.” When she puts it like that, it’s no wonder Briana and Esme are so confused. They thought they knew who I was, but the truth is they never had a clue. No one did. Not even me, until last year. Is that what the source of this ache is, this hollow feeling inside my chest? Did I do this to myself?