Chapter 23 Miz
23
MIZ
I don’t know how he did it, but Kal got it exactly right. It feels like I’ve been walking around in a new body for weeks now. On the second night after the mattress was delivered, I dived in, in my birthday suit. Kal wasn’t kidding. Every night is like a deep tissue massage. My sleep becomes so deep and dreamless, my body so supple, and my joints so juicy—all kinds of bliss, thanks to Kal. It seems unfair that he doesn’t get to experience the luxury for himself. This feels like our mattress, not just mine. I could ask him, Do you want to try out the new mattress? Why not? Simple question, right? Yeah, it would have been, once upon a time. Now though, I’m scared it will bring back the Weirdness. As if, in that question, he would hear my every private thought.
Stop it, girlie. This is all just pictures-day hangover. Remember the point of all this is the sponsorship application. Which we’re almost done with. Everything is set except for the marriage certificate. As soon as that drops in my mailbox, we send off the application. And then back to our regular programming.
“We’ve never done something like this before,” I say to Aimé on my AirPods. “Actually working as a team toward something serious. I’m gonna miss having a project partner. Going back to just hanging out feels like…backtracking or something.”
“I think all that’s because you forgot to jump his bones,” Aimé says.
“Me tap that skinny ass? I like meat on my bones. You do recall a guy named Daniel?”
Aimé pfft s, not buying any of it. “Speaking of, are you there yet?”
“Almost.”
It’s after work on Wednesday, and I’m headed to Daniel’s place to execute Operation Lose the Ring. Aimé’s on the phone as moral support and to verify that I actually do return the ring this time. My grand plan on this Halloween night is to use the element of surprise to my advantage by showing up unannounced (taste of his own medicine). He’ll let me in because I’m too cute to be turned away in my form-fitting giraffe costume. At some point, the giraffe will need to use the bathroom, during which I’ll put the ring in a findable but not obvious place in his bathroom. Bonus points if I manage to stuff it back in his gym bag. And with that, Daniel chapter closed for good. Hallelujer and amen.
“Okay, I’m here,” I say, reaching the townhouse where Daniel rents a floor. I blow into my hoofs to warm them.
“You got this!” she says. I cross myself, send a kiss to Christos, and press the doorbell. “Wait!” she shouts suddenly.
I leap back. “What?!”
“What if she’s there?”
She who? I think. Oh, Naomi, the chosen one! “Shit shit shit!” I dash commando-style down the stairs and lunge behind a parked car. I peer over the hood at the front door. “No one has come out.”
“Abort mission! I don’t want you getting mauled over this.”
“I could just pretend to be a passerby with a bathroom emergency.”
“Would you let you in?” Aimé says.
“Hell no.” But I did not come all the way out here for nothing. “Hold on. Let me text him.” I pull my thumbs out of my hoofs. But I go blank. Selfie then. I send him one that clearly shows that I am on his street.
Me: Guess who?
“Okay, I sent him a message. Waiting…waiting…” I say to Aimé.
Daniel: What are you doing there?
Me: Surprise!
Daniel: I’m not home.
Me: I can wait if u hurry
Daniel: Mom had a fall, needs hip replacement. Am back in Calgary until she’s fully healed.
Oh shit. Poor moms! “Mission fail,” I say to Aimé. “He’s out of town.”
“Oh.”
“Am I cursed to be stuck with this ring forever?”
“Is there an open window or something you can toss it in?”
“He lives on the second floor, Aims. I’m not an actual giraffe.” But I still look up at his windows with pitiful hope. That’s how determined I feel to offload this overpriced, probably uninsured rock.
“What about the mailbox?” Aimé says.
“You know he shares the mailbox with the other tenants. And all I have is the ring. No box, no envelope. So now what, I’m supposed to go find mailing supplies? Come on!”
“Okay, don’t bite my head off!”
Kal: Trick or treat!
My mood improves instantly. I laugh out loud when I see the picture he’s sent me of him and his roommates in costume, he in a store-bought Roman soldier one. “Sorry, girl. Gotta go,” I say before quickly hanging up.
Me: Okay I see you Tony! Is that a Halloween party you didn’t invite me to?
Kal: It was last minute. Consider this your invite.
Me: Do you want to see what I’m wearing?
My mind, of course, crosses into the gutter. What are the chances he’ll write back something kinky?
Kal: No, surprise me.
I smirk. Hmm, I’m not sure that qualifies.
Me: omw.
Giving myself a strict talking-to about how we must remain what we have always been—strictly platonic—especially now, I skip over to his house. Yes. Strictly PG. Except my occasional unplatonic lapses. But come on, how is any human, warm-blooded, fertile, heterosexual, well-rested young female with a vibrant dream life supposed to stay indifferent to those bedroom eyes, that drawl, that rolling, hips out–shoulders back gait? Stop it.
Word must have got out fast because Kal’s place is jumping by the time I get there. “Should I say karibu ?” Kal says, laughing at my costume and going for the Swahili welcome. “Did you spend your workday like this?”
“Yep! What? You worked seven nights in something like that,” I say, pointing out his hunky-as-heck getup. “Got anything on under there?” I ask with a wink. Wow, two minutes in and already flirting. We need supervision. Or at least I do. We are so dancing on the edge of things.
He laughs, shaking his head. “I missed you.”
My heart feels like it stops for a moment. “I’m right here.”
Then he puts his hand over mine. “I know.”
“And we just saw each other, like, when—”
“What I’m saying is…” He squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. And just like that, I know. (I think.) We are on the same page. (Maybe.) I feel 76.9 percent sure of it. Or is it that I want to? Well, there is only one way to round that up to one hundred. Come on, girlie, be brave and say it. I look down. Now or never, Miz. Use your words. English! You’ve been learning it since you were two.
But something stops me. Damn morals. I don’t want to take advantage of Kal’s vulnerable position. If he wants me at all, I want him to want me as a free agent without this sponsorship hanging over our heads. Best to wait until after we finish the sponsorship process. Couple of years tops. No biggie. The thought of my making a move and then Kal feeling obligated, out of gratitude or whatever, to reciprocate is as horrifying as the idea of being rejected by him. Unless and until such time as Kal gives me a neon green light, I am not deviating from Operation Platonic.
With the party made up of almost all actors, most of the talk is about the upcoming season and who got what gig where, which I see is making Kal feel left out. He’s already done the TV show audition Oliver had him prepare for. Since then, he’s gone for callback after callback.
“It’s like they think they want me, but they don’t know what for exactly,” he says, sounding frustrated.
“Mmm,” I say. I can completely relate.
“Don’t you want to put your bag down?” he says. I’ve been clutching it like it contains the nuclear launch code. Last thing I need is to lose the ring by some freak accident. Irony for days.
“I’m good. I need to head out soon.”
“You just got here,” he reminds me.
“It was a long day,” I fib. “And tomorrow will be worse.” Safer not to stay too long where the lights are dim, the alcohol is flowing, and a certain someone may or may not have anything on under his short tunic.
“Let’s go somewhere we can talk,” he says. I abandon all thoughts of skipping out early in a heartbeat. I feel giddy, as if we’re at a high school house party and my crush has finally acknowledged my existence. We top up our drinks and go up to the rooftop terrace, grabbing one of his blankets on the way. “Not a CN Tower kind of view but…” he says.
“I’ve always liked it up here,” I say, as we snuggle on the old sofa that lives out here. “Your sunrise view.”
“And sunset. Always best when shared.” We catch up about this and that. Work, rehearsals, the anniversary-wedding party, my mom deciding to book her flight to Ethiopia without me.
“Before Christmas too! She wanted to avoid the peak season crush. No thought to leaving me unattended,” I say, with an exaggerated hurt. “My first Christmas without my mama.”
“You’re always welcome here,” Kal says, detecting a sense of loss in my words.
“Okay.” I smile, mentally chucking plans I haven’t even made yet.
“We should book our flight soon too,” he says. I agree. “I’m really excited we’re finally flying home together,” he adds with such open sincerity that I’m filled with the sudden need to smother him in a bear hug.
“Thirteen nonstop hours with you though? Oh boy,” I say instead, scrunching up my face mockingly.
“Like thirteen hours of sunshine,” he says, showing me all thirty-two of his pearly whites, a smile that threatens to make me abandon Operation Platonic. Do like ABBA and take a chance, girl.
“So you wanted to talk to me about something?” I say, arranging the blanket.
He looks hesitant, sips his drink. “It was just an excuse to get me some Miz-time.”
“Since when do you need an excuse for that?” I say, shoving him playfully. As if I haven’t been antsy about the same thing for weeks.
He stares into his drink. “I don’t know, you’ve seemed…” He looks at me. “Busy.” Except the question in his eyes has nothing to do with my timetable. If I’m reading them right. Big if .
“Busy hurrying home for another night of amazing sleep,” I say, sticking to the safe lane. “Hey, do you want to try it out?” Never mind.
His brows shoot up. “Your mattress?”
Shite , I think he’s stalling. Retreat! Retreat! “Yeah, whenever,” I say quickly. I feel a prickle of cold on my nose and look up to see tiny flurries coming down. “Any night. Or even not necessarily at night. Just whenever you want to. I don’t even have to be there!”
Shut. Up. Stop speaking.
He opens his mouth to reply, but there’s a clamour on the stairs to the rooftop. We’re interrupted by half the people at the party, overly excited by the first snow of the season. Humiliated, I join in the glee. When someone strikes up a conversation with Kal, I excuse myself and bolt, sending him a cowardly see ya by text.