9. ARIA
9
ARIA
A s I weave through the cardboard maze of our apartment, the scent of Sara’s favorite candles mingles with the distinct aroma of packing tape and plasticky bubble wrap—a fragrance I've come to associate with goodbyes and new beginnings.
After my breakup with Pedro, my $100,000 prize money didn’t go very far in New York; more than 70% went to pay off my remaining student loans, and the rest vanished into living expenses. I moved three times—into various dumps—before finally convincing Sara to be my roommate. Now, the scent of change in our apartment is a bittersweet perfume that saturates my memories and clings to every surface of our living space.
As I pick up an empty roll of tape to take to the trash can, my mind can’t help but wander to the events of last night with Pedro, our kiss, and his subsequent weirdness. I couldn’t shake the image of Pedro’s encounter with the blonde at the restaurant, the way they seemed so familiar with each other, and how he tried to downplay it when he returned to the table. His nonchalance felt forced, and it left me questioning what exactly their relationship was. It’s like an itch in my brain that I can’t quite scratch.
A part of me wonders if proceeding with the adhesion phase is the right move. Am I just setting myself up for more heartache? Should I really be manipulating someone I might still have feelings for?
“Aria, get your fine ass over here and check out these lashes!” Mark’s voice cuts through my thoughts, dragging me back to the present.
He turns on some upbeat pop music, the catchy lyrics and pulsing beats helping to distance my thoughts from last night’s date with Pedro.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the spiraling doubts. Focus, Aria. Stick to the plan. But which plan? The one where I keep my heart shielded behind five strategic phases, or the one where I admit that proceeding to the adhesion phase might be too risky this time?
Mark and Sara are in front of the standing mirror they've set up in the living room, admiring his handiwork. Mark has expertly applied individual lash extensions to Sara’s natural lashes, giving her a glamorous, wide-eyed look.
“Damn, Sara, you’re going to make all the nerdy residents jealous with those stunning eyes,” I compliment her as I lie back on the sofa for my free lash extensions session, courtesy of Mark’s generosity.
Mark beams with pride, clearly thrilled with my reaction. “What can I say? When you've got it, you've got it. Sara, you’re gonna turn the Cleveland Clinic into Seattle Grace Hospital.”
Sara laughs, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Thanks, Mark. I'll be sure to give you a shout-out when I'm accepting my Harper Avery Award.”
As we continue to gas each other up, my phone buzzes with a DM that nearly makes me choke on my own spit.
Aria, my favorite future-niece-in-law! How about hooking me up with your friend Gretchen? I have a feeling we'd get along like bacon and eggs on a Sunday morning.
I can’t help but cackle at Tío Juan’s audacity. Mark slides up next to me with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Oh, what do we have here? Aria, spill the tea, sis! Did he finally declare his undying love for the Queen of Nueva York?”
I snort, shoving him playfully. “No, it’s Pedro’s uncle. He wants me to set him up with Gretchen.”
Sara’s eyes go wide, her new, long lashes fluttering as she leans in. “You’re not going to, right?”
I shrug, my fingers already flying across the screen to respond.
Hey tio! Gretchen’s a wild card, but I think you two could be a match made in heaven. Let me see what I can do.
Mark claps his hands, his grin turning positively wicked. “Speaking of heaven, it’s time for you to spill. Lean that gorgeous head back and give us all the juicy deets about last night. And don’t even try to hold out on us—I know where you keep your diary, bitch.”
I groan as I adjust the throw pillows under my neck and scoot back on the sofa so my head is resting on the arm, where Mark can work on my lashes. “Fine, but there’s not much to tell. All I’ll say is it went well.”
Sara narrows her eyes, calling bullshit on my casual tone. “I don’t know how you get paid to lie. You’re so bad at it. What happened, you asshole?”
Under their good-cop/bad-cop interrogation, I cave like a house of cards. I spill the tea about the kiss, Pedro’s weird behavior after, and the mystery woman he chatted with at the restaurant.
As I regale them with my tales of fake-dating woe, I begin drafting a text to Gretchen.
I need a favor…
Yeah, well, I need to know why you’re texting me at 8 o’clock on a Monday night. Some of us have lives.
Ouch
It’s for the Farrow account.
Pedro’s uncle, Juan, saw you on my Insta and he’s quite taken with you. He wants to meet…?
What’s the catch?
Is he impotent? Incontinent? I don’t have time for losers.
Am I crossing a line by involving Gretchen in this tangled web? Using her to get closer to Pedro feels manipulative on a whole new level. But then again, she seems interested—or at least intrigued. Maybe it’s justified... or maybe I'm just justifying bad decisions.
No catch. I have it on good authority that he is still quite…virile. If anyone knows how to tickle your fancy, it will be Juan.
As I hit send, Mark lets out a wicked cackle and a pang of guilt washes over me.
“Gross,” Sara says from over my shoulder.
“Old people need love too, Sara,” I say, trying to mask my guilt with a tone of faux-disapproval. She rolls her eyes and gives my shoulder a playful shove.
Mark scoffs, “Ignore her. She’s just bitter because she hasn’t gotten laid since the machines started taking over. ”
“You are aware that up until recently I was a full-time med student, right?”
“Wait, you were a med student? I thought you were just really committed to your Grey’s Anatomy cosplay. My bad! I guess that explains why you’re always scrubbing in to every conversation with that fun fact,” Mark retorts with a smirk.
“How do you come up with these perfect insults on the spot?” Sara asks, shaking her head at Mark.
“Years of practice,” he replies, dramatically flipping his non-existent hair.
I suppose it couldn’t hurt. Waste not, want not. But let’s be clear, this is strictly a one-time thing. I don’t need the drama of being tangled up with an asset post-rebound.
Send me the details.
Sara frowns, worry written all over her face. “Is playing matchmaker with Gretchen and Juan a good idea? It could backfire and make this whole situation even more of a hot mess.”
Her words hit a nerve. I force a laugh, but inside, doubts start to creep in. What if this does spiral out of control? Am I so focused on my career and this twisted plan that I'm willing to risk the few genuine relationships I have left?
Mark, however, is living for the drama. “Are you kidding? Gretchen and Tío Juan? Those two are going to be playing doctor faster than you can say industrial-strength K-Y jelly. It’s like a steamy crossover episode of Grey’s Anatomy and The Golden Girls.”
As they argue the pros and cons of my little scheme, I can’t shake the growing sense of unease in my gut. Sara’s warning echoes in my mind, and I start to worry about what will happen if Gretchen and Juan actually hit it off and continue seeing each other after I've closed the Farrow account and cut ties with Pedro. I need Gretchen to be in a good mood when this job is over, and the only way to ensure that is to get her laid.
“Well, that’s one problem solved,” I announce, tossing my phone on the coffee table. “Gretchen’s down for a fling with Juan, but she made it clear it’s a one-time thing. She doesn’t want to risk staying involved with Pedro’s uncle after this job is done. Now, if only I could figure out what the hell’s going on with Pedro...”
They exchange a look that says they see right through me, and Mark squeezes my shoulder. “Girl, you better play this right. Don’t go catching feelings for Mr. Tall, Dark, and Emotionally Constipated. Remember, this is just a job.”
“Yeah, keep it professional,” Sara chimes in.
I nod, but deep down, I know it may already be too late to heed their good advice. I'm starting to feel like it was unprofessional to even take this job in the first place, considering my history with Pedro.
Before I can come up with a witty retort, the doorbell rings, Mark begins setting up my lashes and tells me to close my eyes. The tension is broken, but the weight of Mark and Sara’s words lingers in the air.
As he swipes the cleansing pads over my eyelids, I get a sense I'm walking a tightrope, trying to balance my professional goals, my emotional well-being, and my confused feelings for Pedro. Sara’s concerns about Gretchen and Juan replay in my mind. Despite Gretchen’s insistence that it will be a one-night thing, I can’t help but worry about the potential complications.
I understand Gretchen’s decision to keep things casual with Juan. Getting involved with a client—or someone in their social circle—is a recipe for disaster in our line of work. But a small part of me wonders if she'll be able to resist his charms once she meets Juan in person.
The allure of the partnership glitters like a prize just within reach, but the more time I spend with Pedro, the more blurred the lines become.
Even as the growing unease swirls around my belly, I have to admit Sara’s worries are valid. But part of me is still hoping I can navigate this clusterfuck of a situation without imploding my life. Maybe I'm kidding myself. Maybe this plan is just a convenient excuse to stay close to Pedro, even if it means risking everything else.
But let’s be real, when has anything with Pedro ever gone according to plan?