47. Jo
Chapter 47
Jo
S he answers before the first full ring even finishes. “I’m not getting your name tattooed on my ass cheek, no matter how many times you ask.”
“But you already have so many tattoos, what’s one more?” I laugh, pinning the phone between my shoulder and ear.
“I’ll think about it.” Carmen’s voice is rough, like she’s been yelling.
“One of these days, we’ll get that friendship tattoo we always talked about getting.”
“I’m telling you, Jo,” she pauses. “The second you tattoo that butterfly on your arm, you become bisexual. I don’t make the rules.”
I scoff playfully. “I wish I could be that cool.”
A horn sounds in the background, and Carmen sighs. “ I swear this St. Louis traffic is fucking insane.” The horn blares again. “It’s like no one knows how to drive here.”
“Wait, I’m sorry, what are you doing in St. Louis?” I set my soda down on the coffee table and lean back into my couch. For the first time in a month, I’m caught up on grading and research preparation, and I can take a second to breathe. And of course, talk to my best friend who has clearly forgotten to update me on her life.
Though I can’t blame her; I’ve been detached. The overwhelming sensation of drowning had taken over my consciousness as we approach the final weeks of the semester. It’s been three years, but Christmas just isn’t the same without Dad, and I’m dreading going home. Chloe has her friends, and Mom has her sisters. They find home and solace where I find loneliness and despair.
Maybe that’s dramatic, but thinking about spending time around Dad’s tools and clothes makes me want to crawl into a hole and never come out.
“Well, I didn’t want you to freak out.” The synchronous clicks of her turn signal fill the silence until I can’t handle it anymore.
“Spill, woman.”
“Well you know my fellowship is almost over, so I kinda need to get a job so I can pay for more tattoos.” The anticipation is actually killing me.
“Carmen, spit it out.” Charlie jumps up on the couch next to me and lays her head in my lap. It’s rare that I sit on the couch, and she always takes full advantage. Scratching behind her ear elicits a thump from her hind leg.
“I got a job interview to be the team physician for Gateway FC.”
“Carm, what?” I exclaim, startling Charlie from her near-sleep state. “That’s incredible!” She hums her agreement. “What’s Gateway FC?” I ask stupidly.
She laughs, cutting the engine and leaving us in silence. The audio crackles until her voice appears again, clearer this time.
“I’m gonna let this one slide because it’s a brand new club, but you’re going to need to up your knowledge on women’s pro soccer if I get this job.”
“No way,” I say hesitantly. “Carm, that’s your dream job?—”
“I know, bitch, don’t jinx it!”
I roll my eyes at her deflection. Excitement isn’t exactly a prominent emotion in Carmen’s wheelhouse.
“Okay, so what now?” I reach for my can of soda and take a sip, fighting against the immediate bubble of gas prickling my throat. “When do you find out?”
A car door slams in the background, and Carmen’s footsteps become prominent as she moves about. “I have at least another three interviews, so it’ll be a while.” I can almost hear her shrug.
“There’s no one better for that job,” I say. “They would be literally stupid to hire anyone else.” This elicits the first lick of emotion from Carmen. She fills the phone speaker with full-bodied laughter.
“I appreciate your faith in me, kid, but this is gonna be a hard-fought battle.” She clears her throat, the sound of a door clicking shut acting as the metaphorical ending to our discussion of her job search. “So why did you call?”
“Oh, I can’t just call to hear my best friend’s voice?” I press, just as she would with me.
“You know that’s not what I mean, you punk.”
“Okay, fine. I will perpetually make us fail the Bechdel test, but like, Isaac,” I emphasize his name with staccato syllables.
“Boo,” she jeers in response. “It’s like he owns stock in your brain.”
Another door closes, but I’m not letting this conversation end without getting this off my chest. A faucet turns on, and I wait, listening to see what she’s doing. Wait, is that a faucet?
“Okay, I’m sorry, but this is getting out of control.”
The toilet flushes and I literally cannot help but crack a smile in the midst of a near mental breakdown. This bitch just peed, and didn’t even care to mute herself. I can’t decide if that’s true friendship or if she’s a sociopath.
An actual faucet turns on, and Carmen speaks again.
“What’s getting out of control?”
“Carm, he literally basically held my hand in the faculty meeting yesterday.”
The faucet turns off, and I’m left in silence, checking the phone screen after a few seconds to make sure we haven’t been disconnected.
“Carm?”
“I didn’t think the little shit had it in him!” she exclaims, and I huff. “And on the job? Scandalous. ” I take another sip of my soda, patting the seat next to me until Charlie takes her rightful spot on my lap again.
“We go through these cycles where he’s super flirty and banter-y and then tries stuff like that. And I really thought he was going to ask me out the other day, but he just didn’t.”
“Well, it could be that he doesn’t like you and just puts up with you because you work together now.”
My jaw falls open. “Ex cuse me?”
“I mean, it’s also getting close to the holidays,” she pauses. “Maybe he doesn’t want to have to buy you anything.”
“I actually hate you.”
“Don’t lie.” The crack and hiss of a can echoes through the speaker. “Listen. I think you need to get under his skin.” She takes a sip of whatever she just opened. “Push him a little. Make him do something.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Charlie looks up at me with her sad, droopy eyes.
“You’re smart, Dr. Carello. Figure it out.”
I sigh.
Figure it out, Jo.