by Alexis Daria
“Everything okay?” Ava asked from over by the stove.
Michelle glanced up from the phone and tried to control her facial expression. She was babysitting her sister Monica’s three children for the day, and her cousin Ava Rodriguez had come over to help. It was summer break, so Ava, a middle school teacher, was off, and Michelle, as a freelancer, made her own schedule. Ava was cooking a big pot of arroz con gandules for lunch, and Michelle was supposed to be slicing plantains to be made into tostones.
Thank god Ava was there, because after these emails, Michelle needed a minute alone. The kids—eleven-year-old Phoebe, nine-year-old Danica, and six-year-old Henry—were busy in the living room with screens of various sizes, but they’d each been in and out of the kitchen three times in the last hour.
“Work email,” Michelle said, holding up the phone. Technically, that wasn’t a lie. “I’ll be right back.”
Michelle opened the basement door and jogged down the steps, intending to sit at the desk her father had put down there. They were in her parents’ house in the Bronx, the house Michelle had grown up in. Mom and Dad were currently in Florida at their beach house, and Michelle was staying here while her one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan underwent a bathroom renovation.
If she’d been thinking clearly, the basement was the last place she would have gone to process an email from Gabe, of all people. She stopped short halfway to the desk, glancing down at the carpet under her chancletas.
Back to the scene of the crime, she thought. Or at least, the moment when everything had changed between them.
It had been a hot summer day, barely a week after high school graduation, and this basement had been Michelle’s bedroom then. Gabe had come over to smoke up while her parents were at work. They’d huddled together in the backyard, just on the other side of the sliding glass doors, and gotten super fucking high. Afterward, they’d retreated inside to watch some nineties action movie on TV, giggling and making the kind of commentary only very high teenagers do. Michelle had been sprawled out on the floor right here, propped up by colorful throw pillows, and Gabe had been sitting on the edge of her bed.
She still didn’t know what had possessed her to ask the question. Maybe something on the TV had sparked the memory. Or maybe it had been on her mind ever since Lizzie DeStefano, Ava’s school friend, had put it there a few days earlier. Either way, Michelle had been feeling giddy, from marijuana and the prospect of the whole summer stretched out before them, when she’d turned to Gabe . . .
And asked if he had a big dick.
It made her cringe with embarrassment to think about it now. What a totally inappropriate thing to ask one’s best friend! But at the time, she’d felt like a little flirting between friends was okay, especially friends whose eyes sometimes lingered on each other’s body longer than they should. It didn’t have to mean anything, right?
Hey Gabe, I got a question for ya.
Yeah?
You got a big dick?
Do I—what?
Lizzie DeStefano, Ava’s friend from St. Catherine’s, said she thinks you’ve got a big dick.
I barely know Lizzie!
Well, do you?
. . . Do I what?
Do you have a big dick?
Gabe had evaded the question, but Michelle hadn’t missed the way his gaze had been glued to her boobs. He’d been so adorable, and playful banter was part of their dynamic, so she—and this was totally on her—had gone and sat next to him on the bed . . .
And asked if he was hard.
You do, don’t you? Oh my god. Are you hard right now?
Looking back, Michelle wanted to shake herself. At the time, she’d thought she was being so edgy and cool. Talking about penises, without a care in the world! Like a real grown-up! But before she could laugh it off or apologize, Gabe had answered her in a voice gone low and deep.
Yeah.
Yeah, he was hard. For her? The thought had given her a thrill.
Michelle could never remember who moved first, but in the next second, they were kissing, and it was the most amazing and stunning thing she’d ever experienced. She’d kissed a couple of other boys before, but this was Gabe—her Gabe—and his mouth was like heaven. Soft lips and frantic kisses that tasted like the wintermint gum they always chewed post-joint.
As Gabe’s hands roamed her body, Michelle had straddled his lap and reached into his sweatpants to find out firsthand just how hard he was.
And it turned out Lizzie DeStefano was right. He was big.
From there they’d been caught in a cyclone of teenage lust. Michelle’s shirt and bra were lost to the whirlwind, and then Gabe’s mouth was on her, driving her wild with need. And just as she’d started to rearrange everything in her mind—like moving Gabe from the category of best friend to potential first lover—she’d spotted the piece of paper sticking out of his sweatpants pocket.
Michelle often wondered what would’ve happened if she hadn’t seen the paper at that exact moment. If she’d been too far gone to be curious, or if she just hadn’t noticed it. Would they have had sex?
Would he have stayed?
She’d never know. Because she had found the paper then, and it had been a one-way plane ticket to Los Angeles for the following week.
All the excitement at discovering this new aspect to their relationship had drained away as the truth he’d come over to tell her spilled out. Gabe wasn’t staying in New York for college, as she’d thought. Instead, he’d gotten a scholarship to UCLA, and he was leaving soon.
To make matters worse, he’d lied to her about it. For months. He’d told her he was going to Hunter College in Manhattan. That he would be here, right next door, when she drove down from SUNY Binghamton on holidays and the occasional weekend.
They were supposed to spend the whole summer together. They’d had plans, damn it.
Anger had won out over tears. Michelle said some things she wasn’t proud of.
You said college wasn’t going to be goodbye, Gabe. Well, this sure feels a hell of a lot like goodbye.
Heart breaking, she’d ripped up the ticket—just a printout, but it gave her some small satisfaction—and told him to leave and never come back.
And he had.
Until now.
Michelle sat right there on the floor and pulled up the email again, staring at the words.
Hi Mich.
The greeting pinged the memory of her name on his lips, with a soft ch, like Mish. She kept reading.
It’s Gabe.
Her Gabe. Her best friend. Once.
It’s been a long time.
No shit, Sherlock.
I didn’t know Fabian had reached out to you, and we’ll understand if you pass on this.
The Victory campaign had been Michelle’s greatest professional achievement, and also the beginning of the end of her time in corporate America. Somehow, Gabe’s business partner had found out Michelle had worked on it, and Gabe was giving her an out. He didn’t think she’d take the job because of him.
But then there were those final words.
I’ve missed you.
“Fuck you, Gabriel Aguilar,” she whispered at the phone as tears welled in her eyes.
How dare he miss her? He was the one who’d left, the one who’d ignored every single email or text she’d sent him.
Sure, she’d accept some of the blame, but after the initial anger faded, she’d tried to reach out. To bridge the distance. And he’d never replied. And now, thirteen years later, he showed up in her work email out of the blue wanting to hire her?
Michelle had imagined this moment so many times over the years, often while lying awake at night, consumed by anxiety over things she couldn’t control, reliving the final moments of their friendship.
In some of her fantasies, she bumped into him by chance on the street, like she still randomly ran into former classmates all over New York City. Sometimes she saw him first, and she’d stop, turn, and say, “Gabe?” with a mix of wonde
r and surprise. A light laugh and an “Oh my god, how are you?” And then a hug, both of them shaking their heads, a sort of Wow, what a small world moment. Other times, she imagined him spotting her first, her name on his lips. In her dreams it was always her full name, Michelle, which didn’t make any sense, because once they’d gotten to middle school, he’d started calling her Mich most of the time.
When she was really in a mood, she imagined running into him somewhere like a bar, and stalking up to him with an indignant “You bastard!”
Never had she guessed he would reappear like this.
Michelle blinked hard and stared up at the ceiling. She hardly ever cried, and she certainly wasn’t going to shed any more tears over him. Taking deep breaths until the pressure behind her eyes abated, she dabbed at the corners with the tips of her fingers to wipe away the moisture.
She should say no. She was a freelance graphic designer now, and she didn’t even take marketing jobs anymore, no matter how much some of her current clients hinted that they’d be happy to pay for those services.
She should ignore him. After all, that’s what he’d done to her, wasn’t it? She’d been fine all this time without him. What could he possibly add to her life now?
Then a more disturbing thought occurred to her. If she turned him down, what was to stop him from hiring the rest of the team who’d worked on Victory? Clearly Gabe and his partner knew about her old firm, Rosen and Anders, which meant they could easily reach . . .
Nathaniel.
“Fuck,” she hissed between her teeth.
Not Nathaniel. Anyone but that backstabbing asshole.
Getting up, Michelle went to her dad’s desk and grabbed a yellow legal pad and a pen. She took them to the sofa and plopped down on the worn leather cushions. It was time to make a Pros and Cons list. Normally she’d involve Ava in this, but she didn’t want to tell her cousin about Gabe’s email just yet.
After writing headings on the page and drawing a line down the middle, Michelle wrote “Marketing burnout” in the Cons column. She’d quit for a reason, after all.
Below that, she added “Working for Gabe.” They’d collaborated well on school assignments, and on the long-running fanfic they’d never finished, but they were older now. Plus, she’d be working for him, and she didn’t know how she felt about that.
Pressing down hard with the pen, she scrawled “Screw over Nathaniel” in the Pros column. She’d be damned if he got a job that should’ve been hers.
Again.
The pen tip hovered over the page, and before she could overthink it, she wrote “Closure with Gabe” underneath.
Because even after all this time . . . yeah, she missed him too. And more than that, she wanted—no, needed—to know why. Why everything had gone so wrong between them. Why he’d left and never come back.
This might be her only chance to get it.
And then, in a fit of vindictive pique, she wrote, “Ruin his life.”
Okay no, that was too much. She crossed it out.
What did she really want?
She wanted to see him. To spend time with him. To find out if there was anything left to salvage . . .
With a lump in her throat, she wrote in tiny, reluctant letters, “Friendship 2.0.”
Their relationship was complicated, mixed with love and affection, anger and hurt, and unfulfilled desire. But when she thought about Gabe, it was like a cavern opened up in her chest, a gaping emptiness where her heart and vital organs should be. If she had the chance to replace even a bit of what she’d lost, she had to take it. Maybe if he could just be in her life again, somehow, she wouldn’t feel the ache of loneliness as acutely as she had since he left.
Sure, she had other friends. She had her cousins. But she didn’t have anything like the friendship she’d had with Gabe. Someone she could be silly around, and say all the weird ideas that popped into her head. Where she knew he’d never . . .
Well, she thought he’d never leave her. That they’d always be friends, best friends, forever.
She’d been wrong.
Michelle blinked hard at the list. How about that? The Pros column outweighed the Cons.
In the back of her mind, a plan began to form.
The new gym location would be in New York City, and Gabe would have to come back at some point. She could arrange to see him in person, but where? He wouldn’t have an office here. Would they meet at a gym? A café, where so many freelancer meetings took place? A hotel lobby?
Michelle couldn’t envision herself getting the answers she wanted in a public place. Gabe was squirrely when it came to talking about his feelings, and she wouldn’t put it past him to act like his silence over the last thirteen years had never happened. She needed to catch him off guard, to keep him in close proximity for longer than a consultation meeting. In the past, she’d let other friends crash on her sofa during their visits to New York, so it would be perfectly normal to offer the same for Gabe.
The plan solidified in her mind. This was it—she’d insist he stay with her, mostly to work on the project, but also to wear him down until he told her why he’d completely abandoned her.
The renovation on her bathroom was due to finish soon. Her tiny one-bedroom apartment was the perfect place to achieve the closure she so desperately needed.
Michelle turned on her phone but instead of replying to the email, she grabbed Gabe’s cell phone number from the signature and sent him a text.
Michelle: I’ll do it.
Chapter 3
Michelle: I’ll do it.
Gabe: Mich?
Michelle: Who else?
Gabe: Right.
Gabe: Um, hi.
Michelle: Don’t “hi” me. If I help you with this, you have to meet my demands.
Gabe: Okay. Hit me with them.
Michelle: 1) I want a lifetime membership.
Gabe: To the gym?
Michelle: Yeah, to the gym. You know what gym memberships cost these days?
Gabe: . . . yeah. I do. I own a gym.
Michelle: 2) You pay my full rate. No friend discounts.
Gabe: You got it.
Michelle: 3) You stay with me while you’re in New York.
Gabe: What? Why?
Michelle: It’s one of my conditions. If you want my help, you have to agree to it.
Gabe: I have to come out there soon to look at locations. But I’m staying at a hotel.
Michelle: No. You have to stay with me.
Gabe: Why can’t we just meet up somewhere?
Michelle: Gabe. I haven’t seen you in 13 years. You were my best friend, and you disappeared on me. You want my help? This is the least you can do while I work on your campaign.
Gabe: Where do you live?
Michelle: Hell’s Kitchen.
Michelle: That’s on the west side, in case you forgot.
Gabe: I know where it is.
Gabe: Fine. I’ll stay with you.
Sixteen years ago
Windows Messenger Chat Transcript
Celestial Destiny: Initial Planning Session
Michelle:
OMG
Gabe:
WTF
Michelle:
Pure basura. We finally get Latinos in space . . .
Gabe:
And they canceled it! On a cliffhanger!
Michelle:
I can’t accept this. We have to know what happened to Zack and Riva in season 2.
Gabe:
What can we do? Beyond the Stars has been canceled already. This one season is all we get.
Michelle:
Wait a second.
Gabe:
What?
Michelle:
I’m a genius.
Gabe:
What??
Michelle:
WHAT IF WE WRITE IT???
Gabe:
. . . I don’t understand. You mean write for the show?
Michelle:
Fanfiction, Gabe! We’ll write our ow
n Beyond the Stars fanfic!
Gabe:
Right. With all the free time we have.
Michelle:
It won’t take that long. We’ll work on it together!
Gabe:
Between baseball and working at my dad’s store, I’m already drowning in homework.
Michelle:
Come on, Gabe, it’ll be fun! Like when we used to pretend we were Luke and Leia fighting Stormtroopers on the swing set.
Gabe:
I miss that swing set.
Michelle:
Me too. This can be our new swing set.
Gabe:
Okay.
Chapter 4
Picking someone up at the airport in New York City was the biggest of favors, and Michelle hoped the big jerk appreciated it. But not even the nighttime traffic leading into LaGuardia Airport or BTS blasting positive-energy K-pop from her car’s speakers could distract from her jitters about seeing Gabe again.
What would he be like? Would it be weird to be around him again, or just like old times? She wasn’t sure which she preferred. It might hurt more if they slipped right back into their old dynamic, but she also harbored the hope that they could pick up where they’d left off. Although, the last time she’d seen him, they’d had their tongues in each other’s mouth. Were they going to pretend that hadn’t happened? What was the etiquette for reuniting with a former best friend you’d almost banged?
The music was interrupted as her Fiat’s Bluetooth called out, “Call from Ava.”
Gripping the wheel tight, Michelle debated whether or not to answer. Her stomach was a bundle of twisted-up knots, her teeth clenched tight. Ava would know something was going on, and Michelle didn’t want to explain what she was doing, especially since she wasn’t totally sure herself.
She declined the call and BTS resumed.
“Get your shit together,” Michelle told herself. “We’re thirty-one, not eighteen. We can be adults about this.”
Right. They were adults now, which meant Gabe was absolutely not going to freak out when he found out the plan had changed, and that instead of staying in Michelle’s apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, they’d be staying at her parents’ house in the Bronx.
