Wrong Text, Right Love

by Claudia Burgoa

  I know the basics. They divorced, she left, and we never heard from her again. There are times when I want to knock on the door and ask Persy for some advice about how to approach this subject with Nate or Dad. Something is really wrong with me, or maybe right. Perhaps it’s that I keep listening to Persephone talk about dealing with your emotions that my mind is doing all this thinking.

  Maybe it’s because my birthday is coming up. I’ll be thirty-five at the end of next month. What surprises me the most is that even with all the existential questions, I’m able to work. This is characteristically unusual. I’m a man of habit. There are certain things I need to create, including silence and complete focus.

  However, I can work with her noise and all the questions lingering inside my head. All of that is fine, but not the stupid alarm coming from … fuck. I realize the fire alarm is beeping, and the voice over is asking to walk outside the building because there’s a fire. This system is smart, and the alarm doesn’t beep when there’s smoke, but when there is a real fire. I send a text to the security person so they can start mobilizing everyone in the building.

  I should be heading out, but instead, I access the security system to check where the fire started. My heart starts pounding when I realize it’s from next door. I knock on the door that divides our apartments, but there’s no answer. I run out of my apartment, enter the code to hers and push the door open. There’s a lot of smoke coming out of the kitchen. I grab the fire extinguisher that’s under the sink, and I’m able to control it and then extinguish it.

  “Persephone,” I call out, but there’s no answer. “Persy!”

  I walk through the penthouse, and there’s no sign of her or any fire. I find Simon under the bed. Thank fuck, he’s alright. He comes to me when I call him and lets me carry him. When I reach the first story, the fire fighters are already here, walking around the premises.

  “What happened?” one of them asks.

  “I don’t know, I live next door,” I answer. “The owner isn’t here.”

  My heart is pounding because where the fuck is Persephone.

  “We are just going to make sure that the place is safe before they let everyone back into their apartments,” they announce.

  I nod and don’t pay much attention to them. Simon jumps out of my lap and heads to the office. I follow him, just to make sure he doesn’t escape.

  “It was a piece of cardboard and some plastic that were inside the oven,” he explains. “We are still sending the inspector to confirm it’s an accident and not arson. It’s procedure.”

  I squeeze my eyes. Fucking Persephone. I told her that putting those boxes inside was stupid. She said she was always careful when she turned on the oven. It’d be too stupid to leave them inside, before preheating the oven. There’s no sign of her, and she almost burnt down my building. I should go back to my apartment, but after everything is clear, I choose to stay, so we can have a long chat. This can’t happen again. She’s putting a lot of people in danger—including herself and Simon. I’m pretty sure there’s a good explanation to what happened and as to why she’s not here.

  Pacing around the apartment doesn’t help, though. Instead, I know just the person who’ll calm me. I pull my phone and text Joy. Soon, I hear a sound coming from upstairs. I climb the staircase. There’s a beep coming from the master bedroom. She left her phone. My stomach drops.

  Why did she leave without her phone and with the oven on?

  I send a text to Nate. He has Nyx’s contact information, since he dealt with her a couple times, while we were getting the leasing contract ready for Persephone. While I wait, I send a second text. Why is Joy ignoring me when I need her?

  The phone beeps again. This time, I look at the screen, and it flashes a text.

  Lang: Babe, are you there?

  I take a deep breath, grab the phone and look at it again. It doesn’t need a code to look at the sender. Lang.

  “No fucking way,” I say, and I fire another text and set it back on her night table.

  A third text flashes on her screen.

  Lang: We need to talk.

  “Why are you in my bedroom?” Persy asks, and when I turn, I can’t even see her. I just see red.

  What the fuck is the meaning of this?

  “Chad?” The word enrages me.

  She’s no different from everyone else. I can’t have a conversation with her, not right now. Though, I yell at her. “You almost burnt down my building.”

  I regret my tone when I realize she’s holding Simon and crying. “It wasn’t—”

  Women crying is something I hate more than liars. I can’t deal with this situation.

  “I don’t give a fuck,” I roar. I’m angry at myself. At her. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  “Get out of my apartment,” she orders, tears streaming down her face. “It wasn’t me. My mom came to look at the place, and … I went downstairs to say goodbye, and suddenly, I couldn’t come upstairs. Just leave okay.”

  I want to confront her because she’s been texting me … playing with me for weeks, and now, she’s playing the victim?

  Her phone rings, but it’s not the one that is on her night table. She has one in her pocket.

  “Yes, Mom, he’s okay.” She starts crying, and I leave because I don’t give a fucking shit about her, and maybe, I’ll have Nate look at the contract, because we’re kicking her out.

  I have to go through her blog. What if she’s posting about the shit we text?

  Joy: I’m here. I can’t talk. Something bad happened and I’m… Let’s chat later okay.

  I look at it but don’t answer. Thirty minutes later, the elevator announces that someone is on my floor. When I check, it’s Eros, Persephone’s brother. Ten minutes later, she’s leaving with them, a backpack, and a carrier. A couple of hours later, Eros is back with a man who looks almost like him, but at least thirty years older. I step out and catch them, right as they are about to enter the house.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask, because why are they here?

  Eros looks at me and shakes his head. “We are going to try to clean the place before Persephone can come back. I’ve told Mom a million times that as much as technology amuses her, she has to stop touching shit or one of these days, she’s going to break something.”

  “Less chatting and more work,” the father says, glaring at me. “I don’t understand why she can’t call the management company. They have insurance.”

  “Leave it,” I say. “I’ll call the contractor so he can fix everything.”

  Eros arches an eyebrow. “Why would you do that?”

  “I own the building. You are right. I have insurance, and it should cover it.”

  “Man, sorry about… Fuck, I hope you understand that it was an accident,” he says, and I’m sure regretting that he told me it was his mother playing with the appliances.

  “We’ll pay for the damage,” the father says, and I know that’s not what will happen.

  Percy is the one who’ll pay for it. Her parents live off of teaching jobs. If Joy and Persephone are the same people, then, they don’t have much money.

  “The insurance will cover it. Don’t worry, Sir,” I tell him. “We’ll have the management company contact you when it’s safe to come back.”

  “We appreciate it,” Eros says.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t have her information. Can I have her phone number and complete name?

  “Persephone Nerisse Joy Brassard,” her dad answers and gives me her phone number, which is completely different from the one she gave me.

  I think of Sheila and Clyde and how they pushed to have her next door. They’re trying to get my picture to go viral and disclose where I live. This isn’t much different from the time they introduced me to some friend of Sheila. She was nice, they said. The woman was trying to get an exclusive interview. It was back when I lived in Chicago.

  Instead of waiting for them to fuck me over, I pack my things and head to S
eattle with Nate. The best place to hide sometimes is right in front of everyone.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Friday July 10th

  Joy: Hey, sorry about yesterday. Mom almost burnt down my apartment—and the building. It was scary … too scary. I thought I lost Simon. That’s my cat. Yes, I know what you are thinking, I wasn’t upfront with you, and I never mentioned that I am a cat lady. He was fine. The fire department made it on time. I wish I had listened to my neighbor when he told me I shouldn’t use the oven as my storage unit.

  I stare at my phone because she wasn’t upfront with me, and she’s trying to lure me into being vulnerable. Can I even sue her for using my voice in her podcasts? I never signed a waiver. I let her use me, and I’m sure those fuckers were planning on doing a lot more than planting a mole next to me.

  Joy: You said yesterday that we needed to talk. Don’t tell me it was us breaking up?

  Looking at her text, I’m tempted to answer, to confront her, but we are waiting for her next move. Does she have pictures of me? Nate is trying to figure out her net worth, so we know exactly how much we can sue her for when she exposes me. What angers me the most is that I liked my place. I loved living in Colorado. No one gave a shit about me. It’s not like I’m famous, but New York, Seattle, and San Jose are hot spots for technology.

  Business magazines have more journalists around here, searching for me, to get a story of where I’ve been and what I’m working on. They want the interview I’ve denied to everyone for years. I already went through that when I was a teen. Wired magazine had my mugshot up almost every week. Strangers hounded me, asking to invest in their companies. Others wanted me to work for them or create a certain software to do something for them.

  Women tried to find me because why not date the billionaire geek? Lucky for me, my brother volunteered to divert their attention from me. I understand that I sound like a poor rich boy, but not knowing who I can trust or who gets close to me because they actually like me makes me weary. I trusted Joy, I liked Persephone, but now, I get it was all an illusion—just like her life.

  Joy: This is a long silence. Are you okay?

  Saturday, July 11th

  Joy: Morning, I’m going to the nursery to buy some plants with Mom. I think she’s trying to cheer me up or make up for the fire. She feels terrible about it. It’s her nature, you know. She’s always been a curious person and likes to know how things work. The landlord might not understand. My lawyer is looking at the contract closely, just in case there’s a clause where it says that they can kick me out because of the accident.

  Joy: Afternoon, I officially think that you are ghosting me, and I want to point out that I am disappointed about it. I had a horrific experience, and instead of checking on me, you are ignoring me. You are no different from… Never mind. I’m disappointed. Maybe you are right, and I shouldn’t trust just anyone.

  Tuesday July 21st

  Joy: In case you erased my contact information and this says, Unknown, this is Joy—again. Remember the woman you were going text-steady with? As I said in my last text, until you say something like, “It’s over,” I will keep doing this. Maybe you lost your phone, and when you buy a new one, you’ll see that no matter how many days went by, I still text you.

  Joy: That’s what I tell myself, but in fact, I know you get these messages because it says delivered at the bottom of the message. You just don’t want to talk to me, and it’s okay. I just wished you told me what happened. I… I miss you. Oh, and in case you are wondering, I’m back in my apartment. They redid the kitchen. Everything is brand new.

  Podcast Week 8 Season 3

  Wednesday, July 22nd

  “Hello, all you beautiful people. I’m Persy, and this is Life with Persy. Each week, I’m answering your questions about your relationships with your cat, your significant other, your parents, your siblings, and your roommate, to name a few.

  “Need to get along with a nosey neighbor from hell? There’s always a solution.

  “Does that cute guy from Tinder come with more baggage than you bargained for? We’ll talk it up and dish it out here.

  “I’ll offer advice, tactics, and tools that you can use in your daily life to create your own slice of happiness.

  “Just a reminder, this podcast is not suited for work, but you can play it almost everywhere else on your favorite podcast listening devices.

  “This week we’ll be covering my failed date, girth and length, and discussing sex with your parents, so stick around.

  “Today, we are discussing my latest date. Let’s start with a thank you to The Hideout Sports Bar for your amazing service. Their food is to die for, and before you wonder if they are paying me to say this, no, they are not. The next time you visit, tell them Persy sent you and make sure to order the boneless chicken wings. They are the yummiest thing on the planet—and I don’t say that lightly.

  “They are so good that guess what I’m ordering for dinner tonight?

  “So, I met this guy over the weekend. Yes, I’m pretty sure you know where I’m going. Guy enters a bar, and the joke is on me. He’s good looking, but you know what his problem was? He misses his wife. What John didn’t say on Tinder … no, his name wasn’t John. I just can’t disclose it. His profile didn’t say anything about him being divorced, and let me tell you, it matters.

  “At least to me. Why you might ask … well, I already went out on a date with a guy who had been recently divorced, and the problem is, sometimes, people don’t know when to start dating after a divorce. However, they go out anyway because their friends and loved ones start pressuring them about doing it.

  “Please, don’t let that happen to you. And this doesn’t just apply to those who got divorced. It’s also for those who have recently broken up with someone after a long relationship. I’m not saying don’t get out. Just don’t do it because your mom is telling you it is time to get out there. But those are not the only mistakes divorcees do after their marriage ends.

  “The most common mistakes, which is exactly what happened to me … don’t talk about your ex. People, nobody wants to hear you bashing or dwelling about your ex on a first date. That’s what happened to me, and you know what my mistake was? In return, I talked about this guy who I’ve been hanging out with for the past couple of months.

  “So, this guy who—I really wasn’t going out with him, but we were getting to know each other and connected—ghosted me.

  “Now, imagine two people who met to share dinner and get to know each other. However, one is bashing his ex-wife, and the other is asking why on Earth the guy she was interested in ghosted her. Needless to say, it was a fiasco. My recommendation to you is that before you swipe right, be sure that you leave your hang-ups behind and focus on the future.

  “Now to address your questions regarding Neighbor from Hell. Where is he?

  “Last week, I recorded the show from my parent’s house, and he wasn’t close to interrupt. This week … I don’t know. He hasn’t showed up. If he was around, I’m sure he’d been giving me a lecture about the safety of meeting someone online—or over the phone.

  “Lucky for you, we don’t have any interruptions, and that means we have time to read some of your emails. This message is from I Want it All.

  Persy,

  I love listening to your show and read your blog religiously. That’s, of course, not why I am writing. I met this awesome guy a couple of months ago, and I have to tell you, he is not only hot, but he is well endowed. I’m talking girth and length. The problem is that even when I want it all, I don’t think I can give him a blow job…

  Him

  I turn off the podcast because I’m not interested in her fucking reader not knowing how to give head to a big guy. If I was there, I could give her some pointers. Then again, I refuse to have any contact with Persephone. I miss my house, my haven, but I won’t be going back any time soon.

  But … she misses me. Does it mean that she doesn’t know it’s me?

&
nbsp; Thursday July 23rd

  Joy: Here’s what I’m thinking. You blocked me, and these messages are going into the black hole. So really, now I can easily text you without worrying that you’ll read them. I could tell you nonsense or maybe confess that I’m a queen. Well, that’s not true, but I guess you wouldn’t find out because you erased me from your life.

  Joy: So, here is the thing, I miss you—a lot. What I miss the most is that I could be me with you and … it’s hard to be myself, really hard. Only one of my sisters knows me well, and it’s because we are super close—like twins. Do you know how hard it is to let people into my life? It’s not easy to trust others, and I trusted you with a lot. Maybe you don’t know my name or specific things, but I let you in. I should delete your phone number, but I decided not to, in case… I don’t know. Actually, I’m turning off this phone. I’m sending you my contact information, just in case, but I understand if that never happens. Stay well.

  Twenty-Six

  Her

  Friday, July 30th

  It’s been twenty days since the fire incident. Yes, I’m counting. I know I told everyone it was fine. That I was fine. I’m not. I still wake up in the middle of the night screaming because I have nightmares. I’m scared that the apartment is on fire, and no one can rescue me. I learned that day that the ladders only get up to the sixteenth floor. In other words, if they can’t control the fire, and I can’t get down—I’ll die.

  During my nightmare, I call Chad because I know he’s next door, but he ignores me. Just like that day. I can’t forget his face, the anger. I’m aware that a lot of people don’t have a grasp on reality and have zero empathy. Unless they are the ones on fire, they don’t give a shit about what is happening to others. They do care about their material things.