Welcome to Envy Park

by Mina V. Esguerra

  "Are you sure?" I retorted. "Because maybe you wish you could just leave anytime, like me. That you weren’t stuck here so Peter can just conveniently have you when he’s in town."

  "It’s not about that at all. I shouldn’t have told you," Roxie said bitterly. "I don’t run away from things."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means, Moira, you talk a big game about seeing the world and experiencing life but why is the plan so specific and easy? Why so near? Why aren’t you in New York or Greece or Kenya right now? Because you want to be just slightly out of your mom’s reach, right? And now that you are, because she’s not in Manila, you’ve got that distance, without really going anywhere."

  "That’s not it," I said, a little too quickly.

  Roxie smirked. "I suspected that was it all along. You went away to escape your mom’s plans for you and I know you’re back because you got lonely. Going away again isn’t going to fix that."

  "You figure out what the hell you’re doing with your ex," I said. "And leave me out of it."

  -///-

  So when my mom called that night, asking me if I was coming over for the weekend, I tensed up quickly. But I tried not to let it show. "I’ll visit," I said.

  "You will? That’s great. I’ll make paella. Your dad will take out the coffee maker. And I can tell you the great news I just heard."

  "What news? Tell me now."

  "No, let’s wait for when I see you."

  When she did this, it made me nervous. I have big news but I won’t tell you! "What’s the difference? Tell me now. If it’s that great."

  "Your tita wants to buy the condo."

  "What?" I nearly shrieked. "She can’t. And I’m not done paying for it yet."

  "But that’s it, exactly. She’s willing to just buy it off us at a good rate—we won’t have to pay for it and you make a little extra on your investment. Not so much because she’s family, so I gave her a family rate, but—"

  It was like the tiled floor had dropped from under me. No wait—it was like a giant version of my mother had appeared, ambled toward Tower 3, aimed for the tenth floor and pulled it right from under me. But to admit that to her would just escalate this into one of our epic shoutfests.

  I bit my lip before speaking, and then swallowed a lump of nerves, to keep my voice level. "Mom. You can’t sell my condo. This is mine."

  "Yes but she already offered, and I thought you’d appreciate that you wouldn’t have to—"

  "Why are you so worried that I’ll lose it? You haven’t spent a thing for this. If I can’t afford it then I lose it, you won’t have to throw money away just to—"

  "Moira, it’s my loan too. I think it’s smart to take your tita up on her offer. Besides, you can’t make that a permanent home anyway. It’s got one bedroom. What happens when you have kids? It’s not a house. I won’t risk my pension on something that isn’t permanent."

  "Oh my God, Mom, you’re not risking anything. This is my investment. If it’s a bad one then I lose, but don’t take this from me."

  "You’ll thank me when your head is clearer."

  "Mom, don’t say that. Don’t tell me what I should do."

  "You’ll be calmer when you come over and have paella."

  "Keep your stupid paella, Mom. I’m not coming over!"

  "Don’t be childish, Moira. Your dad wants to see you."

  "No, I’m staying here, because I’ll spend every minute I can here before you kick me out."

  I might have hung up on her. And then I hid my phone under a pillow and didn’t look at it the entire night.

  No one was going to call anyway. Not Roxie, not Ethan, maybe Allie, but I didn’t have the energy to heal her soul just then.

  I almost cried. I almost raced to the convenience store to get tequila. But I checked my email, thankfully, and found happy news there.

  From Kylene at Bennett: "I’m happy to let you know that..."

  From Stacy in Thailand: "Moira, I’m pleased to inform you..."

  I let out a victory grunt and fell back on my bed, feeling a no-alcohol-required rush. Fucking finally.

  Chapter 18

  Recently all the days were the same to me, but finding out that I could be employed soon brought that weekend feeling back.

  When I was working in Manila, weekends were just extensions of my week. Most of the fun stuff happened during the week anyway, like spontaneous dinners or drinks with friends, but Saturday meant I got to sleep in. When I moved, the weekend became more precious, maybe because I had to make rent and deal with strangers and didn’t have that many friends to spontaneously have dinner with. I looked forward to it, lived for it, and anyone who seemed remotely fun was invited to a weekend thing.

  I was so randomly celebratory and everyone I saw got some of my happy vibes. I bought a dozen cupcakes and gave some to Kuya Alan, the receptionist at the lobby, the teenage girl from the eleventh floor who never smiled (and finally did, buttercream was the key), and a few more people who just happened to cross my path. What had started out as a weekend of no parents and no plans had become all about me just basking in the glow of plans actually beginning to take shape.

  Stacy’s email to me explained that she was going to endorse me for the job. It was probably going to take some time, and she was going to send over a list of what was required of me to get the necessary work permits, but she was glad to have met me and hoped that we could work together for a long time.

  Which meant I probably could still take the Beckett job, and make enough money while in town to make sure I started out with something when I moved...

  And then came the inevitable mental inventory of what I needed to do. What I would need to bring. Paperwork I’d have to fill out.

  I shuddered a little but I wouldn’t have to deal with that right now. It then seemed so odd to have worrying about this when I had only been technically jobless for a few months. But of course the uncertainty of it made time seem to stretch. Now that there was some sort of certainty, the days seemed all too short again.

  So I just sat there with my cupcakes and enjoyed myself.

  -///-

  On Monday I spent dinnertime at JM’s, eating my own takeout and watching him eat his special meal. The whole time I had new thoughts swirling in my head that I was fighting not to accidentally say.

  Like, Julian?

  Stripping?!

  So I kept looking around this apartment he was renting. It had a slightly different layout from mine, and wasn’t furnished when he got it. He and his manager had had to put together furniture from everywhere, and it showed in the mismatched chairs. Actually, the mismatched everything.

  I also wondered if he and Sarah met here. They probably did.

  I coughed.

  "What’s this? I can’t eat it."

  "It’s a cupcake," I told JM. "I got two jobs recently. I’m celebrating. Surely you can have a cupcake."

  He couldn’t, or wouldn’t. How could anyone think I’d actually date him? Or that I’d be in a relationship with someone who wouldn’t even eat a cupcake? What would we do all day, grill meat?

  "You can have it," he said. "So, we shot another segment yesterday."

  "How was it?" Don’t think about the stripping. Don’t think about the stripping.

  "Better. Didn’t take as long as the first time."

  "Confidence, that’s all you need," I said. "It’ll come to you."

  "Thank you," JM said. "I really couldn’t have done it without you."

  He sounded so grateful and sincere that I felt guilty about imagining him in his undies. "Well I’m glad I helped while I had the time to do it. Because soon I won’t."

  He told me more about the show, the segment they shot, the interviews he had upcoming. When we were done with dinner, he cleared the table and told me about another hosting gig as he washed the dishes.

  JM rarely asked about me, I realized. I threw back some questions and appropriate responses as I wandered around the apartment. I
made a mental note to tell him about that, that he’d be a better interviewer if he were at least curious about the other person.

  But then why would he follow my advice? I didn’t ask about him at all. And that bit of distance actually kept us from discussing the awkward stuff (like the exotic dancing) and that was probably why we were still friends.

  "What?" JM said, his voice suddenly much closer.

  "I said—" I turned around and he was right behind me, and more of him, because he wasn’t wearing a shirt. "Whoa. What?"

  It was exactly like his pic on the internet, except without the oil. JM smiled. "What?"

  "I don’t get it."

  "I asked you to come over so I could thank you." And he started to reach for me, like that meant something other than an expression of gratitude.

  "Wait," I pulled my arm back, and stepped sideways. "You already said thanks."

  He paused and then tried again. "I just thought—"

  And I stepped to the other side, avoiding him. "No, you thought wrong."

  "But—"

  "JM, you’re welcome. That’s enough."

  He started laughing. Thank god. I started doing that too.

  "I’m sorry," he said. "I guess I was hoping—"

  "What?"

  "It would just be easier for me if we were together," JM said. "I don’t know. You’re beautiful, and single. I’m single. I thought you’d be okay with it."

  Easier than being with a married woman, was that what he meant?

  "You’re sweet," I said, "But no, I think we’re going to be fine just as friends. Do you need my help with anything right now?"

  "Well, no, not really."

  "I think I should go."

  I had no doubt that JM would become a friend for life after this, but I just suddenly really, really wanted to be with someone else.

  Chapter 19

  It was eleven, so he had to be home by now. It was laughably easy, had always apparently been easy, for me to take one short elevator ride down and just show up at his door. But I never did it.

  None of that silliness anymore. I was going to do this. He was single; I was single. The rest we could argue about later. I will show up at his door and just pounce on him.

  By the time I got to the elevator, my nerve failed and when the doors closed, a shaky finger hit the ground floor instead.

  Once around the park, I told myself. One walk around, calm my nerves, calm my hormones. I took the long way out, through Towers 2 and 1, and then out into the far end of the business park. Took a path through the buildings, around the mall. Just walking.

  Breathing.

  Asking myself if I really wanted to do this. Ethan was leaving. So was I. The same problem, in theory.

  In fact, we had even less time now than we did when we started.

  That exact sentence was all the excuse I needed. It clicked into place in my head while I waited for a car to pass, and as I crossed the street back to Tower 3 I knew what I was going to do. Go to his apartment already.

  My pace was determined. I was not to be stopped. Until I actually got stopped, physically, when a hand tapped my shoulder as I walked past the Tower 2 convenience store. It was Ethan, with a takeout bag.

  "Hi," he said, tentatively.

  "Hi," I said, taken aback. "What are you...? I thought you'd be home by now."

  "I just went out to get dinner. Hotdog."

  "From there? It's probably going to be terrible."

  He shrugged. "This is how I usually have dinner. Are you going anywhere?"

  "Yes," I said, collecting myself. My voice was steady. I was sure. "I was going to head up to 9J."

  "Huh? Why?"

  "You invited me once to try your shower. I'd like to do that now."

  He blinked. "Now?"

  I nodded. "Yes, now."

  I didn't want to have to say anything more, and thankfully I didn't have to.

  "Let me just go back in and buy something," he said.

  "Get as many as you need," I said, deadpan.

  He coughed before he went on his quick errand.

  Other than that, it was just like any of our walks around the park. His stride was longer and he was, again, half a step ahead of me. We stepped into the elevator and took our respective favorite spots, except only the ninth floor button was pressed. I got off the elevator first. It helped that I knew exactly where to go. It was exactly the same number of steps down the hallway from the elevator to my apartment. I waited the three seconds it took for him to turn the key in the lock, the two seconds to be let inside, the single second for a light to come on so I could see where I was going.

  But I didn't need the light. The apartment was the same layout as mine. I headed straight for the bedroom.

  Behind me, various sounds: A paper bag being dropped onto a tabletop. The clink of keys landing somewhere. I pulled the shirt off over my head and the next sound I heard was my own gasp, muffled into his mouth. I was going to make a snarky comment about the bed being unmade but never mind, my back was already on it, no sense in complaining. Absolutely no sense in snarking on household chores when there was kissing, again, that wonderful thing we said we'd stop doing, and more. I caught him smiling, a little, during those few times when his mouth wasn't on some part of me. "What?" I actually said, one time.

  "Nothing," he said against the inside of my elbow. "Just let it happen."

  No kidding. I was all for it. But Ethan was—and ugh, it figured, how frustrating—on his own clock on this. I wanted his hands impossibly everywhere all at once but he liked to linger, pressing his palms and fingers and staying wherever for agonizingly long.

  After an eternity, or really like five or ten minutes later, I couldn't help it, and let out a frustrated, "Now, damn it."

  "We have all night."

  "No, we have the next thirty seconds. I'm going to—just—now—"

  "But after this, we do it my way."

  "Explain what that means later."

  Later, there would be more talking. I would apologize, and listen, and by all means do this in whatever pace he wanted. But now there was this. He obliged, backing off long enough to do the responsible thing. By the time he returned he had dropped his restraint, and rocked into me with the urgency that matched mine.

  This. Yes, exactly what I needed. Wanted. This had to be in my life every day. Was that greedy? Unreasonable?

  At a crucial moment, I was faced with whiny whimpering or biting down on his shoulder. I do not regret what I ended up doing; seriously doubted I would have gotten that tortured happy groan from him any other way.

  Overall, one of my better impulse decisions. Although not that impulsive, really, not when I'd had weeks to think about this, imagine this, wonder what it would be like to do this, feel this.

  And then, later, we were both still. Or it was me, I was still, finally.

  "What's your way again?" I asked, trying to catch my breath.

  "Never mind," he said. "You’ve convinced me."

  -///-

  So I had a dream, and in my dream Roxie was dressed like a bride. The wedding dress was a bit tacky, but it wasn’t like I could tell her that, on her special day.

  She gave me a hug and kissed my cheek and thanked me for "taking one for the team."

  And then a blue fairy flew between us and said, "Your ovaries are no longer bonded. Ovaries schmovaries!"

  -///-

  "How long was I asleep?" I asked the man behind me, whose face was nuzzling the space between my shoulder blades.

  "You were asleep?" he said. "I was just talking to you a minute ago."

  "Oh. Microdream I guess. It was the weirdest thing."

  He had made it up to my neck and I shivered happily, arching my back against him, pretending to want warmth. "What did you dream about?" he asked.

  "Fairies and ovaries. You don't want to know. Were we talking about something?"

  "I just wanted to know if this was one of those one-time things or could we get to do th
is again tomorrow."

  Our fingers touched, tangled. I was already in the middle of it, and yet I couldn't wait for what was in store the next day. "Of course. Sure. Tomorrow, Wednesday, Thursday, let me add you to my schedule."

  It was the right answer. He laughed softly into my ear and pulled me closer, and I knew that "again" was going to be in ten minutes, tops. "Just checking. Because we did talk about not doing some things again."

  "Hmm?" I feigned ignorance. "What's that? What annoying mature thing did we agree to do? Do you remember? I don't."

  "Moira." He pulled me toward him even closer, if that was possible. "They told me not to renew my lease."

  Shit. Something inside my throat twisted and turned. "When did they tell you?"

  "Yesterday."

  "Damn it, Ethan, really." I rolled to my other side so I could face him. "Two weeks then? Or less?"

  And then he was kissing my mouth again, the perfect distraction apparently. "I don't know," he admitted. "I find out when they start scheduling my air travel."

  "I don't want to talk about it right now."

  "We have to talk about it sometime."

  "I know. Stop it. Let's talk about it tomorrow."

  Chapter 20

  He left near eight a.m. but as far as I was concerned it was still in the middle of the night. He said something about locking up, what I could have for breakfast, did I want to have lunch somewhere, and I just muttered nonsense as if I understood it all.

  When I woke up and made it back up to my own place to shower and change, I saw that he had sent me a text: See you tonight.

  Yes I would. Already looking forward to it.

  When I headed down to get something to eat, I saw JM at his usual smoking spot. I hung back for a few seconds, not sure if I should approach. It was just enough time to notice that he was holding on to a lit cigarette, but was not bringing it to his mouth.