Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I was so alone and felt like so many people in Midtown had written me off, but he actually listened to me—my hurt, my pain. He was one of the few people who gave a shit. And he didn’t just walk away and let that be that. He got my number, and we kept up with each other, hung out, and for the first time in my life, I finally came to understand what it meant to have a good friend.
“Did you like my performance?” I ask Frankie as I unlock the door to our unit.
“It was very passionate, as always, Karaoke Kid,” Frankie says, using the nickname Cody came up with for me.
“Well, I think you can work on your rap bit, but—”
“Shut up!”
As I open the door, I stumble over the lip leading from the carpeted hall onto the polished cement floors of the unit.
I hardly even lose my balance, but Frankie ducks down and wraps his arms around me before throwing me over his shoulder.
He guides me into the condo, the door closing behind us.
I can’t stop laughing.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “I’m not even drunk. I had like two drinks and a shot.”
“Whatever. You like when I throw you around.” He tosses me onto the couch before plopping down by my feet. Grabbing the remote off the coffee table, he turns on the TV.
“Wanna watch some more Big Little Lies?” It’s a miniseries we just started, one the rest of our friends have already seen, so we’ve been trying to play catch-up whenever we both have free time, something that can be tricky with his job as an EMT. “If you wanna just go to bed,” he adds, “we can wait.”
“No, no! I want to see what happens!”
I pull out my phone and start keying in when he asks, “Mongolian chicken?”
I shake my head. “Mongolian beef. I know that’s what you really want.”
We always debate between the two, in addition to our usual order of General Tso’s and sesame chicken, but Mongolian beef has really grown on me since he opened me up to it.
After I finish ordering our food, we watch some of the show, and when the Chinese arrives, we stuff our faces. Soon, I’m lying across the couch, my head in his lap. He strokes the back of my head gently, something he’ll do when I lie like this, which is why I typically end up in this spot.
I take a deep, relaxing breath. God, I love the feel of hands in my hair.
It’s nice to chill with Frankie after a night out.
I’ve been lucky since I’ve gotten to know him.
Frankie’s a good listener. I don’t know why, but I’ve never really felt like people listen to what I say much. Frankie does, though.
He gets me in a way other people can’t.
I roll onto my back and look up at him. He gazes down, his brown eyes sparkling with the TV light.
“What?” he asks, smiling.
“This reminds me of the first night I met you,” I say. “Chinese food, staying up all night talking.”
He smirks, and I can tell he’s enjoying equally fond memories. “It reminds me of that too. Who would’ve thought that we’d be living together already? We’re basically married.”
“It’s kind of funny that they all think we’re running around, having some super-secret relationship behind their backs. Makes us seem very mysterious.”
He laughs, clearly amused by my silliness about the whole thing.
“You don’t think so?” I ask.
“I think they just look for things to talk about. They don’t get us. And they don’t need to. Now, I think it’s time for bed. You have to be up in a few hours.”
“Will you swing by work tomorrow? I’ll make you a free bagel.”
Sometimes on Frankie’s days off, he’ll stop by the coffee shop and sit around, even if just for a few hours. It’s nice having him there.
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he says.
2
Frankie
“Get out of that!” Mom smacks my hand when I try to steal one of the deviled eggs she’s making.
“Ouch, woman!” I tease and earn a smile from her. “I just want one. Please?” I bat my eyelashes at her and give her a little frown that never ceases to get me my way.
“Fine, just one, mijo, but that’s all. I would have made extra if I knew you were coming over. They’re for a party tonight at your father’s work.”
And by “your father’s,” she doesn’t mean the sperm donor. He’s a piece of fucking shit that I can’t even think about without feeling as if I’m going to lose my damn mind. I hate the fucker for what he did to us, what he did to her, and if I never see him again, it’ll be too soon.
Mom has forgiven him. I don’t know how. She hasn’t talked to him since that day. She says she forgives him for herself, not for him and that I should too, but I can’t get past that shit. Can’t get past what he did to her. The day I turned eighteen, the first thing I did was work on getting my last name changed from Johnson to Mom’s maiden name—Ramirez. I considered using my stepdad’s but I wanted to be connected to Mom’s heritage. Both she and Randall understood.