Tuesday, June 9
Everything is going wrong today.
The moment I clocked in, some unsupervised child was sitting in a corner with an as-seen-on-TV cooking pot and mixing fruit punch and Sprite from the fridge to make a magical potion. I applaud the imagination, but this kid is banned from my future amusement park after this mess I had to clean up. Another customer yelled at me at the cash registers because she was short seventy-five cents for a deck of cards and I couldn’t just look the other way. And I’ve got so much extra work on my plate because my coworker called in sick, even though his Instagram shows him having a picnic with friends by the Brooklyn Bridge. I’m so tempted to show Pa, but then I’m the person who snitches to his father to get his colleagues in trouble.
I’m starting to not care.
This job isn’t who I am, and I’m not trying to be here forever.
I’m also not sure if I’m just talking about Duane Reade anymore when I think here.
In the nine days since Mario broke the news that he might get a job out in Los Angeles, I’ve experienced a range of feelings: pride that his brilliance is recognized, jealousy that nepotism for Mario means a job in TV and all I got was cleaning up Sprite–fruit punch potions at Duane Reade, praying to higher forces that the executives at the network hate androids so Mario won’t have to leave.
I’ve been trying to focus on my own work instead of letting my selfish feelings get in the way. It’s been harder to write lately. I keep staring at the same words, unsure how to fix them and make them right.
Everything is so confusing, and I don’t know what my story is supposed to be anymore.
Maybe Mario is right that I’d be happier out in LA.
New home. New people. New life.
What I keep coming back to is how much it would hurt to say goodbye to Mario. If long-distance wasn’t an option with Arthur—who was in love with me!—I can’t count on a relationship with Mario surviving. I’m not ready for another round of sleepless nights, hating how lonely I am.
I’m not ready to let another amazing person slip out of reach.
I finish mopping up the aisle, put up a Caution sign, and go into the break room even though I’m still supposed to be out on the floor. Pa’s office door is closed and the employee bathroom is empty, so I’m safe to FaceTime Mario before I change my mind. I stare at the wall that has my schedule for the rest of the week, wishing so badly that I could tear it down, quit, and not go home to my boss tonight.
“Alejo,” Mario softly answers. The way he says my name simultaneously calms me down and excites me. He’s in his bedroom and props the phone up against a stack of books as usual.
“Is it stupid that I miss you even though I saw you yesterday?”
“Not one bit.”
“I’m scared of missing you even more when you’re not a train ride away.”
“Remember, it may not even pan out.”
“It’ll pan out. Or something will. You’re going to move, and I’m going to miss you.”
“We can do something about that, you know.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too.” I look around the break room. “I don’t want to be here.”
“When’s your shift over?”
“I don’t mean here. I think I mean New York.”
Mario smiles and looks like he’s holding back a fist pump. “You thinking about moving to LA, by any chance?”
“You said it yourself. I might be happier out there.”
Then the door to the manager’s office opens and Pa steps out. I hang up so fast you’d think I was watching porn on my phone. “I’m not on the floor so you can’t be mad at me for having my phone out.”
“You shouldn’t be on the phone whenever you’re on the clock, but that’s not the problem. Remember, I’m your father first. Did I just overhear that you want to move to Los Angeles?”
“Yeah. I mean, yeah, that’s what you heard. I’m still not sure if that’s what I want.”
Pa nods. “It’s not that easy to pick up and go.”
“You wouldn’t know. You’ve been in New York your entire life.”
“Because, Benito, it’s not that easy to pick up and go.”
“If I’m always going to be struggling, then why can’t I struggle somewhere else?”
“There is a major difference between struggling under your parents’ roof and struggling on your own.”
“I wouldn’t be on my own.”
“You mean the boyfriend? You would move in with him?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” No matter how true that is, it’s the stupidest thing I could’ve said.
“Listen to yourself. Do you feel good about this? Does that make sense to you?”
No, it doesn’t feel good or make a ton of sense.
But what if it makes me happy?
“Look, Mario doesn’t even know for sure that he’s going, okay? I’m not flying anywhere tomorrow—”
“I know you’re not, because your mother would be on the first flight out to drag you back.”
“Being treated like a kid really makes me want to stay, Pa.”
“That’s not what I mean to do. I want your life to be amazing, but you’re making a gigantic mistake. You still have school and—”
“Then I make a mistake,” I interrupt. It’s my life. “Pa, I’ve had no adventures like my friends have. Dylan and Samantha got to leave the city. Arthur is really happy with his boyfriend at Wesleyan. And I’m stuck here.”
“I’m sorry you feel so stuck here, but many people would love to be in your position.”
“I know.”
I’m tired of not being able to own my feelings because someone else has it worse. I know I’m lucky to have a roof over my head and parents who love me and food on the table. I know, I know, I know. I can also want more for myself.
“Benito, I don’t want you to make an impulsive decision that you’ll regret. You haven’t even brought this boy home to meet your family and you’re thinking about leaving the city with him.”
It’s like he thinks Mario is just some fuckboy. But Pa does have a point that Mario and I need to sort ourselves out before I even entertain more conversations about Los Angeles. But for the first time, it’s like my life doesn’t feel light-years away. There’s a map forming in my head with a circle drawn around Los Angeles. And I know the first move I have to make to get there.
“I’m going to head back out. Short-staffed,” I say.
“We’ll talk later,” Pa says, following me out onto the floor.
Once a customer leaves the medicine aisle, I pull out my phone and find a text from Mario.
Everything okay?
Yeah, I reply. Would you want to come over for dinner with my parents later this week?
I don’t know how I’m not sweating. I’m nervous and grateful that I didn’t ask him this in person or over FaceTime in case he responds negatively. Though enough is enough. Mario and I need to figure out what this is before I figure out my next moves.
He responds before I can put my phone back in my pocket.
I read it and smile.
I’m in!