It’s not often I get drunk, but after seeing what I saw through that window, I made Julian pull over at a liquor store. 

Vodka and pineapple juice have never been more satisfying as we sit in the hotel room, and it glides down my throat in an ice-cold sendoff to oblivion. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to talk and process my father's double life, but I've never claimed to make intelligent decisions. Or maybe we should have banged on the door and demanded answers from him. 

Except, we ran.

And now I’m drunk, and Julian is sober as he babysits me. He even confiscated my phone. I’m on the bed with all the pillows stacked behind me while Julian lays horizontally at the opposite end. The Warriors basketball game is on, and every once in a while, he’ll glance over his shoulder at me. Flickers from the TV cast shadows across his face, and he can pretend he’s paying attention to the score, but I know concern when I see it.

“I need my phone.”

“No, you don’t,” Julian replies.

“I need to call Moses.”

“Not with all that slurring you’re doing.”

“I’m not slurring,” I say and can hear the delay in the delivery of my words. Not to mention I’m having a hard time focussing on Julian’s face. “He’s probably worried since he hasn’t heard from me.”

“He’ll survive.”

“Damn it, Julian! I’m not a child. Give me my phone.” I fling myself across the mattress and attack him like an octopus wrapping my limbs around him.

“Jesus, woman!” 

“Give me my phone!”

In my inebriated state of mind, this appeared like a solid plan. However, Julian is bigger than me and manages to smother me into the mattress with his back. 

“You done?”

“No!” I squirm but can barely wiggle my feet.

“Well, I’m quite comfortable like this, staring at the ceiling with your scrawny self pancaked underneath me. I could probably doze off.”

“Just please give me the phone so I can at least text Moses.”

“No. You can text him in the morning.”

“Gah, what is it with you and him! Are you jealous or something?”

“Jealous?” With that, Julian rolls off me and cackles while holding his stomach. “Oh, please. He’s average, at best, and looks like a two-pump chump.” 

“You would say that,” I slur and prop myself up with arms that feel like sandbags and gelatin all at once. “You are so arrogant sometimes.”

“Listen, not everyone can be blessed with these tall, dark, and handsome good looks.” 

“Oh, please. You might be attractive, but don’t assume you’re better looking than Moses. He is a very handsome guy and great in bed.” 

“Define great.” Julian taps his chin.

“I’m not talking to you about my sex life.”

“Why not? I tell you about mine.”

“And maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Whatever. Moses can’t be that exciting if you’re unwilling to brag about it. But what can I say? Not all men are gifted in the art of thrusting.”

“What’s your deal? You wanted me to hook up with Moses the night at Casanova, and now you can’t stand him.”

“I don’t give a shit about that clown,” he laughs.

“Sure you don’t.” 

“I don’t,” he snorts and rotates onto his side to face me. “You can have sex with whoever you want as long as he treats you right.”

“Except for Garrett, right?” I fold my arms and sway my head, but the motion turns the bed into a riptide. I'm so drunk.

“Huh?”

“You told Garrett he’s not allowed to be alone with me. Why?”

“Because he’s an asshole who dragged your virginity through the mud in high school.”

“Yet, you’re still friends with him.”

“Correction, he’s friends with my boy Ian, not me. I can’t stand the guy, and with good reason.”

“But he’s still part of your friend group,” I say.

“Doesn’t make him my friend.”

“Whatever. We’re getting off track here.” I hold up my hand and begin a slurry vomit of words. “You don’t like Moses, and I think it’s because you’re jealous.”

“Jealous of what?”

“That he’s with me.”

“Why would I be jealous of him being with you.”

“Listen, it all makes so much sense now that I think about it, and I think you have feelings for me.”

“What?” Julian bursts into hysterical laughter, but words keep tumbling from my mouth as if I’ve become enlightened. 

“And you use laughter and humor to hide how you feel. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so protective of me. That’s why you’ve always had my back. Deep down, you love me, and I mean truly love me, so you have all these casual flings to mask the inner conflict about your feelings for me. And this is why people don’t understand how you, a straight man-whore, can have a female best friend. But it’s because I’m not your best friend. I mean, I am, but the truth is, you’re in love with me.”

If Julian wasn’t laughing hard before, he is now as he holds his stomach and wriggles back and forth on the bed. Each cackle he flings towards the ceiling makes me angrier. I don’t appreciate him behaving as if loving me is a ridiculous notion. 

Unless it is? 

Perhaps this is why men don’t call after having sex with me? I’m unloveable in any romantic way, so they take what I give and then leave. My shoulders slump because this is probably why Garrett is such an asshole to me. Even his dumbass sees me as an unworthy investment.

“Stop laughing at me,” I finally say.

“I’m not. You’re drunk, Val. So you’re saying silly stuff you’ll regret in the morning, and I bet you're also thinking all sorts of negative thoughts about yourself.”

“I am not!”

"You so are. You're too critical and paranoid about what others think of you."

"Shut your face!" I climb on top of him and pin him to the bed.

“Whoa, careful. You might get me excited,” he teases. 

“Stop with the bravado!” I bark. 

“Oh, someone is serious,” he mocks.

“I mean it, Julian! For the last ten years, I’ve been right in front of your face, and you’ve never made a move. Why? Am I not loveable? When you look at me, do you see a damaged person you pity?”

“Jesus, Val. It’s not that deep.”

“Why, Julian!?” I smack his chest. “What is so wrong with me? Do you not find me attractive? Am I not your type? Is it my small boobs?”

“Your boobs are fine, mujer.” He drapes his arm over his eyes and starts muttering things in Spanish.

“Speak English!” I smack his chest again, and he looks me in the eyes.

“Val, there is nothing wrong with you. Did I think you were hot the very first time I saw you? Of course. But you needed a friend, and the more I got to know you, the more I wanted to protect you instead of date you.”

“So you’ve never, not even once, wanted to kiss me?”

“Well, yeah, in the beginning, but not anymore.”

“Why not?” I search his eyes, and I’m honestly not sure what I’m looking for or why I’m pushing this topic. Booze and my unexpected erratic life should never mix. 

However, Julian is studying me too, and there’s a fissure in the wall he likes to keep up. The room is silent, aside from the soft tintinnabulation of the Warriors game on the TV. But there’s a definite shift in the atmosphere as his hands migrate to my hips, and he adjusts himself underneath me. All the while, our eyes remain glued. However, mine widen at the faint bulge in his jeans. 

Does this mean he is sexually attracted to me? Do I want to know?

There isn’t much time to process these thoughts as Julian props himself on an elbow and cups the back of my head. He licks his lips, which is something I’ve witnessed him do a thousand times before kissing a girl, so my heart beats faster. I’m with Moses, and I like him a lot. Yet, I meet Julian halfway, our lips grazing before parting and feeling the taste of each other.

The kiss deepens with his fingers threading through my hair while mine curls into his shirt. Everything about it is primal as we grind our hips into each other, but something doesn’t feel right. Like we’re forcing something to happen. Our mouths and tongues move in sync, except I don’t feel the same spark as I do with Moses. 

So I pull away.

“I think this proves we’re better off as friends.” Julian caresses my cheek. “Plus, you’re drunk, so in the morning, I’ll spare you the embarrassment and pretend this never happened.”

“Oh, hush!” I slide off his lap and flop onto my back. He does the same, and we both stare at the ceiling. “Does this count as me cheating on Moses?”

“Are you guys exclusive now?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.”

“Then I wouldn’t worry about telling him. Besides, this was experimental. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Would it have meant something in high school?” I turn onto my side.

“Maybe. But I knew early on we were destined to be friends.”

“Destined, huh?”

“Yes, and no matter what happens with your dad, I will still be here by your side.”

“Thanks for being my best friend.” I curl into his side, and he kisses the top of my head.

Within minutes we doze off.

∆∆∆

When morning arrives, I awaken to chatter outside of the hotel room. The space next to me is empty and cold, which means Julian has been gone for a while. My breath is tart, and I recoil at the smell of it when I yawn. That’s the last time I ever drink my weight in booze.

I swivel my legs over the bed, and nausea hits. I might still be drunk. Daylight inundates the room when the door swings open, and I’m momentarily blinded. However, whatever alcohol is left in my system is sucked dry as Moses walks in. 

“Hi.” I spring to my feet, and he pulls me into a hug.

“Hey.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Julian called me last night. He said I should drive up here.”

“But don’t you have work?” I look up at him.

“I may or may not have called in sick.” He smooths the hair out of my eyes and kisses my forehead. “He told me about your dad. I’m so sorry, Val.”

“I’m just so confused by all of it. He was wearing a wedding ring…”

“You need answers. We should go back there and get them. Enough is enough.”

“But I’m scared.”

“I know you are.” Moses takes my face in his hands.

“What if the truth is so much worse than we thought?”

 “It’s possible, but at least you’re not alone. Julian and I will be right there by your side.”

Squeezing him tight, I bury my head in his chest and inhale the cologne on his sweater with eyes closed. It’s woodsy yet soft and smells very much like Moses, which is comforting. 

“Thanks for driving up here.”

“Of course.” He kisses the top of my head. “Can’t let my girlfriend go through something like this alone.”

“Am I your girlfriend?” My eyes flash up to meet his.

“Only if you want to be.”

“I do. I do. I really do.” I squeeze him tighter.

“I can tell,” he chuckles. “Now go get ready so that we can tackle the day.”

After taking a shower and getting dressed, we head over to Linda De Marco’s home. This time Moses is driving, just in case someone might recognize Julian’s Bel Air. It’s late in the afternoon, so no one may be home, but when we pull up to the neighborhood, there’s a car in the driveway. 

We park a few houses down and observe until there’s movement. The front door opens, and out walks Linda De Marco with her blonde hair bouncing behind her. She is perfection in black leggings hugging her yoga sculpted curves and a tight white sweater that might as well be painted on. 

Neither redheaded Miranda nor blonde-haired Linda look anything like my mother, which makes me question what my father sees in these women since they’re so opposite from her. My mother was a natural beauty with dark curls framing her thin, dimpled cheeks, and her way of dress was simple—Jeans and plain t-shirts. Never anything flashy or too tight.

When Linda finishes grabbing the mail, she waves to a neighbor across the way, then returns inside without a care in the world. So I feel terrible for what I’m about to do.

“I should go alone.”

“What?” Moses says.

“Oh, hell no,” Julian mutters. “We’ve gone over this. That woman could be crazy.”

“That woman is just a wife and a mother who has no idea who her husband is,” I reply. “I do this alone.”

They don’t argue or stop me as I step out of the car, and the walk up to the house is lonelier than I thought it would be as bitter mountain wind whips my curls. Even my knuckles ache when I rap them against the front door. Seconds pass, but it feels like minutes as I wait for Linda to answer. Then, the door sways open, and we're face to face. 

The woman before me is stunning, but in a way that spells money as she quirks her perfect, manicured brows and says, “Can I help you?”

“Hi, Linda,” I clear my throat.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m Valerie Rossi.” I point to my chest, but the reveal of my name doesn’t change her expression.

“Ok… are you selling something?”

“No. You see, my father—”

“Listen, if this is about voting for a different Mayor, we’re not interested.” She points to a red sign on the lawn with a name splashed across it. “We support the current Mayor.”

“No, this isn’t a political thing. I’m here because my father is Angelo Rossi.”

“Who?”

“Angelo Rossi,” I repeat. “Your husband.”

“What?” she chortles. “I’m sorry, but you have the wrong house. My husband is Alexander De Marco. Not Angelo Rossi.”

She dismisses me with the wave of her hand and begins closing the door, so I shove my foot inside, jamming it.

“Wait!” I bark.

“Excuse me, but can you please remove your foot!?” Linda demands. 

“Wait.” I hold out my phone, so she can see the screen saver, which is a photo of my dad and me. It’s one of my favorites. We’re in Disneyland wearing Mickey ears, like the perfect father and daughter duo. Except we aren’t. “Is this your husband?”

Her eyes narrow at the screen as she reaches out, but then retracts her hand and places it on her chest with a clearing of her throat. “Who are you again?”

“Valerie Rossi.”

“Is this some sort of sick game?” she shouts. “Are you Alexander’s mistress and here to embarrass me? Turn my family upside down!?”

“No. That’s not what this is—”

“Oh, you’ve got some nerve coming here, but I tell you what, you’re not the first girl to claim she’s having an affair with my husband. Newsflash, he will never leave me for you, so how about you get the hell off my porch!”

The door slams so quickly in my face I almost don’t step back in time. For a moment, I stand there, frozen and unable to wrap my head around the entire confrontation. But then I feel a set of gentle hands curl around my shoulders. It’s Moses, and he steers me away.

“Come on, babe. Let’s get you home.”

Home. Do I even know what that is anymore?