I KEPT LEAVING THE FRONT DOOR UNLOCKED,
HOPING YOU'D COME IN
AND MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME
RIGHT HERE IN MY HEART//
♪

09: home

IT IS MINUTES later in front of his house that Mamés allows himself to be embarrassed.

What was he thinking? Come home with me? It sounds like a line from a sleazy serial killer. He doesn't even know if Lulu is home. What would she say if she saw him coming home with a girl? He never brings girls home (Mel doesn't count). He never brings anyone home, period.

Mamés huffs, shoulders hunched, as he jams the key in the lock. Truly there's no time to wallow about all his shitty life decisions because before he can twist the key, the door opens and Lulu stumbles out—heels in her hand, her high puff slightly off centre. Just enough that only he'd notice—because he always notices.

His hands are on her shoulders in a flash, holding, steadying her.

"Mamés!" A smile blossoms on her face at the sight of him, "You're here early. How did practice go? Well never mind that you won't believe who called. It's Carla, apparently some lady passed on the role and I may have a shot. Can you believe—" the words pouring out of her like a faucet dried up as she finally notices Ana. "Oh, hello. Who's this?"

Mamés exhales, loudly, floundering. Ana steps forward from behind. "Hi, Mrs. Beverly." She smiles, throwing her a wave.

"Call me Lulu." Lulu's eyes are wide, sneaking looks between them, and for once Mamés can't tell what she is thinking. "And you are?"

"Anastasia," they say together.

"Yes," Lulu says carefully, eyes unreadable, "He mentioned you." The lie falling easily from her lips.

Mamés didn't mention her.

He didn't even think to mention her. Maybe he was afraid to share her with the world. But now he wished he did. He wished he told Lulu how funny she was, how beautiful their voices sounded when they sang together, how great of a listener she was, how fun it was to have random bits of conversation in Chinese, like a game to see who knew it more and who sounded more fluent (Mamés won more often than not). He wished he told her that she was a great friend.

"I wish I could at least offer you something but I am already running late. Sorry."

They exchange their nice to meet you's and Lulu leaves with one last meaningful look at Mamés. He almost laughs at the strangeness of it all, introducing someone to his mother, had that ever happened before? No reason to when everyone was born and raised here. Rochford is a tiny snow globe in the pocket of the universe with pretty picturesque figurines that never move. That never changes, an endless cycle.

Till Ana, that is. Ana the meteorite. He fears she will change his entire world. He fears he would like it.

"Wow," Ana breathes, when not even the remains of Lulu's fragrance remain. "You didn't tell me your mom is drop-dead gorgeous Mamés."

"Didn't I?" He laughs, "Sorry it must have slipped my mind. My mother is insanely beautiful."

She laughs along with him and Mamés forgets. They enter the house and he forgets to be worried, about whether the dishes are done, or if Lulu's clothes are hanging around the living room. He forgets to worry. He forgets to care.

The door clicks close behind him and they both harmoniously kick off their shoes by the shoe rack. Thankfully the floor is clean, books are stacked in the right places. There is nothing he can do about the peeling wallpaper and the stained ceiling.

Wordlessly, Ana follows him down the hall, and even though she hasn't said anything he can hear the thousands of words in her heavy footfalls and he can even taste them in the air around her.

"Spaghetti or Pho?" he calls over his shoulder.

"Pho, please." She says.

"Excellent choice, my pho is Asian grandma-level good."

A smile is crawling on her face, "Now my expectations are sky high. But are you sure? If it is a hassle, we can just order in."

"First of all, I love to cook, especially when it's for others. And secondly, I was planning to make it for dinner anyways so a lot of the ingredients are already prepped, no hassle on my end." He looks at her now, unsure, "unless you can't wait?"

"Are you kidding? With Asian grandma-level pho on the table, I can wait all day."

A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, "How 'bout waiting for 30 minutes instead?"

"Deal."

Now they are both smiling, stupid goofy smiles.

Mamés is the first to look away. "Uh, you can look around if you want or watch some TV while you wait."

Ana's face lights up suddenly "I can snoop around? Really?"

Mamés blinks. Snoop around? He wants to take it back suddenly but he can hardly stand the thought of the sun on her face dimming. "Sure. Lulu has the third room to the left everywhere else is game."

She whirls around moving quickly almost like she's afraid he'd change his mind. He takes a deep breath watching her hover over a stack of photos hanging on the wall for a minute before he too turns around and gets to work.

At first, he's tensed, still a little bit awestruck over a girl in his house but as the minutes melt by, he gets immersed in the art of cooking, and everything melts away. It isn't until he has turned off the gas, and the food is done that reality crashes down on him once again.

Ana.

He looks around fearful that she got fed up and left. But he notices his bedroom ajar and can see her silhouette peeking out. Mamés makes a beeline towards her. She's right at the doorway like she just entered the room. She doesn't react even when he steps beside her, her eyes facing forward. He turns too, to look at his living space trying to imagine what she sees.

His room isn't messy but it isn't clean either, there's a certain chaos he's beginning to notice—maybe it's the instruments leaning against the wall or the piles of old songbooks and journals stacked up in the corner. He wonders if this is what all artist bedrooms look like, a trail of unfinished thoughts—lyrics scribbled on scraps of paper and grocery lists, an old KFC bucket filled with dozens and dozens of guitar picks.

But, what really has captured her attention is the only window in his room (other than his skylight). It's usually covered by his curtains but today by some twist of fate, his curtains are drawn and his window is exposed. Ana moves forward slowly as if drawn in by an invisible force and stops when she is standing in front of it. She turns to look at him, finally, and says, "May I?"

No, he wants to scream, only it comes out as, "Yes."

Ana swallows, still staring, asking with her eyes. Somehow, she knows. This is not okay. How does she know what he's feeling? How can she pick up on the waves bouncing off his skin? How? How? How?

"You sure?"

No. Yes. No. YES. Mamés takes her hand in response before he can change his mind and together, they both look at his window.

The window to his soul. It is covered from head to toe, with scraps and scraps of paper—journal entries, thoughts, poems, and lyrics in the barest form. She drinks it all in hungrily, eyes dancing from one to another, lips moving, mouthing it.

How long will it take// I can't get you off my mind// send help—hearts aren't supposed to feel this way// lonely in a crowd of people// how do I be the you want me to be? //

Mamés stomach twists, flips, and leaps before collapsing in the corner where his heart is (RIP 2000 – 2019 it lived and it loved to the fullest).

Why did he say yes? He's never shown this to anyone before. Never ever. So why did he just hand his diary to Ana on a platter? Why hasn't she said anything? And, goddammit why is he dizzy, not with fear but with excitement?

"This is incredible," Ana says, only she doesn't say it. She breathes it, the words float around the room like clumps of dust before settling on the tip of his burning nose. And, this makes the ground tilt and the air shimmer.

She turns to look at him and he looks away embarrassed and shrugs. "It's nothing, really. Just wandering thoughts and snippets of incomplete dreams."

He sees from the corner of his eyes long slender fingers reaching for him and he freezes. Her touch to his temple is paper soft, almost imaginary. His eyes involuntarily flutter close and he leans in without thinking, into her hand, into her warmth, into her orbit.

Ana smiles, her face beaming.

Dear God.

When did he open his eyes? He doesn't remember.

She says softly. "Your mind must be a wonderful place, Mamés. What I wouldn't give to have a piece."

He swallows hard. "You're welcome to."

She goes silent. The world goes silent—stretching, stretching, and stretching until it...snaps.

Ana shakes her head and drops her hand. "I'm afraid I'm too greedy. If you give me a piece I'll just keep coming back for more."

That's just the thing. Mamés doesn't think he'd mind.

And it's a scary thought.

♪

Two hours, four episodes of haikyuu, and two bowls of pho later, it's time for Ana to leave, but they are both reluctant to say goodbye. They ignore the darkening sky and keep the conversation flowing. Mamés reluctantly returns her iPod and invites her to come along with him to Delilah's get-together which she gratuitously accepts. Then they continue their little game where they have to sing the words of mundane things (like the ingredients of a box, or a passage in a textbook) and give it a good melody. They stay like this for another twenty minutes until Ana's phone beeps again. Another text.

They both let out long sighs harmoniously and stand.

Ana looks at her phone briefly. "It's Boss again. I really have to go this time."

His answer is another sigh and she laughs. While she gathers her things, Mamés clears the table packing up the leftovers in Tupperware, and hands it to her by the door.

"Thanks for the food grandma," she jokes. "It was really good and thanks for inviting me over."

Mamés wrings his fingers together awkwardly, looking down at his shoes. "It's cool. We are...friends after all."

She pauses and then laughs. "You're right. We are friends, huh?"

Ana turns away, stops, and turns back, cocking her head. "It's been on my mind for a while—who is she? The girl on your phone?"

Mamés blinks, realising with a start that he hadn't thought of her the whole time he was with Ana. His face softens now at the thought of her, all previous anger melting away like snow. "Her name is Mel"

"And she's the girl your songs are about," it isn't a question. A deduction.

"She's my best friend," he's smiling now.

"An unrequited love?" Another not question. Her eyebrows are scrunched in concern.

He decides to be honest. "She just hasn't figured it out yet."

"Figured out what?"

"That we are meant to be, but she will soon."

"Really now?" Ana laughs. "We stan a confident king. I am rooting for you. She's one lucky gal."

"You don't know her. If you did, you'd know that I'm the lucky one."

"Well, I know you." Ana takes a long look at him, "And I know that anyone would be the lucky one when it comes to you Mamés."

♪

Later that evening, Mel calls but Mamés doesn't pick up. With Ana's parting words in his head, he watches his phone light up and then goes dim. He imagined Billie talking to Mel as Keith watched on. He pictures her telling Mel that she is wrong, and then he imagines Mel shrugging non-committedly. Shrugging him off, his tears, his anger, his emotions. Before reluctantly picking up the phone to call.

Mamés doesn't answer. But he waits for the phone to light up again. He tells himself he'll answer if she calls again. But she doesn't. And an hour turns into two and two into three.

As he waits, he plays the scene again in his head on repeat. This time he saw all the things he did wrong. Maybe he shouldn't have shouted, maybe he should have just let it go. Maybe he was being too sensitive. Maybe he should have just apologized—the last one is too hard to swallow so he stops. And the night grows longer.

He calls her after five hours. She doesn't pick. (But she's awake, her last Instagram story is just three minutes old) He calls and calls and calls until she finally answers.

"What?" she snaps into the phone.

"I'm sorry," He breathes.

And the cycle continues.