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"HE gave me his wallet, Rem. He knows I'm going to have to return it and then that's a fucking excuse to see him then it's going to be a whole cycle."
I can hear her snort over the phone and Jori playing around in the background, "And you're telling me you don't want to see him again?"
"Not if I can help it."
Propping my phone up against my basket of just-washed clothes, I roll my neck to calm my thoughts.
"Well," Remi sighs, "From what he told me, you didn't return it the first time, so what's the issue?"
I pause. While part of me expected him to tell her, the other thought he was too prideful to admit that everything that happened, happened.
Jori runs into the frame and waves with a bright smile on his face, "Hi, Aunty Lia."
"Hey, sweetheart," I greet before he runs away with his cute self.
It's been a week since I've last seen Angel, or since I've last gone back to work. It wasn't to avoid him by any means, I just had a pattern of working my ass off for weeks at a time only to relax for however long I can afford to. It might be a bit spoiled of me, but I'm not built for anything else.
Remi turns her attention back to me as I pull a pile of my delicates out of the basket and rest it on the couch beside me. It's when I begin to fold and roll that she finally says what's on her mind, "Angel is a persistent man. He sees what you were trying to do, and you're a smart enough woman to see what he's trying to do. He likes you, Talia."
"No," I scoff because she couldn't be more wrong, "He likes this golden coochie," I whisper and continue at a normal volume, "That he can find somewhere else. I'm not down to be in your mafia life."
"Talia -"
"Nope." I deadpan, shaking my head, sternly, "I love you and I love Jori, and I loved meeting the family, but if I can steal from him and he still manages to not -" I imitate myself slicing my throat open, "Then maybe I need to appreciate that and keep it pushing."
"Or you can appreciate it with him."
"Hard pass." I fold a bra in half and notice that one of the cups is missing a pad. Of course. The one time I can't find my delicates washer bag is the day I lose a pad. Before I can sulk over that fact any longer, there's a knock at my door. I quickly press a kiss to the screen and bid my best friend goodbye, "Someone's at my door. Mwah."
"Mwah." She reciprocates and kisses the camera, "Bye, girl."
With that, we part ways and I'm rising from my seat on the couch to walk to the door, passing the wallet on the coffee table. It practically glares at me as I try to figure out who's standing at my door. It could be the food I'd ordered before I even started my chores for the day, but that was - I check my phone - not even twenty minutes ago. Regardless, shrimp tacos were calling my name and so was the door.
