Public Relations

Chapter 8: Mia

"Bitch, that's a boyfriend."

A groan falls from my lips, eliciting a laugh from Elizabeth across from me. It's a rare break for us both, a quiet morning where we could escape for a coffee down the street. We're sitting outside, enjoying the summer weather in the cool, fanned front patio of the coffee shop. Passersby stroll past in their tiny outfits, their designer clothes, their suits. Small dogs wearing tutus sneer at us, birds examine our feet for pastry crumbs. The day feels like a balloon so full of life it might burst.

"Don't say that," I whine, picking at the paper sleeve around my cup. I'd confided in her about the mini golf, the butter chicken, how he'd confessed to freezing out the house when I asked if the repair man had arrived yesterday. "That's a client."

"A hot one. Who likes you."

She swirls her iced coffee, one elbow propped over the back of her iron wrought chair. She pauses, looking at me with wide eyes, and covers her open mouth her her hand. "Oh my god, wait. You have a boyfriend, don't you?"

"No."

She furrows her brows. "Huh? Girl, what is going on with you?"

I run my hands through my hair, pulling on it like it might relieve the pressure on my brain. "I wish I knew."

"Let's start from there. Wasn't there the hunky dreamboat neighbor? Our aspiring deaf actor king."

I pick at a stray chocolate chip on the paper skirt from the muffin I'd scarfed down. "Yes, he's still around."

"Oh?" she says, as way of urging me to tell more.

"We're sleeping together. Very unofficially."

"Still neighbors?"

"Unfortunately."

"Mm," Elizabeth hums. She takes a sip from her drink, her red lipstick leaving its kiss on the straw. "This is quite the predicament."

"What's the predicament, exactly?"

She gives me a blasé shrug. "I don't know, being the subject of desire for two sexy men."

I stop, blinking at her in disbelief. "Woah, hold on," I say. "This is not some kind of love triangle, girl. Count Sean out of this. He's dating, anyway."

"Other people?!"

"Not me, at least."

She points a manicured finger at me. "But he wants to."

I shake my head. "Been there, ruined that."

"Ah, okay." She claps once. "Brett!"

"No."

"For the love of god, Mia, let me have this. I'm starving out here. I need to live vicariously through you."

I roll my eyes. "It must be hard being in a healthy, loving, very committed relationship."

"For the plot? Terribly hard." She plops her sunglasses down from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose, despite us being comfortably tucked under the shaded overhang of the coffee shop. They're huge, boxy lenses that cover half her face, like a celebrity dodging paparazzi. 

Elizabeth pointedly does not say anything else here. She sighs dramatically, glancing over her shoulder at some of the bustling shops behind her.

"What do you want me to say, Liz?" I ask.

"Look," she says immediately, like she'd been holding her breath up until now. "I need juice. I need drama. I need you to have a romantic little evening. A rendezvous, if you will. And then I need every last little detail about it."