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“June, did you text that guy yet?” Priya asks in the group chat. I know she’s been living vicariously through me since Marcello began flirting with me, and she might die from anticipation if I never text him.
“No, not yet. I’m thinking about it, though,” I confess.
Even seeing the admittance on my phone screen makes me feel silly. He’s just a guy. There will be more guys for me to pursue for the rest of my life. Hopefully, they’ll be somewhere that I actually live.
“JUNE! You NEED TO! This is literally a once in a lifetime opportunity!” Samira screams through text.
I can imagine that they’ve all been gossiping about this for the entire night. Sometimes I wish they would occupy themselves with something more enriching, like books or podcast or anything else.
“Okay! Fine!” I reply defeatedly.
Bad idea. Bad idea.Reallybad idea!
I unfold the paper and enter Marcello’s number into my phone. It recognizes the number, so at least he didn’t give me a fake one. That would be unbelievably cruel.
Even though I’ve gotten far enough as to add him as a contact in my phone, I have no idea how to start a conversation with him. I can’t just sayheyor something equally disinterested and casual, but I also don’t want him to perceive me as being desperate for his attention.
“Hi, this is June. We met last night,” I type, deleting the message within just a few seconds. What if he’d given his number out to multiple women last night? How would he know which one I was?
“Hi, this is June. We met while I was out with my friends last night,” I type again. That seems descriptive enough without insulting his intelligence. I could go into detail about my appearance to make things even clearer, but I don’t want him to know that I suspect him.
I deliberate over the text for what feels like forever before I send it. My stomach drops as soon as I see thedeliveredreceipt at the bottom of the message.
Now all I can do is wait.
I feel like a teenager all over again, waiting all night for a guy I liked to call my home phone after I gave him my phone number. The entire night would be spent anxiously distracting myself until the call came. Sometimes, it never did, and I would be angry and restless until I passed out at one in the morning. My disappointment would keep me up until I couldn’t fight it anymore.
I need to be better than that.
Fortunately for me, I can waste time doing my makeup while I wait for a response. I have no idea what time he wakes up, so it’s important that I don’t grow impatient with him. I need to be prepared to never get a reply. What if he was just drunk and wants nothing to do with me?
Right now, the best distraction would be the conversation that is inevitably unfolding in the other room, joined with mine, where Samira and Priya are staying. I shoot a quick text to the group chat asking if it’s alright that I come over, and they all reply giddily that they want to see Marcello reply firsthand.
At this point, I’m starting to hope that they all find a Marcello of their own because I’m already feeling pressured to interact with him in the first place. I feel like I’m not being given the proper space to plan out how I would want this encounter to go, and everyone feels entitled to a front-row seat.
I toss on a pair of sweatpants, throw my hair into a messy bun, and put some moisturizer on my face so that I don’t look as shitty as I feel. The spins and nausea are still in full effect, but I want to convince myself that I can ignore them until they go away.
When I enter the commonroom, everyone stares intently at me as if I’m going to give them minute-by-minute updates.
I still haven’t gotten a response from Marcello. There’s a part of me that wants to be upset that he hasn’t texted me back, but I can’t allow myself to be so entitled and childish about it. I initially rejected him. Why would he believe I was interested now?
“So? What did he say?” Priya asks excitedly.
“Guys, we’re in Italy. We need to do more than obsess over some guy we met at a bar,” I reply, doing my best to sound neutral and diplomatic instead of annoyed.
“I know, but you might have the chance to go on an Eat-Pray-Love side quest!” Priya replies, the glimmer of anticipation not leaving her eyes for even a microsecond.
“What if I don’t want that? How do you know he’s going to be good enough in bed for me to enjoy it? I don’t want to have bad sex to remember Italy. That would suck,” I say, glancing over at Samira as she plucks her eyebrows.
“Did you see him? There’s no way he doesn’t know how to fuck. It would be morally bankrupt for god to create such a beautiful man only for him to be terrible in bed,” Samira says, laser-focused on getting the perfect arch in her brows.
“I guess so, but I’ve had bad sex with hot guys. It’s not against any laws of physics,” I reply. I realize I’m totally bringing them all down, but I need them to be realistic. It’s unfair to put so much pressure on both Marcello and me.
Just as Samira opens her mouth, my phone buzzes.
Everybody goes completely silent. “Is that him?” Samira whispers harshly.
I glance at my phone, and of course, it’s Marcello. I open the message, instantly intrigued by how complete it feels as opposed to other messages I’ve seen from men.
