Signal to Noise(71)

Meche touched his clavicle, curious. It just looked so sharp and chiseled. He was still very thin, although now there was some strength. Sebastian caught her hand and held it, kissing her lightly.

“I think you’re lovely,” he said.

“That’s still a cheap come-on.”

“It’s true.”

Meche lapsed into silence, pondering, glancing at the palm trees and the flamingoes on the curtains.

“I have a lot of organizing,” she said. “I assume you have that job you need to show up for. Mr. Creative Director.”

“Not until nine.”

“What time is it?”

“Six. Do you want to have breakfast with me? Even though you don’t do breakfast?”

No, she thought. What’s the point of that?

“I should shower,” she said, which was not exactly what she had been intending to say.

“Ah,” he said, kissing her shoulder. “Not yet.”





MECHE LOOKED AT the grapefruit, sinking her spoon into it, toying with the pulpy interior and wondering at what point she had lost her mind and whether she was going to get it back soon.

Breakfast with Sebastian Soto. Not only that, breakfast with Sebastian Soto after she’d had sex with him. Twice. As if to make a point that mistakes were better performed in pairs.

In for a pound, she thought.

“Time?” she asked, twisting his hand, trying to get a look at his wristwatch.

“We have time enough.”

“You said you had work later.”

“I’ll worry about work.”

He caught her fingers, turned her hand up to look at her palm and smiled.

“It’s good to have you back,” he said.

The smile stabbed her hard. Meche wished she could slink under the table and stay there for about a decade.

“Hey, since we missed the movie we could go to listen to some live music. Jazz in Coyoacán. It’s a small joint. Well, it’s really a house and they can only fit like twenty people, but it’s good.”

She had a vague idea of what a jazz club with Sebastian would look like, a pleasant, blurry sort of image, as seen through a black and white lens. Like the cover of a really nice record. Now who was being sappy?

Meche shook her head.

“I’m flying to Oslo in a few days,” she reminded him. “I’d also like to point out this doesn’t negate my previous opinion of you.”

“You still hate me,” he said, digging into his green chilaquiles with gusto. “You still hold a grudge against me.”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Even though you had sex with me.”

God, who cared? Meche tossed three sugar cubes into her cup of tea and raised her shoulders slowly.

“Please. It’s not some secret promise. We don’t have to be,” she raised her fingers, turning them into imaginary quotes marks, “‘really, really in love to go all the way.’ Last time I checked we weren’t exactly blushing virgins. We’re grownups and grownups do stupid things.”

She drew some pleasure from his expression, as though she’d just doused him with a bucket of cold water. He’d started this. It was his fault. What had he expected, anyway?

“Thank you,” he said tersely, “for classifying me as a stupid thing.”

“Are you going to get majorly offended?”

“No, I’m not going to get,” he raised his hands, now making the imaginary quote marks for himself, “‘majorly offended.’”

Meche added another sugar cube for good measure and took a sip, then scooped out some grapefruit.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to talk to you. I knew you’d be all melodramatic.”

“Me? Melodramatic?”

“What do you call this? ‘How long have you waited for someone?’ Pfff. I make one mistake f*ck and I’ve got damn Romeo at my doorstep.”

“Forget it.”

He grabbed his fork, busied himself with the chilaquiles. Suddenly, he put the fork down and took out his wallet, pulling out several bills and placing them neatly under his glass.

“Here. That should cover it,” he said.

“What? You’re leaving?”

“Yes. Phone my cell if you want to see me again. If you don’t, I’ll just be majorly offended at my place, alright?”

Meche scoffed and crossed her arms. “I don’t have your cellphone number.”

“Then you are going to have to work for it,” he said.

Sebastian leaned down next to her chair, to speak into her ear.

“I’m in love with you. There. Should have said it twenty years ago. Your move.”

She watched him walk away and she had a feeling like when they made a house of cards one time and Meche pulled one card and the whole thing came tumbling down.

Meche plunged the spoon into the heart of the grapefruit and pushed her plate away. This was just... insane.

“I hate breakfast,” she told the grapefruit.





“WHAT’S UP WITH you?” her mother asked.

Meche was laying on the couch, listening to Wild is the Wind. She shrugged.

“Nothing,” she said, her voice clipped.