The Murderer's Maid. Erika Mailman
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It’s as if she can hear him inhale through the computer.
I started seeing someone.
Like, more than just sex?
Yeah.
She can almost hear the huskiness of his voice, remembered from those long-ago porch confessions.
That’s great.
It’s really new. Just giving it a shot this time instead of assuming I can’t do it.
That’s great. So great.
It’s weird; it’s like everyone else in the world can do it. I might be damaged goods but whatever. I want to try.
If you get married, I want to be your best woman.
Shut up! Jesus. I shouldn’t have told you.
Miguel, no no no no. I wasn’t kidding.
You’re jinxing it by being so . . . you know what I mean. I can’t even think that far ahead.
What’s her name?
Big pause.
I don’t want to jinx it.
Her mouse moves in rage to the top of the page where she X’s out of Facebook.
She can’t believe him. He thinks telling her . . . her! some other woman’s name is going to ruin things. Like he’s afraid she’ll perform some jealous voodoo.
She goes to the kitchen to pour a glass of water from the tap. Her last apartment’s one redeeming quality was that it had a dispenser in the fridge door. She’d loved that thing.
Why’d he assume she’d be upset? He kept typing and erasing. He didn’t want to tell her.
She drinks the lukewarm water, her throat tight like she isn’t swallowing correctly. She should get back on right now, pretend there was a power surge in her apartment. The longer she waits, the bigger a deal it becomes. And then it seems like she is jealous. Dammit, why didn’t she go home with Anthony?
She sits down in front of the laptop again but finds she just can’t log on.
The feeling in her chest grows. She’s a problem. Miguel will have to explain her to his girlfriend: See, I have this friend from way back, and we live chat every day because she keeps changing her name and this is the one place where she’s always there, and I have to be her friend because she’ll fall apart if I’m not, and I feel responsible for her just because we have this history together, but don’t worry, she doesn’t really mean anything to me. She’s just a fragile thing I can’t set down because if I do, she will break.
Someday, he won’t chat with her. A day will go by, two days. Because he’ll be wrapped up in the other woman. And then someday it will seem strange and unfaithful to the real woman in his life to be so connected to Brooke. And he’ll maybe even have to tell her formally: I can’t do this anymore.
She’ll have to muster everything in her to reply: That’s fine, Miguel. I totally get it. Go on and be happy.
She makes microwave tea, staring at the chipped counter edge while it brews. How did everything suddenly get turned upside down? She can’t lose Miguel; she has to swallow her pride and log back on. She’ll tell him it’s okay to back off their friendship but it still has to stand. She throws the tea bag into the trash; it lands with a light thwack at the bottom, one of the few things she’s thrown away in this apartment.
She goes back to the laptop, sickly chamomile coating her tongue.
Miguel has already written to her, with a JPEG of a bouquet of red roses.
You are the most important person in my life, and a girlfriend won’t change that, he had written.
I think I’m worried that it will.
She waits, but he’s no longer online.
But it should change, she continues. You deserve love and a chance for all the real things that come with it. Not just messaging with me. I don’t want to be selfish. Miguel, please get married. Do that. Pull it off. And someday I’ll be so goddamn proud to see the pictures of you two at the wedding.
She knows he can’t invite her, “best girl” or not. The same way she knows the nightly chats will become monthly ones. If that.
I’m not being sarcastic here. You’re the only one of us who can do it. You’re the . . .
She pauses.
. . . least damaged. LOL.
Will you stop with the marriage talk??!!!!!! He’s suddenly there. And honestly, mija, you’re not as damaged as you think you are.
I’m crumpled. The UPS truck ran me over.
Then collect the insurance and start over. Anything I’m capable of, you are, too.
Don’t think so, but thanks.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! (An Irish guy started working here, and he says that all the time.)
The holy nuclear family, she types.
No group home for them.
She’s elated. Miguel didn’t give up on her, and they’re back like they always were. Listen, Miguel. Let me say this one time so you know it, and then I won’t have to say it ever again. I totally release you when the time comes that your girlfriend doesn’t like the idea of me.
Any girlfriend who doesn’t like the idea of you can appreciate my firm muscular ass as I walk out the door.
No, it’s not like that. She is going to feel like I have a hold on you, and it’ll cause trouble.
She already knows about you.
She does?
She has the terrible thought that maybe the girlfriend’s sitting on Miguel’s lap right now, watching him type.
Of course. You’re a staple in my diet, mija. I’m not going to just drop you. I’ll never do that.
But you can.
Stop staying that! I don’t expect you to drop me. Why do you think I would?
One more time . . . slowly. You have a chance at this. I never will. I don’t want to screw it up for you.