Page 48 of The Wake-Up Call

She answers after three rings, with her ringlets pinned and enormous fake eyelashes swooping up to her eyebrows.

“Well, hello,” she says, cocking her head.

“It isn’t a date,” I say. Whenever I call family, it feels a little strange slipping back into Portuguese again. I am a slightly different man in my mother tongue. Bolder, firmer, louder. I don’t think either English Lucas or Brazilian Lucas is the truer one, but the two languages bring out different sides to me, and right now I want to remember the version of myself who breathes through his Rs and goes after what he wants.

“But you wish it was,” Ana says. She’s looking at herself in a mirror, adjusting her eyelashes.

“Where are you going?”

“An actual date,” she says, pouting at her reflection. “He’s coming here.”

“Isn’t it the middle of the afternoon?”

“It’s nap time. I have a two-hour window and a guy who is very open-minded. Don’t deflect, you called me for a reason—what’s up?”

“Oh, I won’t take up your window of—”

“Lucas.”

“Fine. I’ll be quick. I think I like her. Izzy. My co-worker. She tried to kiss me and I blew her off because... she hates me. I don’t want to kiss her likethat, you know?”

Ana inhales between her teeth. “And she got upset about it.”

“Mm. Now she hates me more than ever.”

“Her pride is bruised. There’s a reason it’s harder for women to approach men than the other way around—when the world tellsyou your worth is about men desiring you, it’s hard to take it when they don’t, and we’re scared to be rejected. You’ve given her a knock-back. You need to work extra hard to make her feel better again.”

“How do I do that?”

Ana puckers her lips. I’m not sure if this is lipstick related or something to do with me.

“What’s she like? What makes her feel good about herself?”

“She’s very independent. And she has a lot of friends. And she likes second-hand things, and pick-and-mix.”

Ana’s face suddenly warms into a smile. “Oh, you are smitten.”

I growl.

“You’ll know what to do. If you really like her, it’ll come to you, because if you’re made for each other, you’re made to heal her when she’s hurting. I have to go, but I’m glad you called. I’m so proud of you over there, studying, working, going for what you actually want. I miss you.”

“Miss you, too. I love you,” I say. Something else that’s much easier to say in Portuguese. “Enjoy your date. I hope—”

The door opens and a pink-nosed, snow-covered Izzy pokes her head in.

“Oh, sorry, are you on the phone?” she says, pausing mid step.

“Is that her?” Ana asks, thankfully in Portuguese.

“Bye,” I say before she can say anything incriminating and easily translatable. “Don’t worry,” I tell Izzy as I hang up, “we were finished.”

“Look,” Izzy says, “it’s extremely cold outside and I just got sprayed with slush by a passing bus, so I really need a hot bath. Can we just agree to coexist in silence and forget that”—she points at the bed—“ever happened?”

I will not be forgetting that kiss. Yes, it came at the wrong moment, and yes, my mind was racing, but the feeling of Izzy’s lipsagainst mine—her hand on me, her tongue, that cinnamon-sugar scent... My body justlitup, as if that kiss was a match thrown on a fire, and it took all of my strength to resist her.

“Fine,” I say, clearing my throat. “Whatever you want.”

She marches into the bathroom and closes the door. I think about what Ana said: if I’m meant for Izzy, I’ll know how to make her feel better. I’m pretty sure that whatever it is she needs, I’m not giving it to her right now. I stare at the ceiling and try to think. She will want to make it clear that she doesn’tneedme. Izzy doesn’t like to need anybody. She will want to feel attractive, because I’m an idiot and probably made her feel as though I didn’t want her, even though the woman haunts my dreams and has done so for much longer than I’d like to admit.

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