I take a bite of the hot dog I bought at the café.

  The moment I entered the place; I knew exactly what I would eat. All the scents melted inside my nose but somehow managed to separate for me to categorize everything there would be on the menu before I even saw it.

  My friend Jessy invited me for lunch with a short text two hours after the meeting. And although Andrew Miller wasn’t close to my perimeter, I felt suffocating inside my own bureau, and all the walls of this institution. The more time I’m spending there, the less I feel entitled.

  “So, what is wrong with him?” My friend asks.

  “You say that like I haven’t explained for the last thirty minutes.”

  “Yes. Thirty minutes. You’ve spent thirty minutes rambling about that new professor. You’re obsessed.”

  My eyes threaten to drop out of their sockets. “Obsessed? Are you out of your mind?”

  “You’ve violated my mind with your fucking thesis about that guy.”

  “He’s having everything that I ever wished for. And he comes back to teach? Voluntarily?”

  He bites inside his food (a rather plain tacos and unseasoned chips by the scent) and purposefully waits to chew and swallow before answering. “Some people do love their job, you know?”

  “I would love my job if I were in a lab, doing my research.”

  He sighs, watching me with his pretty green eyes. He looks like he’s done with me for the day. I might have talked a bit too much but what can I say? It’s been twirling in my head non-stop since I’ve left that room 15-04. I’m mad, pissed, furious. “Are you doing this for yourself or your father?”

  “What is my father doing in this conversation?” I yell, almost dropping my food from my grasp.

  “He’s pressuring you.”

  He is. But that is not the point.

  Jessy and I met when I was still a student. We immediately connected over sports and good food. On the latter, we have very different tastes but fortunately we agree on the fact that pizza might be our favorite one. He has yet to try Slavic food, but he resents coming for dinner at my parents’ place since I’ve depicted a rather hideous image of my own father. “I’m doing this for me. All of it.”

  “What is so bad about teaching?”

  “The students?” I instinctually answer.

  “Okay…”

  “And just the fact that I’m spending too much time over them and none on my personal work.”

  “Wouldn’t there be a way to… balance between all of this?” He blinks and watches me dead in the eye. Crunching his chip, I ponder on the idea of shaking him like a coconut tree.

  “Have you ever listened to me? Even for one second?” I query, with a rictus.

  He huffs and shoves the rest of his taco into his mouth, the shape of his birthmark stretching with the movements. “I’ve listened to you too much. When are we even talking about me?”

  I laugh. We both clean our hands with our napkins and I check the time. My next class isn’t before 2pm, and my power-point is already set and perfectioned with the previous year. “You’re right. What have you been up to?”

  His smile is shining like a disco ball. “I’ve met someone.”

  My eyebrows go up.

  Jessy is a Casanova. Never really settling. Meeting someone could mean he’s finally encountered the love of his life or the person he’ll share the next few nights with. The latest one was probably four days ago. I don’t think it ended well since I didn’t hear much about it before this very surprising news. At least he has the decency to always put an end to his relationship. He never just disappears without explaining what went wrong. Usually, just his feelings. “And?”

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  “She’s nice. Tania, is her name. We’re having a good time.” He shrugs his shoulders but he’s hiding something.

  “Would you talk about her if it was just “good times”?”

  “Probably?”

  “What do you really think? Come on. Give me the thirty-minute thesis.”

  “She’s great. She’s everything I was hoping for in a woman. She’s running the bar at the end of the street? Right next to the field?” I nod. “She’s so hot and she doesn’t even know it. I think I want it to be serious.”

  I wait. And wait. And his green eyes clash with mine. “But?”

  “For now, not buts. We’re just… going with the flow.” For some reason, his eyes are fleeting. Which can only mean one thing.

  “ wants it to be casual.”

  “What am I missing, Alex? Do I lack something?” he bursts into some fake tears, and almost paints his forehead with the salsa he has on his fingers from the chips’ dipping.

  Jessy calls me Alex for practical reasons. He understood the way to pronounce my name very early on in our relationship. Well, when he said it wrong the first time and I exploded on him, yelling and really liberating all of my frustration I had built up during the years in America, through my school period where I just endured and remained silent. Unfortunately, he was the one to take the blow. But the way he had answered truly determined our synergy from the start. He only looked at me and murmured before laughing his ass off. Only after, I realized how red his eyes were. He admitted afterwards that he never would have pronounced it wrong if it wasn’t for the pot. Lame excuse which I never really believed.

  The truth is, Jessy doesn’t lack anything. Despite never settling with a girl, he’s a decent and respectful guy. He’s good-looking, and he knows it. Each and every conquest he had complimented his features, and especially his eyes. Light green. Embellished with his natural and deep pigmented brown hair. He has a typically handsome American face. “You are pretty.”

  “Pretty?” he asks, feigning disdain.

  “Yes, chicks love you. She might need a lighter relationship because of what she experienced before. Did you ask?”

  He chews on his lower lip. “No. We’ve been seeing each other for a week.”

  “A week? Weren’t you with someone four days ago?” he winces but stays quiet. I continue, “And you’re thinking about marriage?” I yell and some people inside the restaurant swipe towards us.

  Jessy laughs it off and shrugs. “I’m not like you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I can feel it when it’s right.”

  “Since when I don’t?”

  “Since always?”

  Kind of true. But I’m not in the mood to reenter the endless discussion of my incapacity to show affection. “We’re talking about you.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “You know what you always tell me. Honesty’s the best.”

  He looks at me knowingly. Like this piece of advice could apply to my own problems in life. Which I see no correlation with. Absolutely none. No. Nope. Not even when I think really hard about it. “Can we make a deal?” Jessy continues and I drop my napkin on the table, already standing up.

  “No. I’ll pay the tab.”

  “Sit down.” He orders and I rarely hear this tone coming from him. Especially towards me. He’s about to lecture me. Like I’m a child again.

  “Only if you promise me not to turn into my father,” I negotiate and he chuckles, his arms crossed. Some people have followed our conversations and I see them laughing too. The bell of the door rings and a couple comes in. I sigh loudly but eventually obey. “What?” I demand, keeping my voice down for any curious ears.

  Jessy rests his elbows on the table and comes closer to my face. “I talk to Tania about what I want and you explain your feelings to him.”

  “That’s not as simple as that. If Tania rejects you, you’ll be sad but you’ll bounce back, like always.”

  “Where’s the difference?”

  “I’ve already tried, multiple times to be honest, he just doesn’t listen to me. All he thinks about is my successes. He doesn’t want to hear my failure, nor see me vulnerable. He wants results. I know he’s a prick most of the time, but my father wants what is best for me and I can hear it. I don’t want to burden him with every single moment of uncertainty that I have.”

  Jessy's smile stretches so long, it reaches his ears. His eyes glow with maliciousness. “I’m not talking about your father.”

  It takes a few more seconds for the information to reach my brain. Because who would he be talking about other than my father? He’s the exact person I should be talking to for the struggles I face in my grand plan. But by the mischievous grin on my friend’s face, I understand the point. “Why the hell should I talk with him?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? He could help you reach your goal. Give you advice. What do you do this afternoon?”

  “I have classes.” My tone is harsh and I don’t like where this conversation is going.

  “All afternoon?”

  My mouth pouts and my response is long to come out. “No.”

  “Then it settled.”

  “Nothing is settled, Jessy, I refuse to talk to him!”

  He’s the one to stand up and reach for the counter. Before I can say anything, he slides his credit card onto the machine and the satisfied echoes in the restaurant, despite the customers’ conversations and the light music filling the atmosphere. He comes back with a serious face and my arms are still crossed over my chest. “At least go see what he does.”

  He winks at me and grabs his light vest. The weather has been clement today compared to the other days of September. Cold and rainy. For now, the sun has joined the party. I stay sat while his hand rests a moment on my shoulder. “Deal?”

  The pressure isn’t enough to hurt but he pushed onto it on purpose. As a response, I grunt. But that seems to satisfy him. He gives me a peck on the head and flees from the slap I try to administer him. “Shoot me a text tonight!” he shouts.

  The bells ring again.