Half Of My Heart

ANYA

The next Wednesday, Vanessa is sitting on my couch, digging into her breakfast of mac and cheese, with her Afro-perm in a curly bun atop her head.

She lives next door, and ever since we ran into each other in the laundry room three years ago, we have been nearly inseparable—when I wasn’t with Blake, that is.

Vanessa used to be a student at my college but dropped out to pursue a career as a fashion blogger. She convinced me to start my own blog, where I write product reviews of self-care brands.

Surprisingly, my blog took off, and now I get a lot of free stuff to review and even have brand partnerships, which allow me to bring in some money. But as nice as that all is, I wish it paid better and more consistently.

My income keeps fluctuating, so there are months when I don’t earn well and struggle to manage my bills. Months like this month. But I can’t think about those problems now when a more serious one is taking up all my energy.

It is not just that I kissed Dimitri last Friday or that I skipped classes the last two days and blamed it on cramps, it is that I have managed to avoid telling Vanessa any of this. I have never kept such a life-changing secret from her, let alone for five days.

And it desperately wants to come out.

I inhale deeply, pouring my OJ into a glass, and give in to the urgency to spill the beans about what happened. “I kissed Dimitri,” I say, exhaling.

Vanessa’s eyes bulge, her spoon hovering in front of her wide-open mouth. Dropping the macaroni back into her bowl, she blinks her large gray eyes twice like she is processing the information. Finally, she says, “Shut up!” Her face falls serious.

“That’s why I wasn’t going to class,” I say, zipping my tote bag and then walking over to her. I perch on the arm of the couch, my mini skirt rising an inch. “And not because of cramps.”

Vanessa places her bowl on my coffee table, turning her body to face me. “What the fuck, Anya? He’s your professor. You do realize I only meant it as a joke, right? Whatever I said that day, I was just kidding, girl!”

Sighing, I say, “It wasn’t because of you. I was being dumb.” I lean back, my head hitting the wall. “He’s Blake’s dad.”

“That worries you?” she says it like it is something sarcastic, which makes me look at her in amusement.

I dip my chin. “It’s Blake.”

“The guy who cheated on you,” she deadpans, folding her arms under her perky boobs, which I am always jealous of because of how gorgeous they look when she wears a bikini. “He’s not the problem, Anya. Dimitri could get fired if you start anything with him.”

Mirroring her posture, I say, “Well, it’s not like I committed a crime. We’re both adults.”

Her brows rise, and her head juts forward. “It’s Dimitri’s career, Anya. That’s not a joke.”

She is right, and I know it. I do feel bad about it—that is why I have been avoiding him. But still, what was I thinking? I let my emotions get the best of me, let them take advantage of me at a vulnerable moment.

“Okay, you’re right. I messed up. I was weak, and my ego was bruised,” I concede, sitting up straight. “But I can’t miss any more classes. I have to see him today, and I don’t know what to do.”

Vanessa scratches her head, looking frustrated. “Okay, just forget about the kiss,” she suggests after some time. “As long as Dimitri doesn’t broach the subject, neither do you.”

That sounds more like a warning than advice, but I nod my head. “Okay.”

She throws me a skeptical look, the kind my mom gives me when she suspects I have no intention of following her orders, and it makes me smile. Vanessa makes it easy for me not to miss my mom, always being a constant guardian for me.

“Anyways,” she says, her expression shifting as she fidgets on the couch, “there is a more important matter to discuss.”

I furrow my brow. “What?”

“Our rent problems, Anya. We need to find work that pays well.”

Throwing my head back, I groan. I hate thinking about this subject. Our landlord recently increased the rent, and we have been struggling to keep up with our payments, the next of which is due in a few weeks.

Living in the Big Apple is expensive, but I also don’t wish to move to a studio apartment. This one bedroom is small enough, and it is also close to my college.

“What about your bar job?” I ask, referring to the part-time gig she started a few months ago at a nearby club.

Vanessa rolls her eyes. “Grumpy Matt won’t increase my pay no matter how much I beg him,” she says—Grumpy Matt being her boss and the owner of the club.

I huff out a breath. “And I’m yet to get paid for last month’s gig.”

The brand I worked with is usually prompt with its payments, but this time, it is my fault. After promoting their sunscreen, I failed to set a payment date in the contract, so they reverted to their quarterly schedule. At least I have something to look forward to, I guess.

There are always my parents, but with my three younger siblings still living at home, their bakery back in Cali provides just enough to cover the bills and put food on the table. Only my two older brothers have decent jobs, and they have lives of their own.

And besides, I promised Mom and Dad I could handle myself here in New York—that is why I was allowed to study here.

How can I ask for help now?

Vanessa drops her head. “Fuck!” She rubs her face and then looks at me with a hopeful expression. “I’ll think of something. Don’t worry. We aren’t getting kicked out.”

I throw an arm around her shoulder, drawing her in for a side hug. “It sucks the asshole doesn’t allow us to be housemates. I’d have killed to live with you.”

“It does suck,” she says, leaning against me. “Would have solved half of our problems, too.”

“We’ll get through this.” I plant a kiss on her temple before pulling away and picking up my bag. “Okay, I have to go. Wish me luck!” Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I pick up an apple from the fruit basket on the coffee table as I head for the door.

“Bye,” Vanessa says. “Don’t kiss your professor again.”

“No promises!” I call over my shoulder, spinning back to grin at her. Then I open the door and step out, readying myself to face Dimitri in class.

My stomach twists at the thought of seeing him, but it quickly tightens as questions pop into my head.

What if he is angry at me for kissing him? What if he didn’t like it?

And then a final question knots my stomach entirely: What if he did like it?