Free Follow Her Home by Steph Cha Page A

green and dewy all year round. The letterbox outside their door read D DIAZ &J BLUMENTHAL . I rapped on the door one two three.
    Diego opened it at two and a half, before the knuckle of my index finger could kiss the wood. He wore boot-cut jeans and a black polo that hung too square on his frame.
    â€œHey.” I gave him a clinging hug and he put his arms around me in return. They had a tranquilizing effect, imparting the warmth of relief. Dependable Diego.
    â€œCome in. Sorry, it’s kind of a mess. I haven’t vacuumed in days.”
    I surveyed the broad living room. One dirty plate and an open DVD case sat on the polished wood coffee table. Diego’s Toshiba sat on his couch. One pair of mahogany leather loafers made twin islands near the door in a sea of café-au-lait carpet. I guess you could say it was a notch more cluttered than a monastery, if that was worth apologizing for.
    Diego was a skinny Puerto Rican man born in the Bronx and raised in Plymouth, Minnesota. He had a young face with a small, uncertain mouth, thick, expressive brows, and saucerous eyes that were ever wet with a maple-syrup gleam. Their dark irises were the dark brown of black coffee, their whites the white of White-Out. His hair was blacker than mine, and the short curls stuck tight about his head gave the impression of a swim cap. He was one inch taller than me with a one-inch slouch.
    It was not love at first sight, but we built a fast friendship. I spent a lot of time in Luke and Diego’s room, and the three of us had frequent late-night discussions about life and family and religion and politics, often accompanied by alcohol, clumsily obtained. Freshman year was the time for introspection and discovery, and Luke and Diego were my shipmates. My own roommate was a spoiled, prissy archetype, delivered straight from the loins of a banker and a Manhattan socialite to the front steps of Yale. There was a building named for her grandfather, and she barely took the time to learn my name.
    Luke was the most outgoing of our little pod, while Diego and I found that we were content to spend our social time together. We talked and watched movies, and within a few months we were cuddling on his Ikea futon and taking shy walks in the cold. It was the first relationship for us both, and it lasted just over a year and a half. Most of the affection between us melted back into friendship soon after our breakup.
    While Luke and I moved back to L.A. after graduation, Diego stayed in New Haven, for law school. He put in three honest years of diligent study and came out with a shiny degree and a pretty wife. He landed a competitive job at Stokel without so much as a thumb’s weight of help from Luke or Mr. Cook. None of this changed him in the least.
    I took off my shoes and settled onto one end of his couch, slouching diagonally in the corner with my bag in my lap. He transferred his computer onto the coffee table and sat on the other side. He leaned toward me, forearms resting on his quads.
    â€œDid you get in touch with Luke?” I asked.
    â€œI tried him a couple times but he wasn’t picking up. He’s probably sleeping in.”
    â€œOn a day like this.” I palmed my forehead and rubbed my eyes. “Can I get some coffee?”
    â€œOf course.” He got up and brewed me a cup while I contemplated what and how to tell him. A few minutes later, he set a hot cup of black coffee on the table.
    â€œSo, what’s going on? Is everything alright?”
    â€œI’ve had a long day, and it’s not even nine. Where’s Jackie?”
    â€œAt the gym.”
    I took a long sip of coffee and organized my thoughts. “I met a co-worker of yours at the party last night, Lori Lim.”
    He opened his mouth a little and looked ready to smile on one side. “Oh.”
    â€œWhat can you tell me about her?”
    â€œNot much. She works at the firm, hasn’t been there too long. She’s young,