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I get a tight feeling in my throat. “Right. Okay. Well, that’s good. I’m glad.”
“Yeah.” He nods like a bobblehead.
“I’m always going to be here to make sure you’re taken care of,” I say, because it’s true. “But it sure would be great if you valued your life as much as I do.”
He clears his throat. “I know. I get that. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t live your life because you’re afraid of the way I’m living mine. I realize the best way to make it easier is for me to take my diabetes seriously so you don’t have to worry as much.”
I blink a bunch of times and rub the back of my neck. “That’s really good to hear, Nolan.”
“I figure you’d need me to be around for dating advice eventually.” He grins.
I roll my eyes. “I already told you. I don’t need dating advice.”
“Oh really? Does that mean you’ve fixed things with Stevie?”
“Not yet. I’m about to, though, right after I clean this mess up.” I motion to myself and head for the hall, pausing to squeeze his shoulder as I pass. It’s as sentimental as I’m willing to get with him.
“I love you too, bro!” he calls after me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, but I smile as I drop my duffel on my bed. At least I have one less thing to be concerned about.
The cleanliness of my apartment is not my first priority, since we can talk at Stevie’s place, but the personal grooming and gift buying need to happen before the door knocking.
I shower, shave all the important parts, and head back out to buy nice things for the woman I want as my girlfriend, hoping that by the end of the day that’s exactly what she’ll be. I buy two hundred dollars’ worth of chocolate and an equally expensive bouquet of flowers. I’d stop and grab a pizza, because it’s kind of our thing, but I’d prefer not to have olive-pineapple breath in case we make out later. Also, my hands are already pretty full.
I step out onto the sidewalk, prepared to return to my apartment and have a long-overdue conversation with Stevie. The sun has disappeared behind the clouds, and it’s started to rain. Perfect. I didn’t have the foresight to bring an umbrella with me, so there’s no way to hide from the rain. I’m waiting at the crosswalk for the light to turn when my phone buzzes. I shift the giant bouquet of flowers and adjust the bag of chocolate that’s cutting off the circulation in my forearm so I can fish it out of my pocket.
The screen lights up with an alert that I have a new message from Stevie. Fucking finally. I thumb in the code, getting it wrong twice before I slow down and type it in correctly, and Stevie’s message finally pops up.
I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to respond. I’m ready to talk whenever you are.
I begin composing a response, asking if she’s home and telling her I’ll be there soon, when the light changes and people start moving. I trail behind the group because I’m not the best multitasker and I’m trying to avoid getting my eye poked out by an umbrella.
One second I’m holding my phone, about to press send, and the next some lunatic cyclist is weaving between me and an elderly lady. He almost takes her out but swerves at the last second and bumps me instead. My phone goes flying, skittering across the pavement, which would be fine, except a goddamn cab pulls forward and runs it over. Based on the crunch, I’m thinking I need to replace my phone.
I look up at the sky. “Are you serious with this shit?”
Obviously karma is an asshole like me, because the drizzle turns into a downpour.
The little old lady who almost got run over by the cyclist gives me a disapproving look and ambles across the street under the cover of her umbrella. I scoop up my ruined phone. The best plan is to go home and see if Stevie is there before I worry about replacing it. Besides, if the SIM card is still functioning, I’m sure I can slide it into one of the old phones in my kitchen junk drawer.
I’m soaked by the time I get to my apartment. The living room is empty, and there’s a note stuck to the door. I don’t bother to read it, since I have more pressing things to take care of. I drop everything on the coffee table and shuck off my wet clothes. I’m down to my boxer briefs when there’s a knock on the door.
I don’t consider my lack of clothing as I throw it open.
Stevie stands in the hallway, lavender hair spilling over her shoulders. She’s wearing a sports bra and a pair of those running shorts, her cheeks flushed like she’s been running, or something.
