Texting him was a bad idea. I thought telling someone how lonely this week has been would make me feel better, but I feel infinitely lonelier now.
And infinitely more embarrassed.
Griffin:Do you wanna talk about it?
Good question. Do I?
Before I can decide if I actually want to spill the whole mortifying story, he sends another text.
Griffin:You could come over. Anytime. Always.
Griffin:I know it’s been awhile, but I don’t like that you’re lonely.
Griffin:We don’t even have to talk. I can just be a warm body in the room.
Griffin:If you want, no pressure. But I’m here for you if you want me to be.
Again, do I? Want him to be there for me?
Before I can think better of it, I send a text I never thought I’d be sending again.
Ellie:Sure, that sounds nice.
Ellie:Be there in twenty.
This is either going to be the best thing to happen to me this week, or the crap cherry on topof a shit sundae.
Leaving no room to talk myself out of it, I hastily slip on shoes and grab my keys.
Even though I’ve never driven myself to Griffin’s, my brain goes on autopilot. I think I’d know the way to his house blindfolded and spun around, like a party goer ready to obliterate a piñata.
I hope this works out better for me than it does for the piñata.
Chapter 22
Griffin
November, Age 18
Eleanor is coming to my house. For real.
I think.
I’ve read her last text at least thirty times, searching foranyother possible meaning behind “be there in twenty.” Honest to God, I’ve thought of everything. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I really can’t come up with any other explanation. She’s actually coming over.
Part of me feels guilty—like maybe I’m taking advantage of her, even if I don’t mean to. She’s obviously had an awful week. Am I being selfish, inviting her over when she’s vulnerable?
The other, bigger part of me? He’s just excited to breathe the same air as her again. I feel like I haven’t taken a full breath since the wind got knocked out of me when everything went sideways. Over a cliff. On fire.
I know it’s not rational to be so wrapped up in this girl. We were only really friends for a few months–even if it feels like life didn’t really exist before her.
The thought of her being lonely, even for a second, absolutely guts me. God knows I’ve been lonely too. I feel a flicker of hope spark in my chest–maybe when we’re together again, it’ll be like no time has passed and neither of us will have to be lonely again. Maybe she’s the solution to my lonely. And hopefully, I can be hers.
Great, a handful of texts and I’m already back to waxing poetic.
I pace up and down the entryway, anxious as hell for her to get here. I’m also trying to figure out a way to tell her my situation without expanding on it–she’s inevitably going to ask where my parents are, but tonight is aboutherfeelings. My sob story can wait for next time.
Please let there be a next time.
