I’m frustrated that they aren’t letting this go.I might have to go in for an extra shift at the newspaper.It’s a weak argument, and I’m sure they’ll see through it, but it’s notnottrue. There could be breaking news, and they might need me to come in to make the coffee so the journalists can cover it.
Fuck, that thought is depressing. I want to be the journalist covering the breaking news, not the invisible intern making sure Brad and his colleagues have enough French vanilla creamer.
I’ll let you know if the weekend frees up though, I tell them, before they can brainstorm yet another idea to get me to come spend the weekend with them. If they keep suggesting, at somepoint I might break down and agree, but I really need to put some distance between us so I don’t do something stupid like start to fall for them.
Little dots appear and then disappear a few times.
Finally, Lukas sends a reply.Okay.But if you do want a break, just text us and we can come get you.
And maybe we can all hang out next weekend?Elliot asks.We haven’t seen you all week, we miss you.
I can’t break a promise I don’t make, so I stay noncommittal, even though it makes me sad to think about going more than another week without seeing them.Yeah, maybe, I reply.If next week doesn’t throw too much work at me.
The guys are silent for the rest of the day, only sending me a goodnight text. I appreciate that they respect me prioritizing studying over socializing, but I find myself checking my phone off and on all day, hoping to see a text from them.
But every text that comes in—and there are a lot of them—is from my mother. Mostly worrying about Dad not telling her if he’ll be home on time tonight, and overanalyzing every two-word response he sends when she asks him something, when he bothers to respond at all. She’s planning all these things that she thinks will make him happy, even though I know for a fact she hates most of them. It makes me so sad and angry to see how she’s completely lost her sense of self to being the wife of a man who doesn’t even notice she exists.
And I’m annoyed with myself that every time my phone dings with a text, my heart leaps with the hope that it’ll be from one of the guys, and then falls when every time, it’s just my mom again. By the time Ronnie waltzes into the room to get ready to go out for the night, I’ve decided that I’m going to have to break things off with them. I already know they’re getting too attached to me, and I need to put an end to this before any of us gets hurt.
The next evening, Ronnie is getting ready for a date with Trevor, and I’m finishing up an assignment, when my phone goes wild with text notifications. I sigh, sure it’s going to be my mother again. She’s been calling and texting me all day, devastated that my dad didn’t want to go with her to see some action movie that he’ll love and she’ll hate. Instead, he left at 10:30 a.m. without saying goodbye or telling her where he’d be, who he’d be with, or when he’d be back.
But it’s not my mom. It’s the guys.
Lukas:Did you get enough homework done to have a movie break?
Felix:Did you get called into work?
Elliot:We could come pick you up.
Sebastian:We’re making pasta and homemade garlic bread.
The texts all come in one right after the other, and Ronnie glances over at me with an eyebrow raised. “Are those your not-boyfriend boyfriends?” she asks, leaning into the mirror to check her lipstick line. It’s perfect as always.
“They’re not my boyfriends,” I say for the billionth time, but my eyes are focused on my phone. I know I’m going to have to respond or they’ll just keep texting, but I really don’t want to.
“So you keep telling me.” Ronnie blows me a kiss as she grabs her purse. “All right, I’m heading out. Have fun with your guys tonight. Love ya!”
I don’t bother to correct her on her way out the door. If I tell her what I’ve decided to do, she’ll stay home and try to talk meout of it, and I don’t want to ruin her night like I’m about to ruin mine.
Sorry, I can’t tonight, I text back, then turn off the volume on my phone and place it screen-side down on my desk.
Grabbing the book we’re reading in my lit class, I climb into bed and curl up to read ahead. But I can’t focus on the words. All I can think about is how much more enjoyable it was to listen to Lukas and Felix read my schoolwork to me. Even if they did end up distracting me.
Or maybe I distracted them. Either way, it was truly magical. And if I go through with my plan, I’ll never experience that again.
After fifteen minutes, I give up and check my phone.
They’ve sent pictures of themselves holding up plates of delicious-looking pasta. My stomach growls, reminding me that I skipped dinner tonight because I didn’t want to go to the cafeteria alone.
Looks yummy, I type. Both the pasta and the guys.
I waver, willing myself to put the phone down so I don’t give in and ask them to come pick me up. And I know they would. They’d probably just abandon their meal and jump right in the car.
Well, Elliot would probably make them wrap their plates and put all the leftovers in containers first, but then they’d be right on their way.
But I’m going to hold strong. I hit send, then put the phone in my desk drawer where I can’t see it and pull my laptop into bed with me to work on the last story in the series I’m working on for class. If I’m going to be thinking about them anyway, I might as do the one last thing on my plate that involves them so I can wipe the slate clean and move on with my life.
I pour every bit of affection I have for them onto the page. My appreciation for sports like speedcubing for giving a home andfamily to these brilliant people who might not be as comfortable in mainstream society, yet once they’re given the space and friends they need, they absolutely thrive.
