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“Oh, don't worry about that. She'll be out all evening tomorrow.”
“Okay, so just you and me then?”
“Just you and me,” her tone fell to a whisper and a lump formed in my throat.
“Make sure to set up some candles,” I said with a wink.
She chuckled flirtatiously. “As long as you bring some decent wine, Mr. Reed.”
“Done.”
We reached her front door, which she unlocked and opened. She turned to face me before she stepped into the apartment and our eyes locked and held for a few silent, intense moments. I had the feeling that if I have moved in for a kiss, she wouldn't resist. Instead, I broke eye contact, stepping back. “See you tomorrow evening. Around six?”
“Six is perfect. Goodnight, Emerson,” she replied with a soft smile. With that, she slipped inside and gently closed the door.
“Goodnight, Brooke,” I said.
I walked over to my place and let myself in. Chris was lying on the sofa in front of the TV.
“How you feeling, bro?” I asked. Chris had been sick for the past week. He said it was flu, but I was convinced it was his body reacting to all the excessive partying and lack of rest.
“Better than I was earlier,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “But still not great. How was your barbecue with Miss Bookworm from next door?”
I rolled my eyes. “Actually, it was really fun.”
“What did you guys talk about? Science and shit all afternoon? Maybe play with a chemistry set and a magnifying glass?” he asked with a condescending sneer.
“I talked to her dad about bikes, and we had a few beers,” I replied, not taking the bait. “And I ate enough to keep me going for at least a week. Anyways, man, I've gotta—”
“Study,” he interrupted, completing my sentence for me. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's all you ever do these days. Got your nose glued to those damn books. You ain't much fun anymore, E.”
That one cut a little. I suddenly felt kinda bad. After all, despite his faults, Chris was one of my oldest friends and I had been neglecting our friendship over the past few weeks. “You know what,” I replied, “you're right, dude. I'll leave the books for tomorrow. Let's do something tonight, just you and me.”
He looked up at me from the sofa with surprise coloring his expression. “What, seriously?”
“Yeah, bro. But not going out and getting wrecked, alright? You're just gonna feel worse if we do that,” I said.
“Agreed,” he replied, to my surprise.
“Alright. Um, how about a round of mini golf at the mall and maybe a few sessions in the batting cages after that? Nothing too strenuous, but it'll do you good to get out, get some fresh air and a little exercise.”
“Yeah, dude,” he said, smiling as he heaved himself up from the sofa. “That sounds great.”
“Cool. Get your wallet and let's roll!”
***
At seven a.m., my cellphone started buzzing next to my bed. If someone was calling me at that time on a Sunday morning, it either had to be a wrong number or an emergency. I looked at the number on my phone screen. It wasn’t a wrong number—it was my stepmother, Anne.
I rubbed my eyes, still groggy from the deep sleep I'd been in, and picked up the call. “Hello?” I mumbled.
“Emerson.”
“Hi, Anne, what's up? Is everything okay?”
I could tell by the tone of her voice that something was wrong. “It's your dad,” she said, cutting straight to the point.
Dread crept into my veins. “What's going on?”
