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“Win?” I asked, swiveling in my chair. “It’s bottom of the ninth and you’re about to strike out?”
“No, but…”
“Forget what she said about keeping things casual for a sec. What do you want? Do you want to get serious with her? Do you want to convince her to take the plunge? Because if so, you’re going to have to put some effort into it.”
“I’m taking her to that Dickinson museum, like you suggested. That’s something, right?”
“It’s a start. But man, just talk to her.”
“I do but then I feel all this pressure to say something smart or meaningful, instead of just…going with the flow.” Connor shot me a look. “She loved those texts—”
“Forget it.”
He sighed. “You’ve completely abandoned me.”
For my sanity, yes.
“Figure it out,” I said. “You have a lot to offer, man. Can’t you dig a little and find something deeper to talk about?”
“I do. All the time. I tell her she’s pretty, she’s smart. When she starts talking about her goals, I tell her how ambitious she is—”
“She knows that already,” I said. “She doesn’t need compliments, she needs authenticity.”
He shrugged and sipped his Monster drink. “I don’t know. I guess I’m used to things being easier with girls.”
“Do you want to date girls that are easier for you or do you want to date Autumn? What do you want?”
Connor’s fingers tapped the side of the drink can. “I’ve never had a real relationship, you know? She’s my first shot at something serious and I think that’s what I want.” He shot me a grin. “And I want to sleep with her.”
I clenched my teeth, then quickly schooled my face to neutral, but not quick enough.
“Whoa, what was that? You looked like you were about to murder me.” Connor laughed and nudged my shoulder. “What’s with you, anyway? You’ve been even more…you lately, with your trademark Turner charm. And none of your usual parade of girls has passed through this way. What gives?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m busy. Doing your homework, by the way.”
I held up a printed page of the Macro-Econ essay I wrote for him. My words. His name at the top. Just like old times.
“Point taken,” Connor said with a laugh. He pushed off the counter and headed for the couch. “Anyway. We’re going to that Emily Dickinson museum like you suggested. That should count for something.”
I rolled my eyes. Counting, winning, keeping score… Connor belonged on the baseball field, not in a poet’s ancestral home. But I was done holding his hand with Autumn.
Or so I kept telling myself.
I refused to write any more texts for him, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut with advice. The bitch of it all was I wanted both of them to be happy. I wasn’t counseling Connor just for his sake, but for Autumn’s too.
“Don’t be hard on yourself,” I said. “She needs someone like you to make her laugh and feel good.”
Connor sniffed from the couch. “She also needs the poetry and deep conversations, and saying the right thing at the right time. All that shit I’m not good at. I’m telling you, Wes, if you and I merged into one person, we’d be Autumn’s perfect guy.”
I stared as the truth of it slammed me in the chest. How often had I wished I had Connor’s easy-going humor? His open, friendly demeanor that drew people in, instead of my repellant brand of derision and snark.
But repelling was better than losing. That was my sad truth, constructed around me like an exoskeleton of armor I couldn’t take off.
“I’m going for a run,” I said.
“Cool.” Connor yawned, stretched, and reached for his Xbox controller. “I’ll order pizza later.”
I went out without another word, to run my stupid infatuation with Autumn out of me. But like the words on the page, there was always more.
