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They came right up to our table and Sophia leapt up to greet them, kissing Josh and hugging Grant.
I rose shakily to my feet, assuming I too needed to act like a decent human being, but I shouldn’t have bothered. Josh, of course, gave me a side hug and a warm smile, but Grant played it like I wasn’t even there. He was going to look straight through me. No hi, no nothing. I was beginning to wonder if maybe we’d jumped into different dimensions. Like hello, you can see me, right?
His attitude got to me that day. I couldn’t help myself.
“Hi, Grant,” I said, convincing myself I was being the bigger person when in reality, I was trying to needle him a little bit. I’m not perfect, okay?
Grant still said nothing, just looked at Josh and shrugged as if to say, What do you want from me, man?
It got to be so awkward that Josh made a joke. “Grant, you remember Tate? The girl you won’t shut up about?”
Oh god.
If he was trying to help the situation, he was going about it the exact wrong way. That was as helpful as dousing us both in kerosene and striking a match.
Grant’s intimidating gaze finally fell on me, and my knees nearly gave out from underneath me.
“Tate. Riiiight,” he said, rocking back on his heels. He had the audacity to narrow his eyes as if he was having a hard time placing me.
My hackles immediately went up. I wanted to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze. I wanted to scrape my fingers down his chest. I wanted to pound my fists against him and and and…realization dawned then.
This is what I’ve been trying to avoid all along, this overwhelming response he draws out of me for better or worse. I’ve never met anyone in my entire life who had such possession of my good sense. Passion is all well and good, but it’s scary too. I’m not trying to get hauled down to the police station on a random weekday afternoon just because I can’t keep my hands to myself. Can you imagine?
So instead of engaging, I looked beyond him, over at Josh, and smiled my most winning smile—we’re talking no-holds-barred, dimples and all—as I wished him good luck on the road.
“I hope you have a great time in Tampa.” Then my gaze flicked to his friend. “Grant, you can go to hell.”
Okay, so maybe I engaged a little.
And with that, I dutifully retook my seat, picked up my sandwich, and resumed eating as if I wasn’t a hair’s breadth away from crying.
That was last week. At this point, everyone in our group has been thoroughly filled in on the situation. Sophia and Daphne know not to bring up Grant with me, which is good because everyone’s coming over to the apartment tonight to hang out for the first time in a while. We’re cooking dinner and doing the usual thing, only now, Michael’s invited. I’m so excited I spent two hours wallowing on my bed this afternoon, near tears. Woo! Yay! That’s normal, right?
It’s actually so very annoying that Grant has the ability to make me feel like this without actually existing in my day-to-day life. It’s not like I’m stalking him on Instagram (much) or purposefully seeking him out during the Pinstripes games (mostly), but he’s still there in the periphery, just foreboding enough to make my life feel like a poorly constructed house of cards.
I mask all this worry with a killer outfit and some makeup. There is nothing a good lipstick shade can’t fix. As Jay-Z would say, Boy problems? I feel bad for you, son. I got 99 problems but a good Maybelline shade ain’t one.
I know Grant is coming tonight because I’ve talked about it with Sophia and Daphne. Sure he’s newer to our friend group, but he’s concretely become “one of the guys” now. And while it would be gentlemanly and kind and arguably the right thing to do, he isn’t going to avoid coming around just to save me the trouble of having to see him.
Daphne doesn’t even feel sorry for me.
“Hello, have you forgotten you’re not the only one in this predicament? I have to be around Dustin all the time for the sake of the group. Suck it up, buttercup.”
She has a point there…
Daphne and Dustin have existed in this friend group together since its inception, so maybe there’s hope for me yet.
Tonight’s menu consists of steak fajitas and all the toppings: queso, guacamole, pico de gallo. I’m leading the charge for once because growing up in Texas, I ate Mexican food once a week, minimum. I’ve had the meat marinating in the fridge since last night, and Chloe brought me some homemade tortillas earlier today because she’s an actual angel.
