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“Fuck you.” I flip him the middle finger.
“I’m almost eighteen,” Ameline says, quick to defend herself.
“I was wondering if you wanted to do something but . . .” He looks at Ameline again. “But it seems like you’re busy. With your roommate’s sister.”
Leave it to Archer to make this sound dubious and dirty.
“Oh, he’s not busy at all,” Ameline says, either not understanding what he’s trying to insinuate or ignoring him. “You can take him. There’ll be more cookies for me.”
Arch glances at her, his eyes lighting up. “You’re baking?”
I try to divert his attention. “Where’s Piper?” I ask, hoping the mention of his girlfriend might encourage him to leave.
“In New York,” he replies nonchalantly, already making himself at home by washing his hands at the sink.
“Well, then, shouldn’t you be on your way there?” I suggest, almost pushing him out the door.
He shakes his head. “Nope. I’m heading back tomorrow morning after having brunch with my family. So, it’s up to you to keep me entertained before I die of boredom.”
So much for him leaving quickly. With Piper out of town and a family brunch not until tomorrow, Archer is clearly in no rush. I’ll have to deal with him for the time being and hope he doesn’t adopt Ameline, too.
* * *
It’s around midnight when Ameline goes to bed. Archer and I head to the roof of the apartment building with a couple of beers.
“So . . . You’re dating a high schooler, huh?” Archer asks, his tone teasing but probing.
I shoot him a glare, my grip tightening around the glass bottle’s neck. “We’re not dating. I already told you?—”
He waves off my protest with a dismissive hand. “Save that bullshit for someone else, man. You like her, but you wouldn’t dare to date her because that’d mean moving on from Leslie.”
Archer’s words are like a punch to the gut. He’s been on my case about moving on for a while now. Leslie died four years ago, and here I am, still avoiding anything that resembles an emotional connection. I take a sip of my beer, looking out at the city lights desperately, trying to steer my thoughts away from this conversation. Sure, Ameline is beautiful. Spending time with her has become the highlight of my weekend. But the reality is I can’t be anything more than an acquaintance to her. Not even her friend.
The silence stretches between us, filled only by the distant hum of the few cars driving by at this time of night.
“This calls for an intervention,” Archer declares.
“You have to stop pushing the subject,” I warn him, a note of irritation creeping into my voice.
Archer leans forward, his playful demeanor vanishing as he fixes me with a serious look. The intensity in his eyes, the slight furrow of his brow, and the way he momentarily rests his hand over mine. “I’m doing it because we’re concerned about you.”
I can’t help but push back, though it pains me to even think it. “What would you do if Piper died?” I knock on the table which I hope is made out of wood, immediately regretting the words but needing him to understand.
Archer’s reaction is quick and intense. “Shut the fuck up,” he roars, his face contorting with anger.
“Exactly,” I reply quietly, but I wonder if it’s truly the same. Archer and Piper, they’ve been inseparable since we were kids. His love for her is something deep, something that started the moment they met when we were all toddlers.
“It’d be the same if you died. She wouldn’t be able to move on,” I add, my voice low. I’m trying to make him see my point, hoping he can understand why I can’t just ‘move on’ as he suggests.
He frowns, his expression shifting to something earnest, almost pained. “No. If I die, I want her to find someone else.” His gaze then fixes on me, intense and imploring, as if he’s entrusting me with a solemn responsibility. “Promise me, Gabe. If anything happens to me, you’ll help her move on.”
“What?” The question slips out, tinged with confusion. Inside, my thoughts are racing, a tumult of emotions swirling. Why is he asking this of me? The request feels heavy, like a weight being placed on my shoulders.
“Promise me, Gabe,” he repeats, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.
And I do promise, because what else can I say in a moment like this? But as I give my word, it feels like I’m sealing a pact, the gravity of it sinking in. I wish we’d never started this conversation. The thought of losing someone else, the fear of experiencing that kind of pain again, is almost too much to bear. And maybe that’s the root of it all—why I keep my distance, why I’m so cautious with my heart. The memory of the agony from four years ago clings to my soul, gripping like a cold ghost. Never again, I promised myself then, and I do now. I can’t go through that heartbreak again.
The thought of something happening to Ameline unsettles me, but I instantly push it away. She’s nothing to me.
