I imagine picking up and telling him I can’t hang out with him anymore, but to my own ear, it sounds more like a punishment rather than a choice, and not for the first time, I question the wisdom behind cutting him off cold turkey.
Maybe it would be better if I eased into it? Weaned myself off him like a mother weans a babe from her milk? For as long as I can remember we’ve been each other’s life source, our whole world, so it stands to reason we might need an adjustment period of lesser interaction before we take that final leap from best friends who do everything together to mere acquaintances.
I chew on my lip as I stare at the ringing phone.
I could ignore it. Again. It’s what I should do.
But then I imagine Brandon and the genuine hurt in his eyes when I refuse another one of his calls, and it breaks through my resolve like a hole punch.
My thumb hovers over the screen as I contemplate whether easing him into this is better than this cruel silence, and before I can overthink it, I swipe to answer.
“Hello?” My voice comes out smaller than intended, unsure of what kind of reception I’ll get after a week of radio silence.
“Tate, are you okay?” His voice is rough like gravel, yet it feels like a salve to a wound.
“Why would I not be okay?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
“Uh, maybe because I haven’t heard from you in a week. Shit, Tate, where the hell have you been?” Brandon’s voice cuts through the line, sharp with frustration and something else—worry. “I thought something had happened to you.”
I wince, sticky with guilt. “I’m fine, I just—I’ve been really busy lately between Ethan and school . . .” I trail off, unsure of what else to say, knowing it’s a shit excuse.
“Too busy to answer a text? To let me know you’re alive?” The hurt in his voice makes my stomach clench. “I was about to show up at your dorm with campus security.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and I mean it. “Things have been hectic.”
He sighs, and I can picture him running his hand through his hair the way he does when he’s trying to calm down. “Look, let’s grab dinner tonight. The usual place? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”
My throat tightens. “I can’t tonight. I have a paper due tomorrow that I haven’t started,” I lie.
“What about this weekend? We play Alabama at home. We could hang out after the game,” he says, and the hope in his voice is almost my undoing.
“I don’t think so. I need to make a bunch of reels and review the book I just read. Plus, Ethan’s supposed to visit . . .”
Silence stretches over the line, and I start to think we’ve been disconnected before he finally says, “Right. Of course.” There’s a bitter edge to his voice; one I don’t recognize. “Well, I’ll let you go. Just let me know if you figure out a time when you can pencil me into your busy schedule.”
“Brandon, don’t say it like that.”
“No, it’s cool. I totally get it,” he says, and he sounds so dejected, I want to reach through the line and hug him. “I’ll let you go, so you can get back to work.”
I close my eyes, willing myself to stay strong when I blurt, “Wait!”
I blink my eyes open, wondering what the hell I’m doing when I add, “I actually have a couple hours free right now, and you have that gap before your afternoon sports psych class, right?”
“Yeah,” he says, his voice cautious but with an undercurrent of relief.
“Want to meet me at Java?”
The line goes quiet, and I hold my breath, already regretting my impulsiveness.
But one cup of coffee won’t hurt, right? It’s public, quick, and certainly better than this painful cold turkey approach that’s been softly killing me.
“Sure,” he says, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Be there in fifteen?”
“Great,” I say, trying to sound casual despite the way my heart hammers against my ribs. “See you there.”
I hang up and press my phone against my forehead, eyes squeezed shut. What am I doing?
One coffee. That’s all this is. A chance to explain things properly instead of ghosting him like some heartless monster.
