I’msurprised there isn’t smoke coming out of my ears. It was an overwhelming day at work, college kids who can’t stay awake for their lectures rushing in to get coffee at 3pm, and Grant has the nerve to say more than five words to me.
When Kam clocked in ten minutes ago, I was thankful to leave the space behind the counter. I’m jealous of him now.Thereis better thanhere. Straining a smile through my irritation while staring at a random guy, because Grant blindsided me.
“Hello, Liliana.” Random guy’s voice is deep and emotionless, mirroring the blank expression of his face.
He doesn’t say anything else, and I’m asking myself why Grant needs me to help navigate around a guy who doesn’t talk.
“Well, now she’s off her shift, guess we should be working on our assignment,” Grant states casually. I feel the heat of a hand hover over my shoulder, but as soon as it appears, it’s gone again.
I take that as a sign he can feel the anger rolling off me.
They exchange a series of clipped sentences I don’t bother paying attention to—something about a dinner and a dad—before the taller, blonde guy walks away.
My instinct is to leave, too, but the sight of Grant’s art textbook catches in my peripherals.
I want to go home, curl into my pajamas, and commit myself to a night of reality television, but what I need is some guidance for my assignment. It’s the only reason I agreed to help Grant. Amongst the resentment and bitterness, there was one emotion I felt more than anything else today. Desperation.
I’ll blame desperation for the vivid memory of Kam pointing out Grant’s art textbook, and the hours I spent asking myself if it might help. And I’ll blame Kam for mentioning the textbook another two times since that first day. Neither of us have been able to forget about it.
I’m rationalizing my train of thought while climbing into a window seat, watching Grant as he throws glares at the blonde guy heading to the counter.
He sighs and leans closer to me. “Thank you so much for that. You don’t know how badly I needed him off my back.”
I almost tell him I couldn’t care less but can’t find the energy. There’s barely enough for me to pick up my pride to continue talking to him.
“Can we get into my part of the deal now?”
Grant creates distance like he’s been burnt, body shifting away from mine. It’s the first ordinary reaction he’s had all day.
He throws another glance behind his shoulders before straightening in his seat. “Yeah, sure, as soon as he leaves.”
I breathe out my irritation. “Who is he and why am I doing this?”
I’m not sure if I’m asking him, or asking myself, but my patience is waning. I scan over the textbook again, the wordsStudying Romanticismin large, bold letters. A painting of two lovers trapped in an embrace taking up the background.
I dig my palms into denim of my jeans. If Kam is onto something with this, and it leads to substance with my writing, I’ll owe him for the rest of my life. I can be patient enough to figure this out.
“He’s nobody,” Grant says, fidgeting in his seat.
“He has to be somebody if you’re on edge like this.”
This guy isn’t the Grant I used to analyze in my thoughts every day or tell Rosie every detail about. I remind myself that bubble’s been popped. Still, it’s strange to see his calm demeanor change, Grant shifting side to side and not-so-subtly checking over his shoulder every fifteen seconds.
He shakes his head and repeats, “He’s nobody.”
When we first met, I craved to know everything about Grant. Every part of his life he shared was like opening a present—the mystery and excitement of something shiny and new.
A small section of my brain reminisces on those feelings, despite how often I tell it not to. It comes alive now, asking to push Grant for more information, but I refuse to give in.
I set my back straight and tilt my head away. He can have those secrets now.
“Fine. Nobody.”
Before I can mention my part of the deal again, he turns to me. “What did I do?”
My anger multiplies. He’s forgotten me, and our history, again. This is why I don’t let myself assume he’s the same man I met over a year ago.
Shaking my head, I start throwing my tote bag over my shoulder.
