“You’re saying I can’t want to go to college and hang out with my best friend—”
“Of course not, but.” I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “You’ll always have me, Matt. I promise I’m not going anywhere. But between you looking out for me and me never being independent, it felt like a moment where just a little bit of space may have done us both some good. I’m so sorry I made you think I didn’t want to be near you.”
Matt sniffed again, and everything in him seemed to relax in the span of one inhale. “So ... what you’re saying ... is that I’m a big sad whiny baby.”
“That is not at all what I said, but to be fair only one of us is covered in snot right now.”
He choked out a laugh. “Being mad is so exhausting; you may not have been kidding about that ulcer.”
I smiled. “I really am sorry. Are we okay?”
“Fuck you. Yeah, we’re good, but I miss my brother. When can you get back here to visit?”
“Soon,” I promised. “Thanks for talking to me.”
“Guess I have to retract what I said about that psychology major. I am not easily emotionally cracked like a gourd.”
“That is an absolute lie, and Delia will agree with me.”
We both reassured each other that we were sorry and we were okay and nothing would change that, and afterward, I sat on my bed, buzzing with overwhelmed relief.
I shot off a text to Robin, telling him that he was right, that it all worked out, but I didn’t hear anything in response. I fought the urge to double-text to see if he was okay. He was probably just doing last-minute play cramming—I couldn’t imagine how busy the cast must be this close to opening night.
Worst-case scenario I would see him at the show.
August 12th
OperationTry Meeting Again Because for Some Reason It Hasn’t Worked so Far and We’re Running Out of Time Oh My Godwas a go, and I resolved to not sit on the living room couch like I was waiting for my prom date. Armand wouldn’t be headed home until after his class, which meant that I had about three hours to kill.
We had agreed to meet around dinner, and the likelihood that he’d eaten anything of substance during the day was approximately zero, so in a burst of inspiration I rummaged through the fridge and decided to make eggplant lasagna.
It was always a lengthy endeavor, but well worth the effort. There was no better comfort food, and it would certainly be better than hot pockets or whatever Armand would otherwise eat for dinner. I was anxious, my nerves alight at the prospect of seeing Armand in person, of having him seeme, but I took comfort in the process of chopping vegetables and administering seasonings and, huh, we could actually do with a cute little spring salad as an appetizer. I could whip up a vinaigrette—
It was approaching seven—our designated meeting time—and the lasagna was nearing perfection. In my cooking haze, I had failed to properly set the table. I threw on one of the tablecloths I’d purchased the moment we’d rescheduled post my car breaking down. Elegant embroidered napkins? Check. A solid first two courses with the understanding that Armand had volunteered the dessert? Check. Should there be candles?
Nope, too much, Barclay. Walk it back.
In putting the finishing touches on everything, I glanced at the clock, which showed that it was now seven fifteen. No cause for concern yet, but as a pre-emptive measure, I shot Armand a quick text.
Lucas:hey, where are you
For the next almost-twenty minutes I paced between the kitchen and living room in a nervous purgatory. A terrible thought occurred to me, which was that he’d forgotten. A split second later an evenmoreterrible thought occurred, which was that he’d remembered but had decided to stand me up. Leave me pacing a kitchen full of food like an absolute idiot.
I ventured another text:you okay?
My stomach was twisting, and some of it was from the delicious smell of freshly baked lasagna that was mocking me from the glass serving tray. But mostly it was the growing certainty that I was the butt of a joke, that Armand and Robin were laughing right now, talking about how Armand had only agreed to meet me out of pity—
It was eight o’clock.
Lucas:OH MY GOD ARE YOU DEAD
This time I only needed to pace for ten minutes before my phone buzzed. I opened the text so fast I nearly dropped it.
Armand:God I’m so sorry
Armand:Should have texted sooner. Sorry. Got ambushed by nerds.
Armand:People who read the comic. I hate them.
