Reed watches me gulp the water, then fills it up again when I’m done.
And as I sit there watching Reed take out ingredients, all I can think about is the one person I wish to hell I could call.
“I miss her,” I say, fumbling with my cup. “My mom.”
Reed cracks a few eggs into a bowl. “You never really mention her.”
“Are you making your hangover French toast?” I ask him as I see the block of brioche bread.
He smiles through his shaggy hair. “Yeah. You always liked it,” he replies, whisking his eggs. “What do you miss about your mom?”
I sigh and rest my cheek on my fist, then grab the fidget pop toy he brought and begin pressing in the circles with my other hand. “I miss being able to tell her that she worries too much,” I say. “I miss being able to call and tell her I’m sorry. Growing up, she protected me from so much pain, but at the same time, she let me experience it, you know? I miss being able to tell her things and not getting judged for it or telling her something that happened and her not thinking she has to jump into action to fix it. I miss her just being there.”
“Do you want to call my mom?” he asks, cutting into the center of the bread. “You know she loves you. She’d do all those things, especially the letting you figure it out on your own part. Can’t even count how many times I told her things and she was just like ‘Okay, what are you going to do about it?’”
I huff. “It’s a thought, definitely,” I say. “Maybe later?”
His smile broadens, and he nods. “Definitely later.”
I take another sip of my water. “So… what’s the latest with your Summerween Music Fest idea?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t mind me avoiding why he’s here.
Although judging by the look he gives me, he knows I’m deflecting.
“That’s what you want to talk about?” he asks.
“For now.” I push the vodka drink away and point to the second airplane bottle atop the fridge. “Pour those down the drain for me?”
He nods and gets rid of them without any comment.
“So I have a meeting with Heartless next week,” he says about the festival. “Apparently there are a lot of logistics.”
“I mean, yeah. You’ve seen what happens when people put shit together on a whim.” I make an explosion noise with my mouth, and he chuckles.
“Yeah, I guess. That was why they wanted to plan early. Venue shouldn’t be a huge issue if we go with one already set up to handle that kind of crowd.”
“It’s scheduled for next July, right?” I ask.
He nods. “We have ten months to get it together.” He begins cutting a couple of bananas into circles, then coating them with a little lemon and sugar, and as he’s mixing, he says, “So… do you want to talk about it?”
I drink more water. “You didn’t happen to bring soda, did you?”
Reaching into the bag, he brings out a pack of orange cans. I take one from the plastic casing and pour it into my empty cup.
“I’ve been fucking my stalker,” I say.
Reed drops his spoon into the bowl.
Still, he doesn’t reply. He just looks at me with a confused expression, and I let the information settle within him as the soda fizz dies down in my cup.
“You think I’m crazy,” I eventually say.
For a moment longer, he doesn’t speak, and I know he’s trying to figure it out, just as any person might.
“Why are you telling me?” he eventually asks.
I toy with my hands for a beat. “Had I told Zeb, he would have asked if I’d been drugged or worse, if it wasn’t consensual. Darcy would have said I was sabotaging myself. And Andi… she has enough going on without me adding to it.”
“I’m your fourth choice,” he says. “That’s cool. I’m cool with that,” he adds, and I chuckle at the smile on his face. He begins stuffing the large blocks of brioche, this time avoiding my eyes.
