It’s been eight weeks, which I guess is a long time, although I refuse to see it that way. In the general scheme of things, what’s two months? Like, a millisecond. Okay, so it’s the longest we’ve ever been apart and, yeah, I’ve missed him, but I’ve known Rob my whole life. It’s really not a big deal seeing him again. It’s beena busy summer, and it’s not like Robert Monteg is my boyfriend or anything. God, even his name flashing through my mind like that makes me nauseous. I don’t get it. Itshouldn’t. We’re friends. He’s just the next-door neighbor.
“You guys are totally going to be the new senior couple,” Charlie says. “I decided.”
“Well, as long as you decided.” I tug on a blue skirt and slip a white tank top over my head. Charlie looks like she just came from the salon, and I permit myself one glance in the mirror. Just as I suspected, total bed-head.
Charlie tosses me a bra, and it hits me in the face. “Thanks.”
“Oh, come on,” she says. “It’sRob. You guys finally kissed last year, and then he goes away to be a camp counselor the entire torturous summer and writes you all of these love letters saying how much he cares about you, and you think now that he’s back, you guys aren’t going to get together? Please.”
Of course this is how Charlie sees it. The problem is, that isn’t exactly what happened. It’s not even close. Let me explain.
The “kiss” she’s talking about wasn’t really a kiss at all. And the fact that Rob and I went to junior prom together has absolutely no significance. We’re best friends, and neither of us had a date. Rob is handsome and smart, and I could easily list ten girls in our soon-to-be senior class who would have traded in their Gucci book bags to go to prom with Rob, but I think he’sscared of the female species. Well, actually, Charlie thinks that. It’s the only explanation, she says, for why he still doesn’t have a girlfriend. The only explanation besides the fact that he’s waiting for me (her words, not mine).
Anyway, we were on the dance floor and my hair got in my eyes, and Rob brushed it away and kissed my cheek. My hair is always getting in my eyes, and myfatherkisses my cheek, so I hardly think that counts as a make-out session. It just happened to be in public, to a slow song.
And those emails? Definitely not love notes. Example:
Hey Rosie,
Thanks for your letter. I’m glad to know Charlie is as crazy as ever, and thanks for the gum. I’m chewing it now.
Camp is good but I miss home. Sometimes I think it was a stupid idea coming back here this summer, especially after the end of school and everything. It’s good, I guess. I’m back with Bunk 13. Remember when we were here together? It seems like so long ago. I guess it was. Anyway, I really miss you. I guess that’s what I meant when I said I missed home. It’s not the same without you here. Last night I went out to the docks, andI thought about that time we swam there after lights-out. Do you remember that? The water was freezing. It was that summer our parents had to send us more sweatshirts. Anyway, I’m thinking about you and hope you’re doing well.
Rob
Charlie combed through that email and constructed a new one, which basically read:I love you and I’m so sorry I went to camp and my heart is breaking being away from you and let’s spend eternity together when I get back. Heart, Rob.
It makes sense that she likes history, since she’s constantly rewriting it.
Her fantasy is nice and all—it’s just not accurate. It’s the kind of thinking that gets girls into trouble all the time. And it’s not just Charlie. For instance, last year when Olivia was dating Taylor Simsburg (and by “dating,” I mean they made out twice and once was sort of in public at winter formal), he told her she looked nice in yellow, and she made him a playlist called “Here Comes the Sun.” She also started carrying around sunflowers for no good reason.
It’s not that most girls are delusional, per se. It’s just that they have this subtle ability to warp actual circumstances into something different. This, by the way, is because guys can barely be bothered to say what they actually want, let alone what theyare feeling. But that doesn’t change anything. If there’s one thing I’m really against, it is turning a blind eye to reality. What’s the point? Things are the way they are, and the best thing for us to do is to just acknowledge that. No one ever died from having too much information. It’s the misunderstandings that are the problem. And until Rob says or tells me otherwise, I have no reason to think he wants anything more than my friendship.
Except for this one thing that happened the night before he left. I haven’t told Charlie or Olivia, because I’m not sure how I feel about it myself. But I keep going over it in my mind. I’ve been going over it for two months.
We were sitting on the floor in my bedroom streaming an old episode ofFriends. This part isn’t particularly unusual. We do that all the time. Rob likes to escape the chaos of his house, where he has three little brothers. But there was something different about him that night. When Ross made a joke, Rob didn’t laugh, which was crazy, because Ross is his favorite character and Rob always laughs. He has this deep baritone laugh. It reminds me of Santa Claus.
We were watching the episode where Rachel moves out of the apartment she shares with Monica, and there’s this scene where Rachel tries to steal Monica’s candlesticks. Anyway, Rachel is grabbing them out of the box, and all of a sudden the television is on pause and Rob is staring at me in this really intense way he sometimes looks before a big basketball game.
“What’s up?” I asked. He didn’t answer. He just kept looking at me. He has these gigantic brown eyes that look like little teacups of hot chocolate. Not that that’s what I think about when I look at him. I don’t even like hot chocolate. I’m just trying to describe him accurately, here.
He didn’t say anything, he just sat there looking at me, and then he reached over and cupped my chin in his hand. He’d never done that to me before.Noboy had ever done that to me before. And then, with my chin still in his hand, he said, “God, you’re beautiful.” Just like that. “God, you’re beautiful.” Which is crazy because (a) it’s just that I don’t look particularly different than anybody else. I mean, I have brown eyes and brown hair and what Charlie calls a button nose, so if someone were describing me, you’d probably think you knew me and at the same time never be able to pick me out of a crowd. Except for the fact that I blush like crazy when I’m embarrassed—but that doesn’t exactly make me more desirable. So, (a), and (b) it’s just so cheesy. So I laughed, because it was the only conceivable thing I could think to do, and then he dropped his hand and unpausedFriends, and when we said good night, he hugged me but not any differently than he usually does, and then the next morning he was gone. I’ve been turning that moment over in my mind ever since. For two months now.
“What time did he get in, anyway?” Charlie asks as we plod our way downstairs.
“Dunno. Late.”
I want to say “Too late for me to see his light go on,” but I don’t. Charlie doesn’t know that sometimes I angle myself out my bedroom window just to see if Rob’s bedroom light is on. Our houses are separated by a barrier of trees, so you can’t see much, but his bedroom is directly diagonal to mine, and I can tell if he’s home because of the light. Most nights I wait for it to go on, to know he’s next door, right here. I think that’s one of the things I’ve missed most while he’s been gone. Seeing that light go on.
“I’m surprised he didn’t come over last night.” She wiggles her hips and laughs.
I shrug. “He just texted me.”
She spins on the stairs and grabs both my shoulders. “What exactly did he say?”
“?‘I’m back’?”
“I’m back,” Charlie repeats, looking thoughtful. Then she gets this snarky grin on her face. “I’m back, and ready for action.”
