26
Lennon
Connorisdressedandready. He’s wearing white pants and the crochet top he was wearing the day I moved in. His hair is a little neater than it usually is, and he took three or four more minutes in the bathroom than usual. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“‘It’involves leaving the house and being with people I don’t know,” I reply with a heavy sigh. “Fun’s not exactly the word I’d use to describe it.”
“Fine,” he concedes. “Come, it’ll begoodfor you. Plus, you can meet Georgie and Tank.” Tank is the jock. Real name, Levi Millen. I don’t need to meet him to know I don’t like him. “Just think, if you don’t come out to meet them, I’m going to have to have them over for dinner or something, so I can introduce you. Otherwise, I’ll drive you insane talking about them when you don’t know them. I know I will, and I’m sorry about it, but they’re my best friends. I can’t not talk about them.”
I cast my gaze upward huffily.
I wish I had it in me to say no and mean it. The thing is, I’ve had no luck at all trying to work out who Connor has slept with based on his social media feeds. I’ve spent hours working on it to no avail. He loves a group photo. Absolutely loves it. Doesn’t give a shit that it makes it hard for the casual observer to know what’s going on in his love life.
“’Kay,” I say, “but if I don’t like it, I’m coming home. I mean it. I’m not staying if I don’t vibe with the vibe.”
“Oh, relax. You’ll vibe with the vibe. It’ll be a good vibe. Why wouldn’t you vibe with a good vibe when you’re a good vibe?”
He’s taking the piss out of me. “Shut up.” I laugh.
“D’you mind if we wait an hour or so before we head out? I need to take my meds before I go.”
He takes them twice a day. At seven-thirty in the morning and seven-thirty in the evening. Every twelve hours, for the rest of his life.
To avoid standing around, waiting for the hour to pass, and being forced to watch Connor swallow fistfuls of tablets while I try not to look too interested or too uninterested, I take a long shower and deliberate heavily over what to wear.
It’s been so long since I’ve gone out that I can’t remember what I used to wear. Black. I think I wore a lot of black. I search my wardrobe and find very little that fits the description. Not sure how that happened. Must have something to do with the fucking housing department. In the end, I opt for a pair of jeans and a gray marle tank. I find a couple of silver chains I used to wear a lot in my underwear drawer. One is plain, and the other has a small St. Christopher medallion on it. I put them on, as well as a narrow brass wrist cuff I stole from Caroline years ago.
I look all right. Passable in a way that’s not so preppy it makes me angry.
It’s been an abnormally warm day for October, but it’s likely to be cold later, so I riffle around in the back of my closet and findan old flannel shirt I used to wear all the time hanging behind my work shirt.
I don’t remember packing it when I left home, and I don’t remember Anna hanging it up.
I pull it off the hanger and examine it. The fabric is worn soft at the elbows with bobbles on the cuffs. It smells like a different time. A different version of me. I tie it around my waist, knotting the sleeves twice below my belt buckle, taking care to keep the garment as far from my face as possible as I do it. Then I shove my feet into a scuffed pair of Vans and walk out of my room before I have time to overthink them.
Connor’s cheeks go pink when he sees me. A soft flush that appears beneath a layer or two of translucent skin. His eyes noticeably widen, and when he opens his mouth to speak, he pauses as though he’s unsure or self-conscious.
“May I compliment you on your appearance?” he asks.
I roll my eyes and shake and nod my head at the same time. It’s the most ridiculous question I’ve ever heard.
I hate that he’s such a green flag. Fuck, it’s annoying, and more than that, Ihatethat there’s a chance I like it more than I hate it. “Sure.”
His smile is nothing likeyou’re home. It’s a too-big beam that makes his chin dip. He looks down and makes a soft sound. When he looks up, he’s almost back to his normal self, and there’s a whisper of amusement in his eyes, maybe even a hint of daring.
“You look good, Lennon,” he says with a shithead grin.
I laugh without meaning to. Without expecting to. “That’s it? That’s what you came up with after making a whole big thing of asking for my consent to compliment me?”
“Yeah.” His left shoulder rises and curls toward me in an off-hand shrug that’s unexpectedly appealing. “But, but onlybecause you took my breath away and I haven’t fully recovered yet.”
I laugh again, and this time I do mean to. “You’re an idiot, d’you know that?”
“Honestly, no. I had no idea I was an idiot. People usually say what a great guy I am, and how I’m so easy to get along w…”
He prattles on as he picks his keys out of a small bowl on the kitchen counter and heads to the door.
“Hey, idiot…” I say when we’re outside the apartment and he has his key in the lock, “You look good too.” He’s as surprised as I am to hear it. And he’s definitely happier than I am that I said it. We take the stairs instead of the elevator and he keeps looking over at me as we make our descent. “What?I’m allowed to dabble in nontoxic masculinity if I want.”
