I bring the back of my hand to my cheek, trying to cool and comfort myself. I can barely make out what Calvin is saying.
“I got called into work, but I’ll be off at seven. Can I call you after my shift is done? Or I can come over?” Calvin is walking, his voice fast and jostled by the sound of movement.
“Sure, yeah.” I pull the phone away and stare at the screen with a grimace. Imayhave agreed to a full-blown date instead of a call while my thoughts were wrapped up somewhere in the dining room.
“Sweet. I’ll see you tonight then. I’ll bring some food. Text me what you’d like later.”
Shit, shit, shit.Too late to back out now. “Okay, see you later.”
I hang up and push the phone to my temple. What did I agree to? Calvin is nice, sure. He is cute. But I don’t feel tension pulling in my belly when I look at him.I don’t feel edible.
Also, how do you tell someone you won’t date them because you might have plans four months from now? You can’t. I push open the bathroom door the same moment Warren’s shuts across the hall. I knock on his door.
“Occupied,” he responds from inside.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
“Can you wait? I’m changing. Or you can come see for yourself.”
I lean back against the wall next to his door, head tilted up to the ceiling, willing myself to calm down. As if all my self-restraint is going towards not taking a peek at his changing body, my rambling begins.
“Calvin is coming over later. I didn’t mean to agree to it, but I sorta did. He’s nice enough, right? Cute, I think. Do you think? No, sorry. Well, I shouldn’t presume. Maybe you do think he’s cute—that’s cool with me. That isn’t my business, sorry… I’m not sure if it’s a date or not. But for me, it’s never been the way it is in the movies. You know, people go out to dinner or a movie, something cute—or sometimes both… then they walk home holding hands. I’ve never done that. It’s always takeout at someone’s place. I suppose I might not go out much anymore. Now that I have Willow, I mean. I’ve never been asked out on a real date, before today that is, when you… did you mean a date like that? Or—” Warren’s door swings open.
He looks at me with widened eyes and a tense, shifting jaw. “Chloe?”
“Hmm?” My eyes zone out over his shoulder at the view of his bed.I was so close to being in it.
“Take a breath.”
“Sorry…”Too much, Chloe. Always too much.
“Don’t be.” Warren licks his top teeth with lips closed. He’s looking towards me but not at me. “Look, it was a good kiss—no denying that… but you’re probably right. It would be a disaster, me and you.”Wait, I didn’t say that.“We wouldn’t work. I’d mess it up for Luke and Willow—then what? Scrubs is a much safer choice.”
He steps around me and strides down the hall towards the living room. I follow him, feeling rather emboldened by my sincere confusion.
“I didn’t say we wouldn’t work. I said—” I step around the couch as he walks towards the dining table.
“Well, then allow me… we wouldn’t work, Chloe.” He picks up the plate of now cold pancakes and places them on the kitchen counter.
He’d only set two plates at the table. Did he make breakfast just for us? Not the usual breakfast either. Was this more than pancakes? I follow him to the kitchen.
“Why?” I ask.
“Are you going to follow me around all day?”
“No.” I don’t leave the kitchen, though. My question still lingers between us, and he relents, but not without an exaggerated eye roll first.
“You’reyou.”Warren spits out the wordyouas if it’s an insult. It lands as one. “You’re yellow jumpsuits and pink couches. You’re sweet. You’re a nurse-boys’ type. The good girl… I don’t have a mother to bring you home to. No one will be charmed by your cute dresses or bright colours in my circle of friends. You don’t fit, as much as we’d both try.”
I huff without meaning to, and pull my lips inside my mouth to mask my frown. “So January 15th…” There’s a question there, but I don’t ask it fully.
“Consider it cancelled.”That was fast.My first date was months away; now, not at all. I don’t attempt to mask the disappointment that settles into my eyes and threatens tears.
“Someday,Warren, I’m going to tellyouwhoyouare.” I try to sayyouwith the disdain he did—but it doesn’t have the same power behind it. It’s a sad sound, the voice of a dejected woman.
“Please do. I would love to know!” His body squares off with mine, his nostrils flare as he goes taut all over with anger. There’s a twinge of pain in his eyes.
My pathetic retort may have hit a little closer to the mark than I had thought—or wanted. I attempt to think of an apology but come up short.
