Once a year is still kind of exhausting.
It’s too much energy to deal with guys who want me to give all my attention to them when I have deadlines to meet. Too much ego demanding I only focus on them. And Gavin has an ego bigger than most. So he would be doubly exhausting, even if we weren’t competitors.
“We’ve been walking for a while now. Are we walking to New Jersey?” Gavin asks.
“We’ve been walking for three minutes. And we’re going to walk seventeen more because we’re getting Shake Shack.” Then I process what I just said. “No!I’mgoing to Shake Shack. You’re committing a misdemeanor of the stalking variety.”
He stays silent for a second while he checks his phone. “We’re walking an entire mile?” Someone must have used his Maps App.
“Yes. Because walking is good for you.”
“I’m in very expensive shoes.” He points down to his feet. “I can’t walk in them.”
I give him serious side-eye, not believing that he doesn’t hear how he sounds sometimes. “We’re in the same tax bracket but I would lead the charge to guillotine you.”
“Would you give me cake before the big day?”
“That’s not how any of that worked.”
Despite my blasé statement on the benefits of walking, I’m feeling the effects of the brisk pace I’ve set. I have to work to keep my heavy breathing quiet and stop myself from clutching the stitch starting in my side. Especially since I just made fun of him for not wanting to do the walk.
And despite his protests about his footwear, he’s keeping pace with me. Another perfectly reasonable reason to resent him.
Before I pass out from the exertion, I see the magic sign promising me happiness on a metal tray.
The line is huge, as always, and I gladly get in line if it means I can stop walking. At this point, I’ve accepted that Gavin is here for the duration of this dinner, and I don’t want to waste time arguing with him about it when I could be eating.
“That table just opened up.” Gavin points to the back of the room. “Why don’t you grab it and I’ll get the food?”
I shrug. “ShackBurger, fries and a root beer.” I turn on my heel before he can change his mind about getting me dinner. It’s payment for letting him eat with me.
I walk to the table before someone else can swoop in and claim it, holding my breath until I’m seated. There’s no one more motivated to get a table than a hungry human who wants their Shack Shake.
I sit on the side of the booth facing the line and take the opportunity to stare at Gavin. Even though the art world is small, I haven’t seen him this much since we were forced together because the sadists at our school kept putting us in the same class. I don’t mind it as much as I thought I would. He’s surprisingly entertaining at this stage of my life.
Like a combination Monopoly Man and Chris Hemsworth.
I wonder if there’s a way I can watch him be forced to grocery shop for himself. Or do his own laundry.
My own first laundry experience wasn’t great, but it was done in the privacy of another continent, so there’s no one here who can mock me for it.
It was the first month at Cambridge, and I realized how much I had relied on our staff up to that point. I called Mom for help in a panic, having run out of all the clothes I brought and the ones I got while I was there. But she hadn’t done her own laundry since...ever. She’s always had staff too.
The first load was rough. But I had an excuse to buy all new clothes, so it turned into a good thing/expensive learning experience. For the record, those second set of clothes fared much better.
So it would be entertaining to watch spoiled Gavin do an everyday task he’s unequipped for.
When my mind puts him in an apron with a burnt Easy Mac in his hand, he interrupts my fantasy by putting non-smoking food in front of me.
“The best for the second-best.” He presents the tray with a flourish, and a bow, for some reason.
I pull a burger, the cheese fries, and a drink toward me.
Gavin reaches out to grab one end of the fries. “Wait a minute, you said fries. I got you fries andmecheese fries.” He jerks his head to the tray, the regular fries sitting rejected on the table.
“I obviously meant the cheese fries. Who doesn’t want everything improved by cheese? Sociopaths, Gavin. And the lactose intolerant.” I give the tray a light tug in my direction.
“But you didn’t say cheese.” He stubbornly refuses to give the fries up, tugging them back to him.
