It’s also addictive. When Drew has to work late Tuesday night, I find I can’t fall asleep. He finally gets home shortly after one, and five minutes after I hear him walk down the hall, I join him in bed.
“Thought you were sleeping,” he mutters, slipping a hand under my pajama top.
“No.”
“Good.”
And it’s all the conversation we need. My top comes off, and his lips find mine.
But every night, I go back to my own bed when it’s done. Even though the relationship doesn’t feel fake anymore, it won’t be long-term. And I have to remember that.
On Sunday afternoon, I’m folding laundry when my mother calls.
“So,” she says, once we’ve made it through the usual pleasantries. “I wanted to talk about the plan for next Saturday.”
“Next Saturday?”
“Hayley’s graduation,” Mom reminds me.
“Oh, right.” With everything going on with Drew, Hayley’s graduation had completely slipped my mind.
“You’re still planning to come, right?” Mom asks. “Hayley’s the valedictorian, so she’ll be giving a speech. I think it’ll mean a lot to her to have you there.”
I almost ask why Hayley isn’t reaching out to me herself, if my presence means so much. Instead, I just say I’m planning to come.
“Great,” Mom says. “I’m going to make reservations for Nico’s that evening.”
“Sounds good.” Nico’s is a fancy Mediterranean restaurant downtown.
“Justin’s coming with Hayley,” Mom says. “I wondered if you’d like to bring someone?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes. I’m really not looking forward to being the fifth wheel at a fancy dinner with my parents, Hayley and Justin. And if I explained the situation to Drew, I’m pretty sure he’d come with me.
But Drew and I are temporary, and bringing him to this dinner would imply things are more serious than they are. So when my arrangement with Drew runs its course, my family will assume I screwed things up. Mom will be legitimately sympathetic, and Hayley will pretend to sympathize.
And Dad will needle me with comments that suggest he expected this from the start.
“No, I’m not bringing anyone,” I tell Mom. “Just me.”
Two minutes after I end the call with Mom, I get a text from Sarah Hayes.
Sarah: What time is it there? Can you talk?
I swipe the button for a FaceTime call, and she picks up immediately.
“Hey.” Sarah squints at her screen—my phone camera picks up part of Drew’s couch, which is far too nice to be mine—and she grins. “Still living with the boss, I see?”
“He’s not my boss anymore,” I remind her.
“But you are still living with him?”
“Yeah. I told you, we’ve got a three-month arrangement.”
“Hmmm,” Sarah says thoughtfully. “Can I talk to him?”
“Why?”
“I’d like to read him the riot act,” she says seriously. “Make sure he knows that if he doesn’t treat you properly, he’ll have to answer to me.”
