“Holy shit, dude, just send it already.” Ronan and I are at an empty table as he folds pizza boxes after closing, and I completely lose my dignity. A new message screen is pulled up with Claire’s name at the top. My finger hovers over the little blue arrow that will send the text and seal my fate.
After going back and forth about what to say way too many times, I landed on the facts.
ME:Hey, it’s Jay.Party is at Neon Nights on Friday at 9. Cool?
As I hesitate a minute longer, Ronan stops midfold. “What is with you, man? I have never seen you give a single fuck about what you text someone.”
It’s true. I rarely text at all and when I do, they’re almost always to Ro, Mikey, or Sean and usually consist of one-word responses or the middle finger emoji. Never in my life have I mulled over whether or not to say “Hey.” or “What’s up?” or to add a smiley face or exclamation point to the end of a message.
“I don’t know, Ro. I thought I was messed up before.” I drop my head in my hands, elbows on the table. “But my head is so fucked right now.”
“You actually like this girl, don’t you?”
I lift my head and look at him. The question is rhetorical. My actions say it all, but I know what Ronan means. If anyone knows that I don’t form true connections, it’s him. His big personality is the reason we even became real friends. Yeah, we had the quiet bond of two foster kids living in the same hell hole, but he’s the one who reached out after he left the house. And he never quit.
No matter where I went, he somehow got a hold of me. He was relentless and intentional, and I have him and him alone to thank for our friendship. Eventually, it balanced out, once I knew he was sticking around, but he took on most of the load in the beginning. He would never say it outright but that’s what he means now. He knows that the fact that I’m even making the first move is huge. Even if it is over some dumb party.
Taking one final deep breath, I hit send on my phone and flip it over. Is this what it feels like to care what someone thinks? I knew there was a reason I never did this type of thing.
Ronan laughs and puts a finished box to the side. With a smile on his face, he folds one more. I’m not sure if he’s talking about the text I’m sending or the risk he knows I’m taking, but flipping the lid he says, “Bout fucking time.”
20
Claire
Ileap for my phone on my bedside table, nearly throwing my computer from my lap. I gave Jay my number at Monroe’s and have been waiting for him to use it ever since. I even kept my phone on loud during my tutoring sessions, and I haven’t done that since the Spring Break incident of last year.
The week we had off, Chloe went to Cabo with her then-boyfriend, Connor. He was older than her and completely loaded. After just two weeks together he surprised her with a trip to an all-inclusive on the coast. She was gone from Monday to Saturday and afterward, came right to my house from the airport to give me all the details.
The details turned out to be a half hour of her filling me in on all of the wild places they banged, most of which I can’t unhear. After a repulsive thirty minutes, she went home, and I left for the library. I was only halfway through my tutoring session when The Lonely Island’sI Just Had Sex, started playing from my phone on full volume. Apparently, Chloe thought it would be funny to change my ringtone without letting me know and introduce little Johnny to one biology lesson I wasn’t prepared to teach.
Karma got Chloe back though just three days later, when she got a call from the resort saying that Mr. Seth Landon’s credit card had bounced for their room. Turns out Connor was not so loaded after all. He was also not only unemployed and living in his mother’s basement, but he was a criminal who frequently committed credit card fraud. After that, I called us even.
So here we are,over forty-eight hours after giving Jay my number and a full year from the last time I had my volume on loud, and my phone finally dings with a message from him.
JAY:Hey, it’s Jay. Party is at Neon Nights on Friday at 9. Cool?
Okay so not a complete confession of love but it’s more than three words so I’ll take it.
ME:Sounds good to me. Do we want to meet there?
I hit send before I have a chance to edit it a hundred times. I mean, it’s a ride — does it really matter how he answers? But as soon as it’s delivered, I realize which way I want him to respond. It’s like when you toss a coin into the air and as soon as it’s out of your hand, you’ve already chosen a side you hope it lands on.
JAY:I can grab you on my way if you want.
Heads it is.
ME:Perfect.
Realizing he’s only ever been to my parent’s house, I send my address too.
The three bubbles appear showing that he’s typing and then disappear again. I wait for him to respond — to text back anything to keep the conversation going. But he’s a man of few words and after enough time has passed that I know our exchange has come to an end, I silence my phone, put it back on my nightstand next to my laptop, and hit the light.
As I snuggle under the covers, I think about the collection of conversations that I’ve had with Jay over the last week. I realize that I don’t mind that he isn’t the chattiest of guys. With him, he says what he meansand he means what he says. There’s no fake chit-chat, no sugarcoating things. His words are like shooting stars — rare and fleeting but if you’re lucky, you just might catch a glimpse.
“I like classic cars. And you.”
I roll over and grab my phone to send a text of my own. There’s a notification for one new message already waiting.
