We met when I was twelve and Ronan was fourteen. There was a brief two weeks that we shared the same foster house where I was coming and he was going. In those two weeks we formed a quiet bond, sharing space with four other younger kids and sneaking glances of disgust at the dinner table — too many times a week, dinner was bowls of mushy noodles covered in a thick brown gravy. Fortunately for Ro, there was only one other foster house between this one and the one he ended up calling home.
We weren’t all that lucky.
Ronan ladles a heaping spoonful of red sauce onto the stretched dough and smoothes it in circles until it covers the surface. “Haven’t seen you on this side of the building in a few days, man.”
“I know, I’ve been covering extra shifts at the garage and am just so beat after. I come home, eat, work out, pass out, repeat.”
“Tough, man. Are we still on for next Friday? You can’t bail on me now. I need a break from these four fucking walls.” He swings his arms around, a drop of sauce falling to the floor.
Ronan and I don’t get out very much. There’s just a lot of work and a lot less play. It’s how we were brought up, or lack thereof maybe for some of us, but every once in a while, we force ourselves to do something social. Friday’s plan is a dive bar across town for live music and a few drinks.
“I’ll be there,” I nod. “But I’ll be coming from work so Sean and I will meet you.”
“Sounds good.” He reaches for a plate and grabs a slice of pepperoni and a slice of mushroom from the display — my usual order. He pulls open the pizza oven and tosses the slices inside to heat up, handing me a cup to fill at the fountain while I wait. I fill my cup halfway with ice and then hit the button for my drink of choice. I breathe in the scent of the root beer as it leaves the machine. A little bit sweet and a little bit spicy, with just a subtle hint of…vanilla.
8
Claire
Ithas been four days since I ran into Jay — twice — and already, I can’t stop my brain from looping our interactions. We don't live in a super small town. Okay, Maple Grove is basically a few quiet neighborhoods, the main strip where Enzo's is, and another set of streets with a few businesses, shops, or restaurants sprinkled about, but it's notthatsmall. So, the fact that I have now seen this guy two times in one day seems a little fated. Have I seen him before today? I definitely would have noticed if I had, wouldn't I? All I know is it's like this orange car came to town and knocked our very average-sized universe right off of its axis.
For the last ninety-six hours, I have tried to occupy my mind — tried to think of something else, anything else, besides him, but it’s like even in our short interactions, he’s left his mark. Why? I’m not entirely sure, considering both ended pretty horrendously, but my brain doesn’t seem to care if he was interested or not.
I put on chapstick, and I picture the way Jay brushed the end of his cigarette across his lips as he walked past me at Busy’s. I read, and the main male character suddenly has hazel eyes and tattoos despite how the author's description. It doesn’t help that a mix of menthol and motor oil still sits in my car, so I can’t even go anywhere without a reminder of him. Since when are cigarettes and engine grease the opposite of gross?
By now I have completely exhausted all attempts at distracting myself on my own. So, I text the only person I can think of that could possibly help. Either she will entertain me to the point of forgetting, or shewill meet my level of crazy and join me in fixating on everything that happened.
ME: Movie and takeout?
CHLOE: God, yes! Come over?
ME: On my way.
Why can’t all interactions be this simple?
Chloe is already an hour intoArmageddonwhen I get to her apartment. She’s sitting in the corner of the couch,herspot, with a bun on top of her head and fuzzy Christmas socks on her feet. She’s wrapped in her favorite cheetah print blanket, a glass of red wine half-full in her hand.
“I was already watching when you texted. We can call for food in a minute,” she says without looking away from the screen.
“Starting early?” She looks at me and I point to the glass in her hand.
“It’s my first one. You know how I get when Ben sings to Liv before he leaves. Plus, it’s really not that early.” She’s right on both accounts. She sobs when Ben Affleck belts outLeaving on a Jet Planewhile holding Liv Tyler before he enters the shuttle and it is 3 pm. I have seen Chloe consume alcohol at such early hours of the day that it makes her drink look like a nightcap.
I walk over tomyspot on the couch, the side with the chaise, and shove my now bare feet under the lip of her blanket. This is good. I feel better. I’m cozy, with my best friend, and watching a group of drillers plan to stop an asteroid from destroying all mankind. What could be better thanthis? I’m already thinking of so many things that aren’t…what’s his name again?
Chloe pauses the movie right before the song and turns to me. “Okay, before this gets started. What’s up?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean, we have been off for like two weeks now and until today you have been Miss. I-Have-Tutoring or Miss. I-Have-Laundry or
Miss. I-Have-to-Think-of-the-Next-Little-Women.”
“Little Women?” I interrupt. “Really?”
“You know what I mean. This is the first time you have wanted to make a plan to do something fun. So,” she sips her wine, “What’s up?”
I purse my lips. I met Chloe during open interviews at Jefferson. We graduated college the same year, with the same degree, and bonded quickly over our love of caffeine and matching JCrew pencil skirts. Following the interviews, I was fortunate enough to secure a contract in my own classroom and Chloe got hired as an instructional assistant. Luckily for both of us, she was assigned to three rooms, one of which was mine. It was pretty much grunt work for eight hours a day but now she has a job she loves, teaching reading support at the elementary school two towns over. Turns out the whole position was just a stepping stone for her. Thankfully our friendship was more permanent than that.
