Can I take you outtonight?
Me
Sounds great
I make my way to my new favorite table at the back of the café, where Ari is already typing furiously on his laptop.
“Hey,” I say, brushing by the table. “What are you doing?”
Removing his earbuds, he turns his laptop so I can see the screen. “Working on the assignment that’s due today.” He frowns. “Don’t tell my bubbe.”
“Don’t worry.” I wink. “Your secret is safe with me.”
We work side by side in silence for hours, only breaking for lunch. It’s an introvert’s dream.
Just before five, we pack up and head for the bus stop. When we arrive and step up to the education building, we have to dodge a collage of sidewalk chalk art. The concrete is flooded with four-by-four squares of rainbow-themed scenes, likely in preparation for a Pride Week celebration.
We settle in our seats, and moments later, Talulah saunters in. She’s as captivating as ever, but I struggle to focus; my mind is adhered to my date later this evening.What am I even doing?I was adamant about avoiding distractions, but I can’t deny that Cam and I have a connection. He called it cosmic, and maybe he’s right. Millie certainly thinks I should give him a chance. Admittedly, I’m notorious for second-guessing myself.
Should I leave home for college? Should I finish college? Should I write a book? Should I get bangs? Should I order extra queso with chips? (Okay, so I’m never indecisive when it comes to queso.)
Decision fatigue and the constant questioning game my brain plays are exhausting. Sometimes I wish I could crawl out of my own head and take a nap in someone else’s. With a weighted blanket.
Mentally shaking off that train of thought, I sit up straight inmy chair, determined to put Cam aside for the time being and focus on writing.
After class, I situate myself against one of the twin pillars at the entrance of the education building and wait for the dark-haired woman to appear. I pull up my text thread with Cam to confirm we’re meeting at my apartment.
Just as I’m sticking my phone back in my bag, she steps out of a taxi in front of the building. Her white V-neck shirt is tucked into a pair of high-waisted acid-washed jeans, and black Birkenstocks hug her feet. She’s got her hair pulled up in a bun again, although it’s messier than last time, and her bangs frame the same circular, gold-rimmed glasses she wore last week. She pauses at the edge of the sidewalk and hunches over one of the chalk drawings. As she does, a man steps out of the taxi and sidles up to her to examine the artwork.
A man who, not even nine hours ago, was cooking breakfast for me in his kitchen.
A man who, not even eighteen hours ago, was coming on my stomach.
My chest tightens like a balloon inflating against my lungs, and I clutch my hand to my heart.What the fuck?Time needs to speed up, and I need to get the hell out of here.
The woman who, a moment ago, I could see myself striking up a friendship with, elbows Cam in the ribs. He stumbles back, feigning injury, causing them both to break into laughter. The joy in the sound and the glee in his expression are so familiar. This morning, they brought a welcome hunger. Now, though, they cause a pit of dread to form in my stomach.
She hands her phone to him, and they turn to take a selfie,being sure to catch the chalk art in the background. When he returns her phone, he swings an arm around her shoulder and guides her toward the building, all cozy and shit.
The pit in my stomach cracks open, and pain leaches into my extremities. I want to run.
No, I want the concrete below to open wide and swallow me whole.
How could I have been so stupid? Typical.I peel back the tiniest of layers and let him in, and instantly, he tears a hole in my heart. Just like my mom. Just like my ex.
The concrete below me doesn’t grant my wish, and now, two feet in front of me, is the star of my next therapy session.
Cam nearly trips up the stairs when he catches sight of me. “Hi.” He drops his tattooed arm from around the woman’s shoulders and leans in to kiss my cheek.
Hell no, jackass.
I rear back like his touch alone might singe my skin. In an instant, his bright expression morphs into one of confusion. In response, my nose burns, but I force the tears threatening to well in my eyes to abate.
“Cam,” I say through gritted teeth. If I open my mouth any wider, I may just throw up. Wouldn’t that be grand? Then he’d carry this gorgeously adorable human beside him home in his pocket, wash and worship her in his shower, and then make love to her in the bed I slept in last night. After, they’d surely cuddle like otters and laugh about the girl on the stairs who vomited all over them.
“Did you hear me?” he asks. He’s wearing a white V-neck—as if they coordinated outfits—army green chinos, and cognac-colored leather sneakers. His face is freshly shaved, and even his hair has been trimmed since this morning. He looks like he walked right off my Pinterest inspo page, and I fucking hate it.
“Huh?” I grunt. Rude? Maybe, but I don’t care.
