“Everything okay?” he asks as though the last hour never happened. If his eyes weren’t a little bloodshot, I would have believed he was completely unaffected by his admission and had merely gone to take a nap.
“Uh ... yeah. Areyouokay?”
He doesn’t respond, merely resumes his seat in the armchair, grabbing his computer and phone from the coffee table. When he opens the screen and sees his notifications, that same muscle in his jaw from earlier tenses.
So, that’s a no.
I’m dying to ask him who Colette is and why her profile picture is of them together when I know he’sverysingle right now. Instead, I take my dishes to the kitchen and get another Tylenol because it’s been six hours since my last one. It barely touches the headache that has worsened again, but I tell myself it’s better than nothing, and at the very least, it will assuage my mom’s concern if I tell her I’m staying on top of taking it.
Not wanting to face Austin’s text yet, and unsure of how to proceed with Hunter, I turn to what I do whenever I’m upset or nervous or worried. I make food. Nothing fancy because I feel like crap, but it helps calm my mind to go through the methodical steps of putting together turkey sandwiches. Once both plates are ready, I walk back out to where Hunter sits, staring at his computer screen unseeingly, lost in thought ... or the past, maybe.
“I have lunch,” I announce, setting his plate down on the table in front of him.
He blinks and looks at it, then up to me. “You didn’t have to do that.I’msupposed to be taking care ofyou.”
I wave him off as I sit down with my plate in my lap. “I told you this morning, I’m not that sick. I can take care of myself. And I figured you were hungry. Hopefully you can have bread and stuff.”
Hunter says, “Yes, I eat bread,” and sets his computer off to the side to pick up the sandwich. After taking a bite and swallowing, he groans appreciatively. “This is really good. What did you do to it?”
I flush happily but shrug. “Nothing crazy. Just my own special seasoning blend mixed into a little bit of mayo and tomatoes from the farmer’s market so they’re extra fresh.”
Hunter takes another bite. “Well, it’s the best turkey sandwich I’ve had in a long time. Thank you.”
We finish our lunches in silence, but this time, it’s softer, less fraught with tension. Even though we both know it’s there, waiting to be dealt with at some point. Austin texts me again, but I flip my phone over on the couch without reading it.
“Your mom?” Hunter asks.
“No,” is all I say back.
“Sorry,” he winces, “that was intrusive. Not my place to ask.”
I sigh. “It’s fine. And shehastexted me at least ten times already.” I pause, then admit, “That was Austin.”
Hunter’s expression shutters. “Oh.”
“But since you asked me, I’m going to ask you: Who is Colette?”
He startles, clearly not expecting to hear that name from my mouth. “How do you know about Colette?”
“You left your phone with the screen up”—I point at where it sits on the table—“and it started ringing. I saw her name ... and contact photo.”
Hunter exhales and rubs a hand over his face. “Colette is ...was... my girlfriend.”
“Oh.” I figured as much, but I don’t know why hearing him say that word—with so much longing and hurt—makes my stomach clench. That same hot, sour sensation hits me again but, this time, square in the chest. Which isridiculous. I have no grounds for jealousy. Crumbled defenses or not.
He reopens his computer when I don’t say anything else, staring at the screen intently ... but not typing anything.
After several minutes where he pretends he’s working and I pretend I’m still watching the Netflix movie, he looks at me and asks, “What did Austin want?”
“What did Colette want?” I shoot back, eyebrows arched.
“Touché,” he says, a flicker of a smile ghosting his lips. “I have no idea. She hasn’t called or texted me for over a month. Not since I caught her ...” He trails off, and I grimace. “Honestly, I’m not sure Iwantto know.”
“Austin wants me to go with him to dinner on Saturday. But I don’t know if I want to go out with him again.”
Hunter’s eyes don’t move from mine when he says, “She’s the reason I’m afraid to be anything with you.”
“You’re the reason I don’t know if I want to go out with Austin again.”
