“When did he leave? Where did he go?”
“Last week, and I’ve got no fucking idea.” I pause, and Carey doesn’t move. I don’t want to keep talking, but my lips start moving and the words just spew out. “I’m really sorry for the situation you’re in. I genuinely am. But you’re not the only one whose been dealt a really fucked up hand, and… I don’t share. I don’t talk. I don’t even know why I’m saying any of this right now. But shit still needs to get done and I’m the one who has to hold it all together. The shop. My mother’s sanity. It’s all a delicate balancing act, and without you, I think I’d drop it all. So please, I can’t see you like this.”
When people saythe silence was deafeningthis is what they’re talking about. It’s like that moment in disaster movies when all the water recedes and everything hangs in a weird suspended animation.
Carey steps out of the van completely, and turns to face me properly. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m so sick of people saying they’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and when I look at him, he smiles, and I catch it.
“You’re the worst.” I shake my head.
“Thanks for the ride.”
“No worries.” I give the kind of lackluster wave where you just raise your hand. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at four.”
“But it’s Thanksgiving.”
“And you suddenly have plans?”
“Maybe I got Brooklyn’s number out of the computer and was planning on hitting her up.”
God he's good.“Are you that desperate?”
“Are you that jealous, old man?”
“Ofyou, orher?”
Carey stares, his eyebrows pushed together.
“Relax, kid. I don’t care who you fuck. But I think—”
“I’ll be fine tomorrow. I don’t need your charity.” He goes to close the door.
“I’ll pick you up at four. This isn’t about you, or me. You’ll bring your magic fucking energy, and help make my mom forget that Jintae isn’t there."
I’ve been standing on the front steps of Eden’s apartment building for the past five minutes. Tek said four, and like a loser I waited inside the lobby, watching the road for fifteen minutes before coming outside so I don't miss him.
I don’t want to be like this.
It took everything to ask him for a drink last night. And because I’m a freaking idiot it came out sounding all stupid, like I was fumbling over my words to nervously ask him on a date. Which wasn’t what I was doing at all.
I mean, if I thought he’d say yes, I’d ask him in a heart beat. But I really did just want to get a beer. To drink somewhere that wasn’t in my brother’s spare bedroom, alone. And who else do I know to ask? The closest thing I have to a friend is a seventy-something-year-old man who I buy slippers from. And I don’t want to be on Tinder, or any of those other apps, either. I don’t want a hook up. I’m sick of the temporary, so getting underneath someone else won’t help because a distraction isn’t what I need.No. What Ineedis to stop lusting after someone who will never so much as look at me the way I do him…
It’s golden hour, and every other night as I rode my skateboard home, the sky had the prettiest rays of orange breaking through the gloom. But tonight, the sky is angry. The orange can barely be seen through the big grey, mean-looking clouds.
A large gust of sea air whooshes past, almost like it’s tugging me.
I close my eyes and imagine myself on my surfboard, the low waves that aren’t worth catching bobbing me up and down in the twilight as I wait for the next good one.
When I open my eyes Tek’s van is across the street. It's nothing interesting to look at; just basic white from the outside. But I know about the bed and what he’s likely already done in it, and my brain automatically goes off on fifty different sexual tangents at the thought.
I’m totally fucked.
I suck in a lung full of half-frozen air and start walking towards the van, reminding myself to be grateful. To be thankful for a home-cooked meal instead of instant ramen or The Emerald Dragon.
“Hurry up,” Tek calls through the driver's window, but I keep my pace.
