17
CLAIRE
"Wow, I can't believe you finally did it," Rosie says through the speaker of my phone. "I mean, I'm glad. Griffin is a major tool, but I know you liked him. You’ve got thatalways seeing the good in people even if it’s not really therething going on.”
“Yeah.” I slump against the stiff couch in my mother’s living room. “It was time. Had been for a while.” I pause and shift the subject. “Have I told you how weird it is being here? Existing in someone else’s house while they’re not here?”
“Only once or fifty times.” Rosie’s reception cuts out a little. “Why don’t you pretend you’re at an Airbnb or something?”
“I guess…but eventually she’s going to show up, which will make everything super awkward.” And I’m not sure I can handle more weird stuff going on right now.
“Get your room situated so you don’t have to leave it if you don’t want to. You have your own bathroom, right?”
“Yep.”
“See, there you go. Stock up on snacks and you’ll be good. What about your dad, have you heard from him?”
“Only a few texts. He hasn’t gotten his data plan sorted out yet for international stuff.” I realize how one-sided this conversation is going. “Tell me about your weekend. Which party did you decide to go to? Where was it?”
She sighs like she’s about to settle into a long-winded rant. “Well, Brice wanted to do one and I wanted to do the other, so we compromised and went to both. Let me tell you, I have never seen that many frat boys stuffed into a house in my entire life. I shit you not, I was one of the only girls there.”
I let the sound of her voice lull and distract my mind from everything else that’s going on. It’s a Band-Aid, but I’m grateful for it, and for her.
* * *
Ifinish typing my English paper and submit it to the professor. I had intended to spend the rest of the weekend getting my homework completed, but come Saturday evening, I’m nearly done with all of my assignments.
Cora has sent me two messages, following up about going out tonight, but I've blown her off to study. Now though, my excuse doesn't seem as valid.
I order Chinese takeout and wait for it to arrive, clicking through the channels on the cable TV in hopes of finding something decent to watch. I settle on reruns ofThe Officeand braid my still-damp hair in pigtails to kill more time.
The buzzer goes off and I ring the delivery guy into the complex. I grab a twenty and make my way to the door.
I open it and find a pimple-faced teenager holding my bag of food.
“Thanks, how much?”
The kid shakes his head. “Taken care of.” He points down the hallway. “Tip, too.”
I exhale and try to keep my composure. “Thank you.” I force a smile, taking my dinner and leaving him behind.
How can Johnny think that feeding me will make me hate him any less? Is food his love language? Who does this? It’s like the weirdest form of stalking. And I can’t exactly stop him from doing it. What am I supposed to do, give the kid the money and tell him to go give Johnny a refund?
It makes no sense at all. He's an asshole. He clearly told me we couldn't be friends. Why is he randomly picking up the bill every chance he gets? Is it a peace offering? An olive branch of some sort?
Whatever it is, I wish he would stop. If he’s not willing to use his damn words, I don’t care to be bothered by him.
He’s driving me insane with this back and forth. He needs to pick which side he’s on and stick to it.
I toss the bag onto the dining room table and pull out a carton, diving straight into some lo mein to distract myself from the chaos that is my brain.
I’m only ten minutes in when my phone goes off. Then it vibrates three more times. I glance down and my stomach tightens.
Griffin.
I’ve been doing my best at not responding to him since our blow-up last night. I said everything that needed to be said, even if it was in an incredibly intoxicated state, and now I want to move on with my life.
Only with him, nothing is that simple.