Chapter 13 #2
“Oh, uh, yeah, thanks,” I mumble. She’s right that I lost track of time.
I also didn’t bring lunch and sort of planned to just keep working through lunchtime, really.
That sounded a lot safer than taking a break and allowing my mind time to wander and think.
But my hand shifts into my pocket, and I grip my phone, remembering that it buzzed several times earlier.
Maybe Alex texted.
I haven’t spoken with him at all today.
He wasn’t awake when I left his house, and I’ve been working nonstop since I got here, trying to put a dent in the mass of books.
So maybe I should take a break, even if just for a few minutes. I can check my texts, or hell, maybe I can even call him. My fingers tighten on my phone at the thought of hearing his voice, and suddenly, lunch sounds like a really, really good idea after all.
I force myself to look back up at Caitlin. “Thanks,” I repeat, and I cough to clear my throat, hating the way I sound so unsure all the time. I try a little harder to sound more normal. “I think I’ll try one of those sandwiches.”
She gives me a small smile and nod and turns to leave, but then she stops and faces me again.
She seems like maybe she wants to ask me something, maybe something she knows she really shouldn’t.
But when I tear my eyes away, pretending to get back to work studying the spreadsheet, she just lets out a long sigh, and I hear her footsteps moving away, toward the door.
My stomach churns anyway, even though she’s moving farther away, putting space between us, and I grip my phone tighter in my pocket as the footsteps stop.
“I am really glad to have you here this summer,” she says quietly, and even though it makes no sense at all, her comment causes my stomach to hurt more.
I shrink down again but force myself to look over at her.
She’s watching me, and there’s something maybe a little too knowing about her expression.
“I hope you feel comfortable enough. This is actually a pretty decent place to work. And it’s quiet most of the time, as you’ve probably seen.
Sharon can seem like kind of a hard-ass, but she’s a good boss, too.
And she cares about this library a lot. So, um, just, you know, do your best at whatever she asks you to do, and if you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask. ”
She sounds kind and genuine enough. But all I can do is nod and force out another quick “thanks.”
After she disappears through the open door, I turn back to the computer, save the file I was working on, and then push myself to my feet.
I pick out half a turkey sandwich from the platter in the activity room and grab an apple as well, and I head out the side door.
There’s a small courtyard with a lawn where the fifteen or so summer school students have all gathered, chatting or playing on their phones while they eat.
Caitlin is sitting with a group of the younger kids—maybe six- or seven-year-olds—and when she sees me, she gives me a bright grin and small wave before focusing back on the conversation the students are having.
There are a few benches positioned around the courtyard, but most are already occupied by library patrons or the couple of parent volunteers helping with the group of students.
I walk as quickly and unobtrusively as I can through the courtyard to the single unoccupied bench, which is thankfully off in one corner by itself and is right under a nice, large oak tree that provides a good amount of shade.
I’m sort of hungry but really sort of not. So rather than force myself to eat, I just set the plate with my sandwich and apple next to me on the bench and finally pull my phone out of my pocket, trying to ignore as my stomach knots itself up in the most uncomfortable way.
It’s like this every day now, every time I take out my phone to look at my messages. Because even though I already blocked his number, it could still be him. Patrick. Somehow, Patrick could be contacting me again. Threatening me. Accusing me.
Or it could be my mom, which would maybe be worse.
This morning was bad enough. Her messages from the last three days were bad enough. I don’t even know what I’d do if she messaged me with more accusations or demands.
But I guess it’s my lucky day after all, because the name that pops up on the screen isn’t Mom or Unknown Number or anything like that.
It’s Alex. And there’s a series of several messages, the first one just a tongue-out emoji. I pull my legs up onto the bench to sit cross-legged, and my smile grows slowly as I read every word.
Alex (9:38 a.m.): bro i just woke up
Alex (9:40 a.m.): wut the heck with this heat
Alex (9:45 a.m.): so (stay with me here, this is going to get long) dr ellis emailed me back
Alex (9:55 a.m.): sorry, mom called me to help her get something down from the hall closet
Alex (9:58 a.m.): so long story short, dr ellis wants to connect me with a visiting professor who will be at stanford for the next two years.
theyre collaborating on a project and this other professor has a background in supermassive black holes and is *now* studying dark matter as well (which is why theyre coming to work with dr ellis for a time)
Alex (10:02 a.m.): he asked if he could send them our email communications
Alex (10:03 a.m.): im freaking out here. i told him yes of course
Alex (10:04 a.m.): thats not crazy, right? cuz now im scared my ideas are dumb. im just a kid, i dont know anything =P
I can almost hear his voice in that last message, and despite all of his uncertainty, it makes me feel even better. The most recent messages he sent were just about twenty minutes ago.
Alex (12:02 p.m.): tonight. u and me. harleys. im buying
Alex (12:02 p.m.): theyve got a new mint chip flavor and u have to try it
I can’t not laugh. Alex and his obsession with mint chip. He knows how I’m going to respond, too.
Nico (12:26 p.m.): Nothing will ever beat Harley’s chocolate peanut butter brownie
I hit send and wait for only a few seconds before his reply comes back.
Alex (12:26 p.m.): i dunno man. mint chip.
Alex (12:27 p.m.): u on lunch?
My stomach growls, and I glance down at my sandwich. I should eat.
As soon as I have the thought, I feel nauseous, and I swallow back the emptiness in my stomach as I click on Alex’s name to call him. The phone rings just once before he answers, and the sounds coming through the phone speaker are immediately loud and jarring.
“Hey, Nico, one sec.” Alex sounds flustered or something, but I answer with a quick “okay” and wait. There are some other muffled sounds, and then I hear Alex’s voice. After another moment, the background noise fades a bit. “There, hopefully I can hear you now.”
“Where are you?” I’m trying to remember if he had something planned for today, but if he told me about it, I can’t recall.
“Lando’s Lanes,” he says, and as though he needs to clarify, he quickly continues. “I’m here with Jenna, but it’s super loud and busy. We almost didn’t even get a lane. They’re having some tournament that’s taking up over half of the lanes, and there’s music and stuff.”
“Oh. Right.”
Lando’s Lanes is the bowling alley he and some of his other friends like to go to in Omaha. I’ve been once. Never again. I forgot he was going with Jenna today. I try not to let my stomach sour at the thought of him spending all afternoon with her.
My sandwich looks even less appetizing now, and I gaze out over the lawn as he starts talking again.
“How’s the project going? The donated books, right? That started today?”
“Yeah. It’s, um, it’s good, really. Distracting.
” I have the sudden urge to tell him about my mom’s texts, to admit to him how much I’m struggling, because I could sure as hell use his reassurance and calmness and logic to keep all my panic at bay.
But he’s out. With Jenna. And that doesn’t really seem like a topic to bring up right now.
So instead, I force a laugh, which I hope he hears as genuine.
“There are thousands of books, you wouldn’t believe it.
Some of them are weird, too. One of the boxes I just sorted through had a complete box set of how-to books on ‘the Japanese art of decluttering.’”
Alex laughs, and that sound alone makes me glad I called him. I close my eyes and let the warmth of his reaction wash over me.
“Seriously, an entire box set?”
“Yep.”
“Bro, I wonder who donated that? Maybe Mr. Jensen or—oh! I know—”
“—Mrs. Hanover!”
Alex is laughing again. “Hah, yep! It had to have been her,” he cackles, and now I’m smiling, too.
And my nausea is gone. Just like that.
God, I can’t even believe how much better he makes me feel. Even just hearing his voice.
His laugh dies after another few seconds, but he’s still chuckling as he says, “I should head back in. Jenna probably just bowled another strike. She’s kicking my ass. You’re up for ice cream tonight, though, yeah? I should be back before you’re off work.”
“Um, yeah. Ice cream sounds good.” I manage to ignore that part of my heart that’s suddenly really jealous of him and Jenna spending time out together, though I still feel the ache.
It’s another reminder that although he’s my best friend, he’s not mine.
Maybe I’m not really ignoring it, though.
Maybe I’m just lying to myself and pretending more, because there’s a sharp pang in my chest, and even though I fight against the urge, I can’t stop myself.
My voice drops to some quiet, soft tone as I close my eyes and say, “I can’t wait to see you tonight. ”
It’s the fucking truth, anyway, and he is my best friend. So it doesn’t have to mean a damn thing, except . . . I know it does.
He doesn’t respond right away, though I hear him clear his throat with a light cough. And when he does speak, he’s oddly stuttering over his words, and his voice is hesitant. “Y-yeah. Yeah, yeah, me too. Um, I . . . can’t wait, either.”
My eyes open, and I look out across the lawn to where Caitlin and the kids are all starting to get up. Their lunchtime is over, I guess, and that means mine probably is too. I frown down at my uneaten sandwich, my stomach now a mixed bag of butterflies and uncertainty.
“Cool. See you then,” I say.
“Yeah.”
There’s another awkward pause, and I lower my legs down to the ground. “Bye.”
“Bye.”
I wait for a second before hanging up, and then I drop my chin, wondering what the hell I just fucked up.