Chapter 5
Because I was a good boyfriend, and because I was a responsible, fully self-actualized adult, and because I was great at planning and time management and general housekeeping, I was doing the laundry.
And, of course, because Hugo was coming back tonight from New York.
From his meeting with his editor, Rachel.
My phone buzzed as I was emptying the dryer into the laundry basket. Laura’s name appeared on the screen, and I answered.
“How busy are you?” I asked.
“Very busy,” she said. “I have a very busy, very rich, very fulfilling life.”
“Great. I need you to fold some socks.”
“No.”
“Come on. You’re not doing anything.”
“I’m not flying across the country to fold your socks.”
“They’re not my socks. They’re Hugo’s socks.”
“Oh, well, in that case.”
“You’re a bad friend. And you have a bad sense of humor. No sense of humor at all, actually. And you’re a traitor.”
She laughed. “It’s not my fault. Hugo is much more likable than you.”
“Jerk.”
“And more handsome.”
“Why did I answer this call?”
“How is dreamy Hugo?”
“He’s in New York, having people throw money at him and tell him he’s the single greatest mystery writer since—who’s another mystery writer besides Agatha Christie?”
“Didn’t President Clinton write a mystery novel?”
“Goodbye, Laura.”
She laughed again. “You should break up with him.”
“President Clinton and I are doing just fine, thanks.”
“You should break up with Hugo and let me have a crack at him. I think I could turn him.”
“That’s an unbelievably offensive thing to say.”
“You’re afraid I’m right.”
“Stay away from my man.”
“He’s just so handsome,” she said. “And he’s sweet. And he’s kind. And he’s thoughtful. Let me guess: did he buy you a present when he sold the novel?”
“He did, as a matter of fact.”
“See?”
“He got me a gym membership.”
“I told you he’s thoughtful.”
“Too thoughtful. He made me have a birthday party.”
“Oh my God, that’s the cutest.”
It was less cute, I thought as I dropped the laundry basket on the bed, when I was the one cleaning up strangers’ puke.
“And he worries about you, Dash. Like, he actually, genuinely worries about you.”
“Like Batman.”
That made her laugh, but for some reason, I found myself thinking about that day Hugo had kept messaging while I was in class, about how he’d “found” me on campus, about how he’d looked at Andrew.
It had only been for a moment, but the expression on Hugo’s face had been flat and hard and—and ugly.
What had he said? This is why I have to worry about you.
“He’s such a good balance for you,” Laura was saying. “He’s so confident and centered and calm.”
Hugo was calm, I thought as I folded a T-shirt.
Hugo was centered. Hugo was confident. That had been one of the things that drew me to him in the first place.
He knew what he wanted. He wasn’t hesitant or timid or, for the love of God, a massive waffling waffle of uncertainty, like a certain somebody who was currently folding T-shirts. We’ll just take the check.
Laura gave a theatrical sigh. “It’s not fair, you know. Here I am, an absolute treasure waiting for the right man to snatch me up, and you have the perfect man fall into your lap—strong and sweet and right. That’s what I want, you know. Someone who gets me the way Hugo gets you.”
You won’t have to teach. You won’t have to write. You won’t have to do anything.
You won’t have to write.
For a moment, I stared at the socks in my hand. Hugo’s socks. I’d forgotten what I was doing. If he knows me so well, I wanted to ask—but I couldn’t complete the question. You won’t have to write. Like saying you won’t have to breathe.
“I’m jealous.” Laura’s voice broke through my thoughts. “There, I said it. Are you happy? Did you get what you wanted?”
“You called me,” I managed to say, scooping up the folded laundry.
I carried it robotically toward the dresser and opened the drawer.
And then I saw the small box of black velvet.
It was like I’d stepped into a dream. I knew.
Even before I opened it, even before I saw the ring, I knew. And I thought, Oh no.
“All right,” Laura said. “I’ve braced myself. I’m ready. Tell me how disgustingly in love you are.”
“I’ve got to go,” I said and disconnected.
I sat in the living room, that little black box in my hand, until he came home.
I didn’t realize the apartment was dark until he turned on a light, and I saw his outline, the well-known shape of his body, smelled the hint of his cologne and the day of travel and spring.
He paused, and I felt the question before he could form it.
“Hugo,” I said, “we need to talk.”