Chapter 21
A t the ripe old age of sixteen, I had my first real heartbreak. I had a massive crush on this guy in my class, Henry, ever since I started at that school a year prior. Then on the last day of sophomore year, he admitted he’d liked me too and asked me out. I’d been brave enough to say yes, and we spent that summer (and subsequently all of junior year) together—which in high school is, like, an eternity.
I stupidly thought he was the one , my young, love-stricken brain convinced that just this once, everything would work out. Maybe I’d stay in town long enough to graduate there, then Henry and I could go to the same college and be together forever. Get married, have babies, the whole enchilada.
But when June rolled around, disaster struck.
My dad announced we were moving again, no less than four states away. I foolishly thought Henry and I could make it work, do the long distance thing and come visit each other once a month. It would be hard, no doubt, but worth it.
I was heartbroken when he broke up with me the day I told him I was moving away.
Looking back, I don’t blame him. We were both so young, barely old enough to drive, let alone maintain a long distance relationship. I probably would’ve done the same thing in his shoes. But it still killed me.
I’d never cried that hard, or that long. I spent the whole summer in stark contrast to the last, barricading myself in my new room with nothing but my bed to cry on and Coldplay to cry to. That was when I realized that getting involved, having feelings , would only lead to pain. I decided then and there that I would never get into another serious relationship, to spare myself from its inevitable end.
The next time I got involved with someone wasn’t until I was twenty, and even then I kept it casual. I broke it off after a couple months, vowing never to let myself get hurt again.
But that was then, and this is now. It’s different with Eli: I’m not planning on moving away anytime soon, and we’re both grown adults with the capacity to make our own choices. I know the idea of him and I together is ludicrous, but I could have at least tried to tell him how I felt instead of shutting him out. I should’ve said something, said anything besides “I can’t”.
Now I’m the one who hurt him, and it doesn’t sit right with me. The only thing I’d hate more than being heartbroken is being the cause of it for someone else. So I need to fix it.
I decide I’ll make him my famous mediocre-at-best spaghetti as a peace offering when he gets back from teaching, then apologize and casually slip my feelings for him into the conversation (and hope it doesn’t send me into a panic-induced coma). Sure, I’m still scared shitless to let myself be vulnerable with him, but if he can do it, so can I.
It’s nearly seven thirty by the time I fill up two bowls with the pasta I’ve surely cooked way past al dente. I kept waiting for him to walk into the kitchen with his patented cocky smile and sexy teaching attire while I was cooking, but it never happened. He normally would have been back hours ago, but I haven’t seen a single glimpse of him since this morning.
I figure he must have slipped in when I was busy absolutely obliterating the kitchen, so I make my way upstairs to rally him. I take a steadying breath before knocking gently on his door, but don’t hear a reply. I knock again; still nothing.
Weird.
I wouldn’t have thought of him as the silent treatment type.
“Eli? I’m coming in,” I announce before turning the handle and opening the door, only to find the room completely empty.
The bed is made, his charger and books missing from his bedside table, and his duffel bag gone. The only thing out of place is a singular piece of paper in the center of the bed, which I pick up with shaky hands.
Gemma, finally got let back into my dorm. I know how you hate goodbyes, so consider this my parting gift to you.
-Eli
I can’t believe what I’m reading. Eli’s gone? And he left without telling me? Normally I would have appreciated the opportunity to spare myself from another goodbye, but this time… This time it feels worse than all of the previous goodbyes put together.
This isn’t what I wanted. At all. I don’t know exactly what it is I did want, but it sure as hell isn’t this. He can’t be gone, not before I got the chance to apologize.
I turn the page over in disbelief, only to find something else written on the back.
P.S.: Here’s Parker’s number: 212-594-8939. I hope you reconsider sending him your short story.
I am so very, deeply, profoundly confused. Why would he still try to help me publish my short story after the way I left things? It doesn’t make sense. If I had opened myself up to him and gotten the same response he got, I’d be pissed, not eager to do him a favor. He couldn’t possibly be that great of a guy… Could he?
I’m really starting to realize just how badly I fucked this up.
I need to talk to him, to call him and make things right. Except I don’t have his number. Somehow after spending nearly every waking minute together over the past ten days, we never thought to exchange phone numbers. I guess we always knew the other would be somewhere in the penthouse if we needed them—until now. Now he’s gone and I have no way of reaching him, short of calling Gigi and asking for his number.
I’m pretty desperate to get in touch with him right about now, so I do something ridiculously stupid: I call Parker. He’ll have Eli’s number, so I’ll just ask him for it and be on my way.
It’s not until the second ring that it occurs to me just how awkward this conversation is going to be, but it’s too late. He picks up on the third ring before I can back out.
“Hello?”
“Parker, uh—hi!”
“Who’s this?” he asks hesitantly, and I quietly facepalm myself.
“It’s Gemma, Eli’s friend. ”
You so don’t deserve to call yourself that anymore.
“Oh, hey! How’d you get this number?”
“Err, Eli gave it to me. He thought you might be able to help me get something published—but that’s not why I’m calling,” I ramble. “I know it’s kind of a weird request, but could you give me Eli’s number?”
His chuckle on the other end tells me this is, in fact, a very strange thing to ask someone you barely know at eight o’clock on a Wednesday night.
“He gave you my number but not his?”
“Yeah, it’s a long story… I promise it’s nothing weird, I’m not stalking him or anything.” Yeah, because that doesn’t make it sound sketchy at all . “I just need to talk to him about something, but he moved back into his dorm this morning.”
“He did? Finally,” he sneers. “Took the guy long enough.”
“Sorry?”
I have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about, but I don’t care. All I want is Eli’s number.
“What’s it been, like a week?”
A week since Eli was let back into his dorm? No way. Couldn’t be.
“I’m really not sure. Listen, I’m sorry to bug you with this but do you think I could have his number? It’s important.”
“Sorry, yeah of course,” he replies, being far too kind to someone hounding him for information. “I’ll text it to you.”
My phone dings as he forwards me Eli’s contact info, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thanks Parker, you’re a lifesaver.”
“Anytime,” he says. “But what’s this about wanting to get something published?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, really. Eli was just being nice, trying to help me with a short story I wrote. ”
I feel like I’m imposing just talking about it. Like I’m a kid and Eli’s the adult tacking my drawing to the fridge.
“A short story, huh?” For God knows what reason, he seems intrigued. “Look, I’ve known Eli a long time, and he’s never called in a favor with me before. If he sent you my way, he must think it’s pretty good.”
A warmth spreads through my chest at the thought of Eli calling in this special favor for me, followed by an immediate knot in my stomach.
“How about I send you my work email too, and you can forward it to me?” he adds. “I can try to get it looked at by the right people.”
I feel a mixture of excitement and guilt at the possibility, but ultimately know this isn’t what I called for.
“Thank you so much for the offer, but it’s really okay.”
“If you ever change your mind,” he offers.
I thank him once more and we say our goodbyes before hanging up.
Even though a small part of me wants to consider his offer, I can’t even think about it. Not yet. I’m too focused on what he said earlier, about Eli being let back into his dorm a week ago .
Why would he stay at the penthouse when going back was all he wanted? He told me only a few days ago that he hadn’t heard back from the housing committee yet, does that mean he lied? I just don’t get it, there was no reason for him to stay…
Unless, did he stay for me..?
Oh. My. God.
I’ve been an astronomical idiot. Suddenly it all makes sense. All the signs were there: he started coming back from the bars earlier, then stopped going out altogether, he slept in my bed with me, then actually slept with me …
Eli had feelings for me. Long before last night.
Before we had sex—hell, before we even kissed—he had feelings for me and I didn’t see it. Or wouldn’t. I pushed him away, convinced myself he couldn’t possibly think of me like that because that kind of thing just doesn’t happen to me. So I ruined everything. I ran away from something really great, and hurt him in the process.
It’s clear that a phone call’s not going to cut it. I need to do something bigger, put myself on the line like he did for me. Do something big and brave and bold to prove how sorry I am, how much he means to me.
But what?
It takes all of thirty seconds before it hits to me: I know exactly how to end my article.