One #2
“He was, though. The mistake was mixing friendship and romance.” She sighs.
“It’s just that Ted felt safe. I never wanted to fall in love with someone who I thought could break my heart.
Passion is overrated. I see it all the time, my friends falling hard and fast for someone they met in class, broken up by finals week.
Even my parents. To hear them tell it, they were madly in love.
Couldn’t see a future without each other.
” She gave him a wry look. “Split up before I was born.”
“My parents aren’t together anymore, either.” I don’t bring it up much because it feels strange, like my parents’ relationship
status should be the last thing on the mind of a twenty-one-year-old guy. It should be, but thanks to my dad, it isn’t.
The monstera’s leaves brush my chin as I turn to her. “They got divorced during my senior year of high school. And seeing
my dad struggle these past few years...” My mom seemed to rebound faster, but she moved to Madison. Made new friends.
Meanwhile Dad stayed on the farm, pouring himself into the business and not making time for himself. “He calls me whenever
he’s feeling down, telling me how much he wished he could’ve shown her sooner how he felt instead of throwing himself into
work. It’s a weird spot to be in, consoling him over Mom moving out. But I get it. He lost his best friend.” And now he’s
just lost.
For a second, I wonder if I should’ve kept this to myself. She’s dealing with her own heartbreak. But she leans into me, just
enough to feel her warmth through the layers of our jackets. A soft, unyielding pressure. “That’s a lot to handle,” she says.
“For all of you.”
It has felt like a lot, even though I haven’t been able to voice it. But she did. I’m grateful for that, but I’m not sure
how to thank her. Instead, I say, “Anyway, sounds like you know as well as I do that love’s not a sure thing, but you took
a chance. That’s brave.”
“What part of this situation makes you think I’m brave?” Her eyes are puffy, the tip of her nose reddened. She looks vulnerable,
but I have no doubt she’s stronger than I am.
“You told Ted you had feelings for him. That takes guts. Meanwhile, he didn’t say anything until he had to. Like a coward.” I run my hand through my hair, realizing I might’ve taken it too far. “Sorry, I know he’s your friend.”
She traces the edge of a leaf with her thumb. “He said that’s why he waited so long to tell me. He didn’t want to lose me
as a friend.”
I twist toward the door with an involuntary jerk of my head, scowling, as if my roommate can see my disapproval. “Okay, yeah,
I’d definitely like to have words with him.”
She laughs, the sound low and throaty, then she shifts to face me. “I have a better idea. How do you feel about a little light
thievery? You could serve justice by retrieving what I left behind.”
“Are we talking valuables?” I’m thinking a necklace or something.
“A book,” she says. “Or it might be one day.” She looks unsure of herself again. “I’m trying to write a romance novel, and
I asked Ted to read it like a month ago. He hasn’t gotten around to it yet, and now I don’t want him to.”
She put herself out there and got burned for it? I can’t leave her book in Ted’s clutches. “I’m going in.” Passing her the
plant, I say, “Hold Frank for me.”
“Frank?”
I duck my head, wondering if this is the moment I go from “cool weird” to weirdo. “It’s a monstera.”
“Frankenstein,” she says, catching the reference. “Cute.”
“Hey, show some respect,” I tease. “That cute plant will grow to be over ten feet tall.” I stand up and dig my keys out of
my pocket.
“Oh, tough guy, huh?” she asks the plant, then looks up at me. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your baby plant safe while you rescue
my book.”
I flash her a smile, even though my guts are twisting at the thought of searching through my roommate’s stuff to find her
book. “I trust you.”
Mia
As Ted’s roommate slips inside the apartment, I realize this is probably the reason he hasn’t wanted to hang out at his place
this semester. No secret he’s got an inferiority complex, and his roommate, I just discovered, is a very attractive dude.
A cute plant daddy, in joggers and a puffer jacket he stripped off to give me a comfy place to sit. The kind of wholesome
guy my single friends would be falling over each other to talk to, but the idea of another relationship churns my stomach.
Ted was the sensible choice. Sure, there weren’t butterflies and our kisses left me lukewarm, but he’s been a good friend
these past three years. We met in a freshman mixer and hit it off. I thought dating would be like our friendship, but better.
Turns out he’s been harboring feelings for my sister since they’d met while helping me move into my apartment last fall.
My legs are falling asleep, so I stretch them out in front of me, holding the potted plant on my lap. Frank, Ted’s roommate
called it. I know the plant’s name but not his. I should probably fix that since he’s currently helping to preserve my dignity.
It’s embarrassing to be at the mercy of a stranger, but not as embarrassing as slinking back to ask for the manuscript myself
like I’d been considering doing before he showed up.
The door creaks open, and the stranger in question leans through the opening, tousled golden-brown hair highlighted against
the white doorjamb. “No sign of it yet, but he’s asleep, so I’m going in.”
Startled, I ask, “Where?”
“His room.” He darts a glance over his shoulder, like he’s worried Ted will materialize behind him. Poor guy is clearly not
used to sneaking around.
“You don’t have to. I’ll text him tomorrow and ask him to bring it to me.” Even if the thought sets my skin crawling.
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll find it.” The door closes before I can protest again, and I’m left with the impression
of his blue eyes sparking with determination.
What will happen if Ted wakes to find his roommate rifling through his stuff? Hopefully he won’t catch any heat for helping
me out. Or what if he does find it, but instead of coming right back out, he flips through the pages, curious. The thought
of a stranger reading my words is... Well, exhilarating, but also fills me with the urge to change my name and move to
a remote Scottish island where I’ll make a new life with only seabirds for company.
I lean over and press my ear to the crack between the door and the frame, trying to hear what’s going on. The door opens,
and I tumble sideways, but there’s a shuffle and my fall is stopped by something solid and warm. A low whisper comes from
near my ear. “You really shouldn’t make a habit of listening at doors.”
I shift and see Ted’s roommate crouched behind me, grinning, with a sheaf of paper in his hand. “You got it!”
He presses a finger to his lips, but his eyes are gleaming. He stands up and tugs the door closed gently, then collapses against
it, eyes closed, hand to his heart. “Not sure I’m cut out for espionage.”
“You didn’t see anything weird in there, did you?”
“Nothing worse than expected.” He passes me the papers. “A disturbing amount of protein bar wrappers and empty energy drinks.
But this was on his desk.”
The pages are pristine. No coffee rings or curled edges. “He didn’t even look through it.” Even though I figured as much,
my heart sinks.
He drops down next to me again, long legs stretched out next to mine.
“I’m not a big reader, but if a friend of mine wrote a book, I’d read it in a heartbeat.
” He rakes his fingers back through his hair, and I catch a crisp scent, bright and earthy, like spring.
A contrast to the stuffy hallway. “Just saying.”
“Can you stick around? I like the way you think.” Not that I’m planning to show my writing to anyone else. Not for a while
at least. Becoming an author feels like a vague dream, and I plan to earn a degree and secure a well-paying job with good
benefits. Save for retirement.
“Are you just asking because you’ve got a friend vacancy?”
I grin at him. “You did violate your roommate agreement to steal back my book. That’s ride-or-die shit.”
“So, friends?” he confirms. “What’s the worst that can happen?” He must realize what he said, because he pulls a face. “Before
you say it, I would never hit on your sister.”
I can hardly believe the turns this night has taken, and that I’m having this discussion right now. “You haven’t met her.”
My sister isn’t to blame for this mess. She’s stunning, and lovely, and I’ve never been jealous of her and don’t plan to start
now.
“Don’t need to,” he says, and this time, his expression is earnest. Something tells me it’s the truth. This is a man who doesn’t
hide things.
“I don’t even know your name.” I’m stalling; he already feels like good friend material.
“Gavin.”
“Mia.” I hold out my hand, sleeve brushing the fronds of the plant, and he clasps it, palm warm against mine. His hands are
clean, but there’s a smudge of dirt at his wrist. I get a flash of him kneeling in a garden, fingers buried in the soil, and
for some reason, my cheeks heat. “Mia Brady.”
His mouth quirks up and he eyes me speculatively. “Nice to meet you, Mia Brady. I can totally see that on the cover of a bestselling
book.”
“Says the guy who doesn’t like to read.” I let go of his hand and shift to sit cross-legged, facing him. “And what does that
even mean, by the way? You can’t dislike all books. There are so many genres. Thrillers, graphic novels, biographies... My personal favorite, romance.”
“Most of the books I’ve read are just sad.” His tone sounds dubious. “They’re all about human suffering and tragedy. People
die.”
I remember telling my English teacher something similar. To confirm my hunch, I ask, “What books have you been reading?”
He bites his lip, a flush blooming on his cheekbones. “Lately? None. But in high school we read The Great Gatsby . Grapes of Wrath . That one about the guy and the fish.”
“ The Old Man and the Sea ?” I ask, stifling a grin at his description.
“Yeah, I think so,” he says. “So depressing.”
“But okay, those were required reading. Fun novels exist.”
His eyes dart to the pages in my lap, then back up, like he doesn’t want to violate my privacy. “Is yours fun?”
Surreal to hear him refer to my manuscript like it’s an actual novel. “That’s what I’m going for. But it’s hard to be objective
about my own writing.” Hence why I asked Ted’s opinion. He’s always carrying around the latest bestseller, and I figured he’d
be the perfect person to give me feedback. Guess I was wrong about him in more ways than one.
“I could read it, if you want.” Gavin’s unexpected offer breaks through my musing.
Flustered, I lift my gaze to his face. “Let the guy who hates books read my first attempt at one?”
“Yeah. If I like it, you’ll know it’s great.”
“Pretty sure you’re not my target audience.” I’m not clear on who exactly my “target audience” is, but it’s been mentioned
often enough on the writing blogs I’ve started reading that figuring it out must be important.
“You said it’s fun, right? I like fun.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile. “But no pressure.”
It doesn’t feel like he’s pressuring me. His interest in my story, in me , makes it feel like tonight is more beginning than end. The start of something. “You want me to hand over my story to someone
I just met?”
“Give us a little more credit,” he says. “Our friendship is sealed with breaking and entering.” All sparkling blue eyes and
casual eagerness, he grins at me. “Ride-or-die shit. You said it yourself.”
Prompted by a rush of feeling too intense for a chance meeting in a deserted hallway, I pass him the pages. “Just don’t leave
me hanging for a whole semester, okay? Even if you hate it.” Criticism, constructive or not, would be worlds better than getting
ghosted again.
He takes the pages, but when I try to hand back the plant, he shakes his head. “Keep it.”
“You’re giving me Frank?” Already it’s more than a plant. It’s a piece of Gavin, and he’s offering it to me.
There’s that smile again, like he’s pleased I remembered its name. “I’ve already got plenty of plants. You’re giving me your
book. Only fair you have something of mine.”
“He won’t last a week with me.” But I can picture how cheerful it would be to wake up to the bright green leaves fanned out
against the window that catches the morning sun.
“Don’t underestimate yourself.” He’s talking about taking care of the plant, but he’s right. I’ve been sticking with what’s
safe. Look where that left me.
“I’ll do my best.” My palms curl around the terra-cotta pot.
When I step out into the snowy night a few minutes later, I hold it against my chest, coat draped protectively over the leaves.
Tonight I lost a boyfriend, but I learned a valuable lesson: Never let romance ruin a good thing. And becoming friends with
Gavin feels like a very good thing.