Chapter 24 #2
“It can be, if you want it to be. You’re so young. You could still decide you wanted to be a doctor and go to medical school,
and you’d be the same age as everyone else. You can do whatever you want.”
“I’m way too dumb to be a doctor.”
“That’s not true.” I point at his arm, where he has his monster tattoo. “That’s Pat talking.”
He breathes a laugh. “Yeah. I just don’t know how I would even begin to untangle all the knots. I make enough money that it’s
ridiculous to do something else. Ridiculous for me to complain. Like, what am I going to be, an artist?”
“You could be!”
“No.” He scoffs. “That wouldn’t support my parents. It would barely support me.”
“You support your parents?”
“No. Well, kind of. Mom and Mich live in the Brentwood house. And then last year, my dad’s garage almost went out of business.
I was able to pay his staff for a couple of months to ride it out. What if that happened again? That garage is everything
to him. It’s been his dream since he was a kid.”
“What about your dreams?”
“I mean, who knows if I even have any.” I give him a look like, that can’t be true. “Okay, sure, sometimes I imagine myself going to college,” Luke admits. “Because if I was smart enough to go, to graduate,
maybe that would mean I’m smart enough to make all of the most important decisions for myself.”
“You don’t need to go to college for that. You’re smart enough already.”
“But I don’t even know what I would want to do with it. Why mess up everyone else’s lives just so I can hang a diploma on
my wall?”
“Do they expect it?” I ask. “That you’ll give them money? Or houses?”
“No. Or at least I don’t think so. But they’ve gotten used to a certain level of living, of financial support. How can I ever
stop now that I’ve started?”
“Do they know you’re unhappy? Or that you want to go to college?”
“No,” he admits.
“Luke,” I say. “They love you. They’d want you to be happy. Unless they’ve fundamentally changed as people over the last five years, I know that to be true.”
“Maybe,” he says. “I just don’t want to disappoint them.”
“Okay, what about a rebrand?” I suggest. “What if you don’t quit, but instead take an indefinite hiatus?”
Luke smiles. “An ‘indefinite hiatus’? I like that.”
“Good. Then it’s decided.”
“Yeah,” he says, almost in a wistful way. I think we both know that isn’t going to happen.
I wrap my arms around myself. I’m still so cold. Closing the window hasn’t warmed me up enough and I start shivering again.
This time I can’t hide my clacking teeth.
Luke puts his pizza down. “What’s wrong? You okay?”
“It’s like I’ve caught a chill tonight and can’t get past it. I didn’t bring enough layers. I think I have to get into bed.”
Luke stretches. “It’s probably about that time, anyway. I’ll clean; you get warm.”
I crawl into Nicky’s bed as Luke clatters around, cleaning up. When he’s finished, he turns off the lights and flops down
on Nicky’s roommate’s bed in his jeans and sweatshirt. My teeth continue to chatter.
In the darkness, Luke asks, “Is that still you?”
“Y-yes,” I chatter back.
“You’re still that cold?”
I have Nicky’s thick plaid comforter pulled up around my head like a babushka. “Yeah. I don’t know why. This is so strange.”
“Here. Hold on.”
I hear Luke getting up. Then my mattress dips as he climbs into bed with me. I lie there, perfectly still, as he positions
himself behind me and wraps his arms around me, blanket and all. He leans in and in a low voice asks, “Is this okay? I just
want to help get you warm.”
I nod and then realize he probably can’t feel me nodding through the blanket, so I say, quietly, “Yes.”
“Okay. Good.”
He rests his head right behind me on my pillow and pulls me in closer so the curve of my back fits snugly into him.
I have no idea what to do, what to say.
What I do know is that with his arms wrapped around me like this . . . feeling the press of his body against mine, even with
the blanket between us . . .
I don’t want this moment to end.
“Luke?”
“Yeah?” he responds. He sounds sleepy.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when your grandpa passed away.”
He makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “Let’s not talk about my grandpa right now.”
“Okay. But I want you to know, I am. And I should have been there.”
“You had enough going on, Cee. But I appreciate the thought.”
We’re quiet again. He grips me tighter, moving his body even closer to mine. When he speaks, his voice is low in his throat.
“It feels good to hold you like this.”
If I didn’t have the comforter up so high, maybe I would feel Luke’s breath on my ear, on my neck. Maybe his lips would graze
my skin, and I would turn, and we would kiss. For real this time. I can tell it’s a possibility by the way he’s touching me,
by the press of his hand against my hip.
But he’s drunk. And in a way, I’ve been through this before.
If we ever kiss again, I want it to be on purpose. Not because it’s a childish dare or a drunken mistake.
“You should go back to your bed,” I tell him. When he doesn’t respond, I whisper, “Luke?”
But then I notice his deep, even breathing. He’s asleep. I let myself stay there like that, with his arms around me, for a
little while longer. I close my eyes and try to commit every detail to memory. The feel of his arms around me, his palm on
my hip, the press of his chest against my back. And then, carefully, I disentangle myself from him and go over to the other
bed.
I stay awake, staring at the ceiling, for a long, long time.