Chapter Nine #2
Jake pushes aside his empty bowl and pulls out a deck of cards, grinning at Carmen like a magician warming up for his big trick. After three failed attempts, he shuffles the cards again and lets her pick one. The seven of diamonds.
“It’s got to be this one, right?” He flips over the ace of spades with a flourish.
“Exactly!” Carmen claps. He beams.
I used to like our group gatherings, and I do like my friends, a lot, but without Sean it’s not nearly as fun. What is it about crushing on someone that sucks out the joy of life? Shouldn’t it add to it instead?
“Is Sean studying?” Carmen asks.
I nod, stabbing at my dessert.
“Is that even normal? No time for a sundae?” Sydney’s eyes are innocent, but her lips twitch as if she’s mocking me.
Dylan has his arm around Sydney’s shoulders. “He’s not bored with you, is he?”
“Hardly.” I nearly break the glass with my spoon. “Sean’s going places. Wait till he invents something.”
Dylan laughs. “Someone’s in a mood.”
“That’s just Sean,” Jake says. “Let him do his thing and he’ll let us copy his homework.”
“Are you even in the same classes as Sean?” Carmen teases.
Jake shrugs and laughs. “We take German together. We’re backpacking in Germany this summer. He’ll probably memorize every train schedule before we even land.”
Sean finally got a passport for this trip too. It’s so him to pick the least fashionable cities in Europe. Munich and Berlin. Not Paris. Not Milan. Just World War II history and wursts. I told him if he brings me back Birkenstocks, I’m throwing them straight into Puget Sound.
“Can’t wait to meet Europeans. We’re counting on Sean to introduce us,” Dylan adds, and Sydney pinches his shoulder. He snakes his hand up the hem of her shirt and rubs the small of her back. Sean says they’re too intense for his taste, but she sure keeps him interested.
I think of Sean kissing me this afternoon and the sweet things he said.
But all the kisses in the world can’t silence the warning bell in my head.
I worship and admire my boyfriend for his great ambition, but simultaneously, the exact same thing intimidates me.
I’m standing on the edge of something I’ll never quite measure up to.
That’s the fear that keeps nagging at me, that he’ll realize I’m not ambitious or smart enough for him, and I’m holding him back.
I’m not the kind of girl who dreams of solving world problems. I want to live in the moment and have fun.
What if I’m just another fleeting distraction before he moves on to better things?
Eventually, he’ll get tired of me.
* * *
A week later, I’m having dinner with Sean on a beautiful Saturday night.
We’ve been together for four months, through amber canopies of maple leaves, steaming mugs of cocoa, frost-laced windows, and melting snowflakes.
Winter still has its claws in the city, but now it’s the start of February, and I can almost smell spring (or wet mulch).
While that may sound trivial, it’s a significant milestone to me, one that I treasure.
It’s our first proper date in weeks. Finally, a nice dinner without distractions where we can pretend he’s not drowning in work and I’m not counting down the days until he’s free again.
He’s even dressed up a little, which for Sean means upgrading his usual crewneck or hoodie to a soft knit sweater polo in an oatmeal color, with a subtle rim of blue lining the collar and sleeves. A hint of preppy, but still him.
When we’re having coffee after the meal, he places a wrapped present on the table. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately. Thank you for being an amazing girlfriend.”
“Gosh, thank you! What’s the occasion?” I love gifts, especially when they’re unexpected. I run my thumb along the rich, dark ribbon. “I didn’t know you could wrap gifts.”
“Lindsey did it. And there’s no occasion. I remember you mentioned it a while back and figured you’d like it.”
I tear open the wrapper. It’s a vintage-inspired newsboy hat in a distinct shade of herringbone gray, the very same one I showed him in an Instagram story.
“Not sure if it’s the one, but it was the closest I could find.”
“I adore it.” I rub the material between my fingers, turning it over to admire it from a different angle.
It’ll contrast nicely with my dark hair, and I have three entire outfits planned around it already.
He paid attention. “Isn’t this expensive, though?
You’re working so hard to save money for college and your summer trip. ”
“Please. This is nothing. Let’s be happy you have a rich boyfriend, okay?” He manages to keep a straight face while mustering my exact tone, and I laugh.
But his smile fades a second too soon, and his gaze shifts to his phone when it buzzes. He silences it without checking, but I catch the tension in his shoulders, like his mind’s already drifting back to his to-do list.
“I should drive you home,” he says. “I have to get back to studying—I’m behind.”
Already?
I can offer something to pull him out of the fog. Something to make him excited again—much better than another designer gift he wouldn’t use. “Wait. I have an idea.”
He raises his eyebrows, waiting for my big announcement.
“Remember I told you about my parents’ lake house? No one’s using it on Sunday.” Is there a more tactful way of approaching this? I swallow. “Maybe we can . . . you know . . .”
He studies me for a second. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
“Yes.”
“Because we don’t have to if—”
“I’ve given a lot of thought to it. This is what I want.”
He smiles, and it makes cute creases on his face, and then he’s not smiling anymore. “Wait, you mean tomorrow?”
That’s the beginning of all things unfortunate.
“Yeah, we can go tomorrow afternoon. It’s got lake and mountain views. There’s a deck, an outdoor Jacuzzi, a media room—”
“I have my physics test Monday morning, remember?”
“Exactly. It’s on Monday.” I laugh, even though my throat is dry, so it comes off as more of a cackle.
“Believe me, I want to, but I won’t be able to concentrate the day before. I’ll be freaking out about the test,” Sean says, as if he ever freaks out about anything.
My stomach drops. All the anticipation and hope I built up crumbles.
It shouldn’t matter this much, but I feel stupid for planning it, for daring to think he might be happy about us being close in that way.
That he’d see this as something special.
“We can leave in the morning, be back by afternoon. You’ll still have plenty of time to study. ”
“I need the entire day tomorrow. I’m so sorry.” He looks at me like he knows he’s letting me down, but it doesn’t help.
Ever seen the movie Carrie? She’s standing onstage, glowing, crowned prom queen, then in an instant, she’s drenched from head to toe in pig’s blood. That’s me right now. “Are you serious?”
He nods and glances at his watch. He’s already checked out.
If my life were a movie, I’d hit Pause, rewind, and stop myself from making a fatal mistake. I’d lecture myself about the importance of his test and how inconsiderately I’m acting. Remind myself not to take it so personally. Sex can wait. His education can’t.
But staring at Sean across from me now, who has a what’s the big deal frown etched on his handsome face, bottled frustration rolls out like a knocked-over jar of marbles. He’s rejecting me despite all my efforts. I can’t do one thing right. “I can’t believe you’re turning me down.”
“Why can’t we go next week? The lake house isn’t going anywhere. This is a tough week, that’s all.”
“Sorry for the inconvenience.” I have done everything since the beginning. I chased him. I waited for him. I planned every date, folding my backbone like origami. And I even offered this, but he sits there like some judge on a talent show and I’m out of tricks.
It’s supposed to be different with him. A do-over. A chance to rewrite the first time the way it should have been, with someone who cares. But he’s sighing like I scheduled a last-minute meeting on his Teams calendar and he’s asking to circle back next week.
“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I want this, too, just . . . not tomorrow. Please understand that. Let’s talk in the car,” he says, already calculating how to minimize the time loss. “Come on.”
He doesn’t even reach for my hand as we leave the restaurant, and on the way back, his patience begins to fray.
“Flora, am I not allowed to have priorities? I’m doing everything I can.”
“Of course. Your priorities are pretty clear to me.”
He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Look, I can keep apologizing if you want me to, but you’re not listening anymore. I don’t know what else to say. Maybe we should call it a night?”
It’s worse than those PR-scripted celebrity apologies, the I’m sorry if you were offended kind. He’s not sorry. He thinks he’s right. And now he’s done trying.
“Please take me home,” I say with the most civilized tone I can muster.
In the back of my mind, I fantasize about him pulling over and kissing me until I forgive him, but knowing Sean, I’d have better luck wishing for a Godzilla invasion. He stops the car in front of my building, and I turn to face him. Maybe he’ll come up with something soft now.
“Let’s talk when you calm down.” His expression is all serene and above me. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”
I throw open the door and get out, and then I slam it shut for theatrical effect.
* * *
On Sunday, Sean calls me once and gives up when I don’t answer. It’s for the best. If we talked we’d probably end up fighting again, and I refuse to be the reason his precious test scores suffer. He can focus on his stupid F = ma equation and deal with me later.
That evening, I call Madison.
“Wanna come over?” she asks. “I’m watching cheerleading championship videos. Maybe we can talk through some choreography.”
I groan. She takes this way too seriously. “No . . . why, Mads? Cheerleading is no fun without boys around.”