Chapter Twenty-nine
Flora
Sean. Sean. Sean. Sean. Sean. Sean.
He fills my head the moment I wake up. If only I could stitch him into the embroidery on my shirt collar, carry him with me everywhere. We gave each other space before, but now we neither need it nor want it.
If being a good boyfriend was a job, Sean would already be in the C-suite.
Ever since he uttered the L word, nothing holds him back.
And I’m no better. This love spreads like a snag in a pair of pantyhose.
One tiny break in the fibers and the tear races outward, unraveling everything in its path. There’s no stopping it, no mending it.
Madison is the first to call me out. We’re sprawled on her bed, scrolling through our phones, when she says, “Let’s play a game. The first person to mention Sean buys everyone caramel macchiatos.”
Carmen and Josie don’t say anything, but they exchange a finally someone said it look.
My mouth clamps shut, but inside, I fume. I do not talk about Sean that much. And what are best friends for if they can’t let me gush? It’s only been two weeks. Not to mention I’ve been paying for caramel macchiatos for the past three years.
Tonight, Sean’s away for a basketball game.
I only cheer at home games, so I stay in and examine my shoe collection, waiting for him to come back.
Normally, this would be the kind of night I’d call Raymond, who’s free as a cheetah in the savanna, thanks to his parents never keeping tabs on him. After the divorce, they care even less.
But that was before Sean declared Raymond should be exiled for life.
Okay, those weren’t his exact words, but he did say something along the lines of I’m entitled to hold a grudge. He’s the reason we broke up.
I shook my head. “No. We are the reason we broke up. It’s adorable that you’ve decided to pin it all on him.”
“Of course I blame him. He knew you had a boyfriend and still went to your place and came on to you. That says a lot about his sense of morality.”
I almost laughed. “Sean, you’re morality personified. We’re all sinners in front of you.”
Needless to say, he didn’t appreciate me “taking Raymond’s side.” I tried to explain that hanging out with Ray was completely innocent, but Sean wasn’t having it. He clarified he wasn’t asking me to cut Ray out of my life, but some “adjustments” were needed.
“Don’t you think drinking with a guy in your room is . . . intimate?”
“Would you feel better if I drank with a group of guys in my room?” I joked, but the second he didn’t smile, I regretted it. “Look, I’m not attracted to Ray, but I like our movie nights too much to give that up. He’s my movie knowledge pipeline!”
I decided to end my argument with an analogy.
“I’m not a science nerd, but I know at least this much: no amount of catalysts can force a reaction that wasn’t meant to happen in the first place. You have nothing to worry about when it comes to Ray.”
Sean raised his eyebrows. “Impressive. But he’s an unstable compound prone to spontaneous reactions. Given the right conditions, he could undergo an irreversible transformation, and once his molecular structure degrades, there’s no predicting the chain reaction that might follow.”
Ugh. Why did I bring up science?
When we still couldn’t reach a unanimous agreement, Sean tackled it from another angle. “Okay, how would you feel if I invited some girl to my room?”
I tilted my head, considering the unlikely scenario. “I wouldn’t be overjoyed, but that’s different.”
“How?”
“Because.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re not like that.
You don’t even let Josie in your room. If you suddenly wanted alone time with another girl, I’d know something was up.
It would be out of character for you. But for me, it doesn’t mean anything because that’s what I do.
Which is why we should have customized rules to suit our different personalities. ”
“You just used five sentences to describe double standards.”
I can’t debate with him. He’s too good. He has a valid point, and he sticks to his boundaries.
But I’m not wrong either. We’re fundamentally different people expected to fit into the same mold.
I have my own idea of how close I want to be with other people, yet Sean wants everything to be equal and standardized.
So now I find myself sitting in my room alone. I rearrange my closet. Run the jade roller over my face to feel productive. Post an entry in the style blog Sean made for me. Learn a new hair trick off YouTube and attempt a side fishtail braid.
Just as I’m about to shrivel up and die of boredom, my phone rings.
“Whatcha doin’?” Raymond sings.
“Braiding my hair and waiting for Sean.”
He makes a dramatic gagging noise. “Wow. Riveting. Come over to my place.”
“I can’t. I’m in a relationship.”
Silence. Then, “Okay. And?”
“And I mean I can’t hang out with you.”
There’s a long pause, like he’s trying to reboot his entire brain. “Wait. Are you saying that because you have a boyfriend, you can never see me again? Ever? Do I need to submit a formal request? Get a permission slip signed?”
“Well, we can hang out, but not like this. We can gather a few more people and meet at the mall. Or a movie theater.”
“A movie theater?” He sounds like I’ve invited him to clean out an elephant’s cage at the zoo. “Have you seen my home theater? And you think I’d trade that for sticky floors and seats with mystery stains? Hard pass. Also, I hate everybody. They all annoy me.”
I laugh. Ray could write an encyclopedia with all his pet peeves.
“Wow,” he mutters. “So this is it. The great Flora Morgan has fallen. Next thing you know, you’ll start saying things like We love that show and Our favorite restaurant.”
“Stop being dramatic,” I say as he starts to fake sob.
“I got hold of some Czech beer that’s supposedly good. Let’s invite Sean to share with us. I guess I can tolerate your boyfriend if that’s what it takes.”
Wow, he really wants my company. “That’s nice of you to offer, but too much beer will damage Sean’s valuable brain cells.”
“If he’s as smart as you claim, he should have plenty to spare.”
“Actually, Sean says intelligence has more to do with the folds and grooves of the brain than the number of brain cells.”
Raymond makes that disgruntled noise again. “I get that you worship him, but you quoting him all the time is seriously testing our friendship.”
Gosh, he sounds like Madison. I decide to share the reason Sean and I broke up, just so he doesn’t assume I’m blowing him off for no reason.
“What? I didn’t hit on you!”
“You tried to kiss me, and he saw it. Now you’re on the blacklist.”
“But how’s that even possible? I don’t like you like that!” He seems offended, like I insulted his exemplary taste.
“I’m telling you, it happened. There’s a good reason Sean doesn’t want to hang out with you, and, like, can you blame him?”
“I’m sorry,” he says, even though I never blamed him. “You’re my friend, and I know how much you like him. I really didn’t expect my actions to cause full-scale diplomatic tensions. I’ll apologize to Sean too. Maybe send him a fruit basket. Seriously, I feel bad.”
“No, he didn’t want me to tell you. He’s embarrassed about the whole thing.” Sean and his ego refuse to let Raymond have the satisfaction of knowing he came between us.
“But I don’t want him to hate me.” It’s amazing how Ray has no trouble hating everyone, but the idea of being hated is unbearable. He has this unexplainable urge to stay on everyone’s good side.
“Forget it.”
“Well, I can’t apologize to him, I can’t invite him to hang out, so what does that leave us? Are we just . . . done? Is this it?”
Oh god. I was never in a relationship with Raymond, but now we’re breaking up.
“We can still say hi at school. And I’ll like every one of your Instagram posts.” I try to lighten the mood. “That’s what friends are for, anyway. To make you feel popular on social media.”
He grunts. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna hang up now and check if you’ve actually liked any of my posts.”
I let out a long breath, exhausted. The doorbell rings, and I sprint to answer it, nearly tripping over a pile of shoes on the way.
Sean stands before me in a (very huggable) eggshell-white hoodie, his backpack slung over one shoulder. In the back of my mind, I picture opening the doors of a cathedral, where the organs play and the angels sing. A halo surrounds Sean and fine, I worship him.
So what?
“Button.” He tugs on my fishtail braid. I step aside to let him in, but he bends down to kiss me first. His lips are soft but firm, and waiting for him was totally worth it. He tastes like chocolate.
“Did you put cookies in my backpack?” he asks.
“Yeah. In case you got hungry during the game.”
He pinches my cheek, already heading toward my room. “You’re the best. I ate most of them before the game even started.”
“Did you win?”
“Yes.” He flops onto my bed. “How was your evening?”
“Um, Raymond called. Do you want to drink beer with him?”
“What?”
“It might be a good idea if we all hang out together. Maybe you’ll learn to like him!”
“No thanks. What if he tries to kiss me?”
I chuckle. “It’d be great if you guys got to know each other better.”
He cringes. “I don’t know.”
“I told him I can’t hang out with him the way we did before. He wasn’t happy about it, and I feel like an awful friend.”
“Josie never gives me attitude for that. She gets that some things have to change.”
But do they? This is such an absurd system. I don’t care at all that Sean has Josie, but he gives that up simply for the sake of being fair. “You know how crazy I am about you. You shouldn’t be threatened by other guys at all.”
“I’m not threatened. It’s like eating a meal with flies buzzing around.
I’m not threatened by the flies, but they still annoy the hell out of me.
” He sighs, rubbing his temple. “Look, I’m not here to control who you spend time with.
I trust you, and I know you’d never intentionally cross a line.
And again, I’m sorry for how I jumped to conclusions last year.
But I won’t pretend I’m comfortable with you drinking alone with another guy in your room.
Seeing him come on to you before-—that image is seared into my mind.
You know where I stand, but ultimately, it’s your decision.
If this is something you’re not willing to adjust, maybe we need to ask ourselves whether we see relationships the same way. ”
Sean isn’t being unreasonable with this airtight monologue. He’s not making demands or issuing ultimatums. He’s just laying out his feelings in the calm, levelheaded way he always does. Honestly, he’s not asking for much.
“We can talk about this more if you want,” he adds, even though it’s clear he’d rather deep dive into why Goyard bags are coveted.
I don’t want to push it, especially not after waiting for him the whole night.
I already know I’ll cave; it’s just a matter of whether I let him convince me now or later.
His love matters more than my entire collection of guy friends.
If he decides we aren’t compatible, it’d be worse than being forced to wear secondhand clothes for the rest of my life.
It’s simple. I’ll do anything to please him, even if it means changing into someone easier to love.
I wrap my arms around his waist, savoring the warmth of his body beneath my fingertips.
Moments later, all thoughts of Raymond are out the window.
In the summer, Sean’s skin is tanned like roasted almonds, but now it’s winter-fair and smooth, flushed against my lips.
He doesn’t roll away when we’re done. Instead, he pulls me closer to press a kiss to my bare shoulder.
I love the way the mattress dips when he shifts beside me, the subtle scent of his deodorant, the way he strokes my hair while I ramble, and how comfortable he is around me.
There’s an endearing, casual side to him, with an added dash of innocence.
It reminds me of a lion cub yawning and chasing after a ball.
Later, as Sean absentmindedly folds the clothes on my bed, I bring over a bottle of burgundy nail polish from my desk.
“Want to help me paint my toes?” I’m half joking, certain he’ll refuse, but he takes the bottle from my hand and unscrews the cap.
“Sure you want to trust me with this?”
“You can try.”
He bends over, and the cute concentration on his face is overkill. He squints as if he’s designing a space shuttle. “Uh-oh.”
“You built a crime scene.” My toes belong on a horror movie poster. But the effort deserves to be immortalized, so I frame the shot to catch a sliver of Sean’s very concerned expression, with my tragic toes blurry in the background.
Caption: Nailed it (not really)
#truelove #hetried #michelangelocouldnever #youareluckyyouarehot
By the time he leaves, I’ve racked up 412 likes and 59 comments.
I usually don’t do this, but I check. Raymond isn’t one of them.