8. EIGHT
EIGHT
“Duncan! Don’t make me book a flight!” Haley’s voice has a robotic twinge as she yells at me over the phone.
Three days have passed since my little outing with Finn, and I was not so pleasantly reminded how miserable my life is currently.
“I’m worried about you. You’re off, even if you won’t admit it. ”
She really can read me like a book, right? It’s as though every time I say I’m fine I’m really waving a big red flag in front of her face. “Hale. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Of course I’m sad, but it’s not the end of the world.”
Sure feels that way, though.
“Dunk, seriously.” Even I can tell this song and dance is getting repetitive to her. “You barely even talk about it. How am I supposed to believe you’re just gonna ‘get over’ it?”
“It’s hard, Haley. I don’t know what you want me to say. I go to bed every night wishing I would—” I shut my mouth so fast I almost bite my tongue. “...It’s really hard.”
My best friend goes so quiet that all I can hear is her soft breathing at first, followed by the nervous smacking of her lips as she swallows down the worry I know she’s holding for me. “I’m gonna book a flight.”
“Haley! Don’t!”
Although I try to keep my tone light, it seems the time for jokes is over. “No, Duncan!” She shouts. “I hate this! I hate not being there for you. I know you. I know how you get, and I… I can’t do anything. I just can’t.”
“I’ll behave. No funny business.” The words feel like a lie even though I’m trying to be honest. “I promise. I really don’t need you to worry about me. I-I even made a new friend! Things are totally good here.”
After a shaky breath, Haley sighs. “...A new friend? Really?”
“Uh-huh,” I grin, “his name is Finn and he’s really sweet. He works at the gas station.”
“...The gas station? How old is he?”
“Um. I don’t know. B-But he’s not old! He’s our age and stuff. Like, he has sorta rosy cheeks and a cute little triangle smile and—”
“Oh my god!” Haley squeals happily. “You have a crush on him, don’t you?”
Blushing profusely, I groan. “I’m a grown man. I don’t have a crush on him.”
“But you like him?”
“Haley.”
“Duncan! C’mon! We never get to talk like this.”
“And we never will.” My eyes glance over to the clock on my microwave. “It’s getting late, and I’m going to bed.”
Haley groans. “Don’t hang up—”
My phone beeps as I end the call. I’m sure she’ll begin spam texting me so after I turn on do-not-disturb mode I set it face-down on my nightstand. There’s almost something sad about how quickly my mood shifts once I’m all alone in my bedroom.
The sheets of my bed are too hot, but I’m already stripped down to underwear and a loose fitting tank top with a sea otter on the front. Turning on my side, I try to shut my eyes and fall asleep. I know I shouldn’t trust how I feel when the sky is dark, but man is it hard to ignore it all.
Try is the key word though, because I really can’t bring myself to actually sleep. My body is slick with sweat and my clothes are sticky and I can hear the passing cars outside and—
Breathe.
Can’t let myself get overwhelmed. Sitting up, I grab my phone just in time to read a text I missed.
Finn!
Hi, Duncan! Sorry for being quiet. I had a lot of shifts recently, and if I’m not at work I’m sleeping!
I hope you didn’t think I didn’t have fun or anything. I really liked hanging out with you, and I hope we can do it again!
I’m really sorry. I just realized how bad this looks. If you don’t want to be friends anymore, I understand.
Sorry.
And I thought I was bad when it came to spiraling. I feel for him, though. Back when things actually mattered I probably spent way too much time stewing over stupid things that didn’t matter.
Before he can keep typing, I throw him a response so he knows I’m not mad at him. It’s not as though having my phone blown up is helping my mood, though. How can you send someone that many messages and not once think “hey maybe I’m being too much?”
ur ok :) hope things have been well
I could probably say more, but there’s no reason to. Even if it’s annoying, I’m not really upset with him. I do enjoy Finn’s company, but I’m not about to chase anyone either. Well, maybe a little. A little chasing could be okay.
My phone begins buzzing with his responses but I let it fall to the bed instead, opting to get up and do something useful with my time.
Grabbing my laundry hamper and sliding on my fuzzy white slippers, I slip into the hallway and press the shiny metal elevator button to head up to the laundry room. Putting it on the ground level would’ve been too easy, I guess.
Feelings are hard. I don’t even know my own, how could I know anyone else's? I’m glad that Finn texted, but I have this unnerving feeling in my stomach that something is wrong.
What if I’m only building up who I want him to be in my head? Could I see myself in a relationship of any kind with him? For all I know he could be straight. What does it even mean to be somebody’s friend?
I thought I knew, but sometimes it feels totally opposite. Haley is different. She’s only ever seen through a screen, and over time I’ve probably become a little desensitized to our relationship as a whole.
Of course I love her. I care about her more than I care about myself, but I think that not having an aspect of physicality makes it almost feel “fake” at times. Maybe I’m crazy, or maybe I’m just socially stunted.
Both outcomes suck.
Shiny metal doors slide open, but when I step in I find that I’m not alone in the cramped space of the elevator. One of my neighbors is standing in the corner, fiddling on her chunky phone from at least a decade ago.
“Oh!” She perks up the moment she realizes I’m here. “Hello, Duncan. How have things been for you, lately?”
Sandra's aged features twist into something warm. Her brown eyes are close in color to my own, yet they carry so much more life than mine do. In a way I’m envious of her. From what I know she has a husband and kids and all the things that mean your life mattered.
“Good.” The lie feels bitter on my tongue. I never thought of myself as a good liar, but I’ve done it my whole life. “How about you? Anything interesting?”
Her deep voice rasps as she laughs, dismissing me with a wave of her tanned hand. “Not a chance, sweetie. Just me and Harold and reruns of M*A*S*H.”
“That’s really sweet.” The doors open again and we step out into the blue patterned carpet of the first floor hallway. “I’ve been focusing on work.” Yep, work. The job I don’t have anymore.
“Really?” She grins, nudging me with a sweater-clad shoulder. “No… special someone?”
“H-Huh?”
Giggling, she beams at me like there’s a secret I’m unaware of. “The short guy with the brown hair? Kinda squirrely? Glasses and sweet eyes? He’s a cutie?”
Oh. This is obviously a misunderstanding. She probably saw him pick me up. That’s fine. I’m sure I can explain this clearly.