Chapter 6
The Lull
Nate
The apartment is too damn quiet. The way it’s been every Friday and Saturday for longer than I care to admit. I shut the thought down. Robyn does important work and deserves my support through it.
She’s not done with her weekend shift until Sunday morning, so my thoughts wander from how I miss her and how good she feels beneath me and on top of me, to her sense of humor and work ethic.
Then down a darker path to the reality that by the time she sleeps and wakes up, I’ll be winding down—trying to look functional for Monday.
I shake my head. Stop the pity party and do better, Leighton.
I warm up a piece of leftover lasagna and chase it with a sip of wine I shouldn’t have opened alone. Some random show’s on the TV, not holding my attention. After twenty minutes of switching apps and another ten of zoning out, I give up.
Everything sounds louder when you’re waiting for someone you know isn’t coming—the occasional car passing outside, the hum of the fridge, the hollow clatter of ice dropping into the tray. My phone vibrates against the coffee table. Once. Twice. Two more times.
Robyn: Join our bet.
There’s a picture attached: her and Julian grinning, each holding a paper cup with the number 1 Sharpied on it.
Robyn: How many cups of this do you think we’ll need to get through the next 32 hours? Also, this coffee is worse than usual—it could mean we need more, or it could mean we have to forgo it altogether. Julian’s bet is 13. Mine 8. Yours?
Robyn: Also, how dumb is this? A bachelor party just made it into the ER. The groom had an allergic reaction to the stripper’s glitter oil. By mid lap dance, the swelling wasn’t where he’d hoped.
The phone buzzes in my hand again.
Robyn: Ugh. Now Bridezilla’s here, and she’s pissed. Wasn’t cool about strippers at the party. Apparently, hubby lied.
Robyn: I’m pretty sure the whole thing was livestreamed. How embarrassing.
Yikes.
Robyn: FYI, I’m okay with strippers. Just don’t be shady about it.
My spine straightens like I’ve been doused with iced water. That’s Robyn for you. Hates being blindsided. I shake it loose.
Me: Don’t worry, sweet thing. Julian can organize the whole thing. Make sure it’s above reproach.
The three dots immediately pop up.
Robyn: I think that’d get you the opposite.
Another buzz.
Robyn: This coffee truly is the worst.
I swipe to the food app and order her one of those syrupy lattes she likes with an extra espresso shot. Actually, two of them, one delivery in the middle of the night and another one first thing in the morning. Each order has a second one for Julian because … why not?
We text for a bit—more sordid details come through about the ER drama.
It’s kind of dark but hilarious in how she tells it, and I marvel at how she can make me laugh out loud from miles away.
Then she sends a photo of her and Julian fake pouting.
The conversation takes the edge off, but my apartment still feels like a waiting room.
Except I’m the only one waiting for the life we promised we’d start that keeps getting delayed.
I lean back on the couch, running a hand through my hair.
My head’s heavy with the dull ache that comes from not eating enough earlier in the day and then too much.
I should’ve made plans with someone, anyone, but my coworkers either have kids or want to spend their weekends at cigar lounges pretending they’re forty-five.
As I scroll absently through my phone, a picture from our get-together at the bar flashes by—Tessa, two others, and me laughing by the jukebox. She works a nine-to-five—free when I’m free.
That kiss still sits wrong with me. It was a joke I didn’t stop quickly enough.
I should have said something when Robyn asked about Tess.
Or about lunch. I palm my chest at the memory.
I hate that Tessa kissed me, but I like the reminder that there’s more than your girlfriend hitting pause on our future. Again.
Nothing’s changed between Tessa and me. She still calls about small things—whether she should worry about the outlet that keeps tripping the breaker, or where she should have her tires checked without being ripped off. And I feel useful driven by problems I can actually solve.
I look down at the cold, half-eaten piece of lasagna and sip more wine. When I find myself wanting to tell Robyn … It’s not worth upsetting her or ruining a friendship over. I just need to figure out what to do so I’m not counting down the weekends till my girl’s schedule is predictable again.
Robyn’s brilliant mind, the sight of her in our naughty holiday sweaters, the wholeness in the way our bodies fit.
She’s … everything. And she’s fighting for something bigger than us right now.
I’m proud of her. Especially when I close my eyes and imagine her breath against my neck, or her brow furrowed as she reads stroke studies.
I’m so proud she’s mine. I’m just so tired of being proud alone.
I hover over her name in my messages, then slide out of our thread and open a new one.
Me: Hey, you guys still up for watching that midnight screening?
Tessa: I’m on my way there, actually.
I stare at the message for a second too long. My pulse gives a small chagrined kick. Nothing’s changed.
Me: Sweet. See you at the theater.
No typing dots this time. Somehow, that’s a relief. I set my phone face down on the table, grab my keys, and stand. The room tilts slightly; my body feels too tight, too restless.
A stupid movie at midnight is better than another night sitting here missing someone who’s always gone.
About forty minutes later, twenty minutes before the movie starts, I stand underneath the vertical neon sign.
The name of the theater, MUSIC BOX, burns red against the black midnight sky.
The marquee light spills onto the sidewalk in gold and amber, painting the line of people waiting outside in flickering warmth.
Posters line up for their weekly schedule.
Trolls 2 is there, demanding attention it doesn’t fully deserve despite its cult status.
Unless you’re avoiding your empty apartment.
Beneath the marquee, next to the box office, is a familiar face.
Andrzej’s already waiting, head bent over his phone, thumb scrolling.
The magenta lighting cuts across his face, catching his sharp-blue eyes when he glances up.
His hair’s cropped short, a little longer on top, disciplined but not square, kind of like him.
I step up, and he blinks then grins, and we greet the way we always do—a quick clasp of hands and a clap to the shoulder.
“Hey, man,” he says, eyes narrowing. “You and Robyn out for date night?”
I furrow my brow. “No. I’m here for Trolls 2 with the whole group.”
“The whole group?” He gestures with his hand.
“Yeah. Are you not here for that?”
He shakes his head, frowning. “Nope. I’m here with friends—you haven’t met them. I needed to get the fuck out after what’s probably the saddest movie I’ve ever seen. They’ll be right out.”
I blink. “But Tessa said everyone was coming to Trolls 2.”
Andrzej exhales a sharp laugh, somewhere between disbelief and pity. “Dude, was there anything about it in our group chat?”
I rub the back of my neck, heat creeping up under my collar. “Well, no. But I figured she must’ve talked to people separately. You know … like she did me.”
“Tessa planned this?”
“I guess. I thought it was something organic. You know we used to watch these back in college.”
He goes still, a dry, unimpressed look settling over his face. “You’re smarter than this, Nate.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Tessa planned this ‘group outing,’” he says, making air quotes with one hand. “And I’d bet good money everyone coincidentally canceled.”
I let out a scoff, trying to sound amused. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m not trying to say anything,” he says, tone flat. “I’m telling you—Tessa’s had a crush on you since college. Now she’s back, planning movie nights. It’s a pretty simple equation.”
“Tessa hasn’t had a crush on me ever,” I say, forcing a dry laugh. “I mean, sure, she made a move when we were teens, but nothing’s ever happened. There’s no spark there. Never has been.”
He gives me a look. “Dude, I’ve known some of my friends since we were babies. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t fuck some of them.” He stares at me, then adds, “You can’t be this obtuse.”
I shift my weight, steeling my spine. “There’s nothing there,” I say, a little too fast, even though I was trying for certainty. The kiss flashes in my mind, but I shake it off.
Andrzej’s wait time is killing me. He stares at me, tilting his head, and squares his shoulders. It screams I can tell something’s off. And I’d tell him—I really would—except I didn’t tell Robyn, so I can’t tell anybody. In any case, there’s nothing to tell because nothing happened.
It’s clear he won’t say anything until I do, so I add, “You’re reading too much into it.”
He studies me for a beat, then nods slowly.
“I’m just saying—Robyn’s a woman. Smart, dedicated.
With just the right amount of sass to keep you together.
And she loves you to pieces. Don’t shoot yourself in the foot.
” He pauses, lips in a thin, disapproving line.
“But hey, if you’re being this belligerent because you’ve got a thing for Tessa—”
My patience snaps. “I don’t have a thing for Tessa.” I shoot my palms up then drop them uselessly to my sides when it occurs to me he’ll misread that as well. “I just don’t see her that way.”
“A week ago, I would have believed you.” He shakes his head. “But after last week at the bar—”
I raise my eyebrow. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you. She’s a friend. Has been for a long time. I help her with stuff. Nothing else.”
He pins his calculating eyes on me, then gives me his signature maddeningly calm nod one more time.