15. Earth to Twunk
EARTH TO TWUNK
ANDERS
Luca de Sousa
Are you gonna call me back?
Or text me back?
I don’t know what the fuck is up with you but you can’t just ignore my calls.
God, Andy. You know I’m trying. Just humor me for a minute.
“Charlotte Malloy,” Aviva says slowly, staring across the thrift store in genuine disbelief, “what the actual fuck are you wearing?”
Charlie doesn’t even look up from the mirror. “Fashion,” she answers calmly. “Serving Cheetah Girl.”
“You look like you sell cigarettes outside a nightclub.”
“Thank you. I love the drunk cig lady.”
The tube top is skin-tight with black lace trim stitched around the bust like a fake corset.
She paired it with low-rise jeans and bright pink flip-flops she found in a clearance bin fifteen minutes ago and somehow still looks offensively pretty.
I think Charlie could wear a potato sack and somebody would ask for her number.
She slips on a leather jacket with faux fur around the cuffs and turns toward the mirror again.
I nearly choke on my iced coffee. “Oh my God,” I laugh. “Turn around.”
“What?”
“The back.”
Charlie twists awkwardly, trying to read over her shoulder. “Club Rogue?” She reads slowly. “What is that?”
Aviva bursts into laughter immediately. “That is a strip club.”
Charlie’s eyes narrow. “Why is there a naked silhouette?”
“Because it’s a strip club.”
“A classy establishment,” I add solemnly. “I’m pretty sure politicians go there to destroy their marriages.”
“I’ve heard of it,” Aviva says, still laughing. “Cal went once with Bishop and some of the older guys on the team. Apparently it feels like walking into a sex dungeon.”
Charlie gags. “Aviva, stop, I’m gonna throw up.”
Aviva shrugs. “It’s true.”
Poor Charlie’s face contorts. “I don’t wanna hear about my brother going to a sex dungeon!”
“Strip club,” I correct, snorting.
I was dangerously close to blowing my friends off, but lately I’ve been trying just about anything to keep myself occupied. If I’m busy, I’m not thinking about texting Parker.
“Okay,” Aviva says, pointing at me. “Your turn. Let’s see what nightmare you picked out.”
I grab my pile of clothes and disappear into the dressing room.
I tug on a pair of oversized gray cargo shorts first, then pull the sheer black lace top over my head.
The thing is objectively ridiculous, which is exactly why I grabbed it.
I lace up the Doc Martens I stole from somebody else’s abandoned pile and wrap a scarf loosely around my neck for dramatic effect before sliding on giant sunglasses.
By the time I step out, Charlie physically doubles over laughing.
“Oh, this is horrific,” Aviva wheezes.
“You don’t understand the vision.”
“No, I do,” Charlie says immediately. “The vision is bisexual Coachella drug dealer.”
I snort. “That’s exactly the vision.”
Aviva walks a slow circle around me like she’s inspecting a museum exhibit. “Why does the lingerie top kind of work?”
“Because he’s annoyingly built,” Charlie says bitterly. “What’s the word—twunk?” Before I can stop her, she lifts the hem of the shirt slightly and groans dramatically. “Jesus Christ. These abs are getting unethical. Anders, I’m like—wet.”
I shove her away laughing. “Lee’s been trying to kill me in the gym.”
“Well it’s working,” Aviva says. “If academia fails, you could absolutely become some rich man’s trophy husband.”
That makes me laugh harder than it should.
Mostly because Parker said something almost identical to me once after I came back from the gym in one of his old sweatshirts.
“You could genuinely become somebody’s trophy husband if you stopped talking for long enough.
” The memory hits so suddenly it knocks the breath from my lungs a little.
God. This is becoming a problem.
Everything stupid little thing somehow loops back to him lately.
It’s like my brain’s become one giant Parker-shaped infestation, which would probably be easier to manage if he didn’t basically just drop off the face of the earth.
Like he already knew there was something wrong and was trying not to scare it into becoming real.
“Earth to twunk,” Aviva says, snapping her fingers in front of my face.
I blink hard. “What?”
“You disappeared.”
“Sorry. I was dissociating.”
“Fashionably, though,” Charlie says, nodding supportively.
A few minutes later, Aviva disappears into the dressing room herself. When she finally emerges, she’s wearing a navy-blue ballgown, a glittery white cowboy hat, and yellow rain boots. I stare at her. Charlie stares at her. Then both of us start laughing at the exact same time.
“Oh, this is devastating,” Charlie gasps.
“It’s giving American Girl doll abandoned in attic storage,” I add.
Aviva claps excitedly. “Yes! You get it.”
“My Samantha doll literally had that exact dress,” Charlie says.
“Mine too,” Aviva says. “Her hair looked electrocuted by the end.”
Aviva disappears back into the dressing room to change. A minute later she pokes her head back out holding my phone. “Anders,” she says. “Your brother’s calling.”
My stomach drops immediately, but I answer anyway. “Hey,” I say quickly, turning away from the girls slightly. “I’m busy right now. I’ll call you later.”
There’s a pause. “What are you doing?” Luca asks. His voice is calm. Too calm. Something is up.
“I’m with my friends.”
“You haven’t answered Emelie or me in days.”
Guilt flickers briefly through my chest before irritation stomps all over it. “I’ve been busy.”
“Really?” he asks carefully. “Because you kind of disappeared after Verona’s. I’ve barely heard from you since then”
My throat tightens instantly. “Well, maybe I have my own life,” I snap before I can stop myself.
Luca exhales softly through the phone. “Hey. Don’t pick a fight with me.”
“I’m not.”
“You kind of are.”
I rub at my forehead hard enough to hurt. “I’m fine, Luca. Seriously.”
“You sure?” The question comes softer this time, like he’s approaching a wounded animal.
“I don’t know why you’re acting weird all of a sudden,” I mutter.
“What?”
“You’ve been riding my ass nonstop for the past couple of weeks. Since when have you ever given a shit?” The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Luca goes quiet. I close my eyes briefly. Great. Fantastic. Excellent emotional regulation from me as always. My therapist would be so proud.
“Anders,” he says carefully, “that’s not fair.”
“I know.” But I still mean it, even if it's just a little.
“I’m just making sure you’re okay,” he says quietly.
Something in my chest twists painfully at that. I know he’s trying. I know he’s tired. I just…can’t. Not when Parker hates me and I can’t fucking focus on anything else. “I’m okay,” I say finally.
“You know you can tell me if you’re not, right?” The question sits heavily between us.
I stare blankly at the thrift store wall while panic crawls slowly up my spine. Then Charlie yells from across the room. “Anders! Come tell Aviva her cowboy era needs to end immediately!”
“I gotta go,” I say quickly.
Luca exhales quietly. “Alright.” Neither of us hangs up immediately.
The silence settles too long, awkward in this deeply familiar way we’ve somehow become over the years.
“I love you,” Luca says finally.
The words hit harder than they should.
“Love you too,” I murmur.
After the call ends, I keep staring down at my phone for a second too long, hoping that if I wish for something hard enough, it might come true.