Page 37 of Wish You Would

“Mmm-hmm.” Simon opened a drawer next to the sink and pulled out a roll of plastic wrap. “Tell that to the astronauts who can see your blush from their space station.”

I brought my hands to my face, forgetting they were wet from the sink. The water cooled my cheeks, which, true to Simon’s word, were scalding.

Simon snickered and crossed the kitchen, where he began wrapping the remaining cookies. “My question is,” he continued, “which one of you idiots is going to make the first move.”

I dried my hands on a dishtowel and draped it over the oven handle. Neither, I thought, because there’s nothing going on.

But, when I went to bed that night, I tossed and turned, fervid with thoughts of Gigi’s breath caressing my lips, the warmth of her body kissing my skin. Even in dreams, I swore I could smell the sea salt and coconut of her skin. I woke up the next morning flushed and exhausted.

Now, one week later, I wasn’t any more well-rested than I’d been then.

Even if, I thought as I stuffed my backpack with notebooks and texts for the day ahead. Even if Simon was right, and there was something simmering that night, it was clearly one-sided. Otherwise, I’d have heard from Gigi by now.

Yet my phone remained absent of messages or phone calls.

I could’ve sought her out. Shown up at Heathcliff’s, as I’d done countless times before. But this felt different. This felt intentional. Like she wanted this space. This distance.

I didn’t know how to feel about that.

Today wasn’t the day to obsess about it, though. I had classes all morning, and a meeting with my advisor this afternoon. My stomach churned at the thought. She was going to ask me about my dissertation. She always asked me about my dissertation. I’d have to tell her, again, that I hadn’t decided on a topic yet.

Then, after that, I had my weekly phone call with my mom, who’d likely ask me the same exact questions my advisor had. And about a thousand more.

Pulling my jacket on, I shook the thoughts away. I’d face it when the time came. Now, I had other things to occupy my mind. After I hefted my two-ton backpack over my shoulder, I reached for a Ziploc bag of cookies and to-go coffee cup. Breakfast of champions: sugar and caffeine. Whatever kept me going.

“Bye, Simon,” I called as I headed for the door. “See you tonight!”

He waved from his giant, cushiony recliner, eyes on the TV screen. He always started his days off with an episode or two of My Boyfriend the Vampire. I asked him once how many times he’d watched the show’s seven seasons all the way through, and he told me he didn’t appreciate the judgment in my tone, and to mind my own business.

So, probably at least ten, I’d decided.

I smiled to myself and closed the door behind me. As I headed for the stairs, I steeled myself for a long day.

And, man, was I already exhausted.

The rest of the week was much of the same. Each day, I trudged to campus, spent hours in classes or at the library, the list of potential dissertation topics growing longer instead of shorter. Each night, I went home, dropped my things to the floor, and flopped on my overstuffed couch, falling asleep with my cat on my chest.

Tonight, the universe had different plans for me.

Anya called right around the time I was leaving the library, asking if I wanted to grab a bite. So, here I was, walking into Heathcliff’s for the first time in over a week.

As soon as I entered, I was hit with a wave of sound. A glance to my right told me what it was: Patti Mayonnaise was set up onstage, going through soundcheck. Frowning, I flipped through my mental calendar. Was it their night already? Had I forgotten? After months of counting down seconds till their shows, had I really forgotten?

“Parks, hey.”

I spun, finding Anya at my side. “H-hey,” I said back, putting a hand to my chest. “Sorry, I was…distracted.”

She smirked toward the stage, where warm, bright lights illuminated Halle as she pounded her way through a solo. “I’m sure you were.”

My cheeks warmed. I pressed my lips together in something like a smile and shrugged. “Caught me,” I said, even though I hadn’t even looked at Halle yet.

The realization was a shockwave. Numb, I watched Halle grin up at Ryan, dimples flashing as she twirled a drumstick between her fingers. This time last week, that sight would have ended me. Ended me. Now…

“…gotta run upstairs for a second.” Anya jarred me from my thoughts. Jerking my eyes from the stage, I faced her as she continued talking. “Then we can get outta here.”

I nodded, relief flooding through me. “Okay,” I said as I backed toward a corner table. In the dark. Far away from everyone. I needed a moment to myself. To process and reflect and…well, I needed a moment.

My backpack hit the floor with a thud and I sighed with relief to be free of the weight. Plopping down into a chair, I sank back. Idly, I watched the band go through their soundcheck routine—something I’d seen a time or ten. But, this time, I noticed the whole band, not just Halle. Tommy, with his lean, long arms bared by the muscle shirt he wore, shaggy blonde hair in his face as he ripped through a solo on his gleaming bass guitar. Olsen on keys, their so-very-’90s bowl cut gleaming under the lights. And Ryan, the guy half of their lead singers, looking like every frontman from every emo band from the era, swoopy dark hair and guy-liner.

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