Page 81 of Daydream

Nothing else has happened between us since then other than, as the library sign would say, heavy petting, and lots of cold showers.

And listening to the audio clip with my vibrator, obviously.

Maybe it’s because it makes me feel powerful in an area of my life that I haven’t felt powerful in before. Maybe it made me feel desired and satisfied and happy.

Maybe, just maybe, it’s Henry Turner.

“I’ve listened to the clip, Henry. In bed. In the bath. When I’m supposed to be studying.”

We reach my building and he holds open the door for me. “And what’s your professional review?”

“Professional review? Eleven out of ten. EGOT status pending for an excellent performance.”

“Thank you to the Academy in that case,” he says.

It’s a lot busier here than it was outside, which massively reduces my willingness to discuss what I’m doing when I’m home alone. I don’t know if I just watched too many college shows when I was growing up, but it really does feel like everyone notices Henry as we walk by. His posture stiffens, face hardens. It tells me it’s not just in my head, and perhaps the idea of being perceived isn’t what he wants right now.

“Hey, my room is right round this corner. Why don’t you head out? It’s super busy here today.”

“Okay,” he says. “Thanks. I’m pretty tired, so I might not be around later, but I’ll speak to you tomorrow?”

“Thank you for telling me that. Yeah, I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

He doesn’t hesitate to get himself away from this hallway and I can’t blame him, because people definitely seem to watch him leave the way they watched him arrive. Nobody pays attention to me as soon as he’s gone, and when I sit down in class, thinking far too much about the audio on my phone, Aurora drops herself into the seat beside me. “I hope you’re in the mood to hear me complain about Chaucer.”

Consider my mood officially killed.

Chapter Twenty-FourHALLE

IHAD EXPECTATIONS OF WHATmy adult life might look like.

It was going to be sophisticated and full of adventure. I’d meet interesting people and do interesting things, and I’d be hot and happy.

It certainly did not involve me lying on my living room floor on a Tuesday evening with a slightly stale bag of chips and a pile of tissues because listening to “Marjorie” makes me miss my Nana and I can’t stop crying. But I also can’t stop listening to it.

I lifted my legs to rest them on the couch twenty minutes ago while balancing my laptop on my stomach, and I’m comfortable enough to stay here forever. Joy likes our floor life, too, and has taken to pawing her way across my hair in an attempt to make herself some kind of bed.

I’m supposed to be studying for my finals. I’m supposed to be hanging out with Henry. I’m supposed to be helping Gigi. I’m supposed to be baking for book club and finalizing the questions because I promised to still hold the session for people in town for the holidays. I’m supposed to be cleaning. I’m supposed to give Mrs. Astor a ride to the grocery store. I’m supposed to check in with Cami when we’re not at work. I’m supposed to look up Maisie’s scienceproject. I’m supposed to plan the vacation. I’m supposed to find Mom’s Christmas gift from all of us right now even though I have a month because my siblings are useless and impatient. I’m supposed to be writing.

God, I’m supposed to be writing so much, and like everything else it’s a complete lost cause.

After declaring, with all the determination of a woman with actual life goals she intends to see through, that I was going to put myself first, it appears that I have failed miserably. So, so miserably, and when I realized that I’ve been reading the wrong book for book club, because I forgot I said it would still happen and then confused my months, and that I couldn’t read itanddo all the other things, I had to lie on the floor.

It’s hardly the life I imagined for myself, but in a kind of near-delusional state, I’ve accepted it pretty quickly. My floor angle gives me the perfect view of the front door, so it’s easy to see Henry walk in and take one very long, very confused look at me before walking over and lying down beside me.

I’m sure this isn’t what he was expecting when he finished practice and asked if I wanted to hang out.

Joy quickly abandons her hair bed and climbs onto the center of Henry’s chest, purring happily as he strokes her. He turns his head to look at me. “Did you fall over?”

“Yes.” I reach for my phone and turn down my sad Taylor music playlist because Henry’s just gotten through his funk, and he doesn’t need to see me bawl my eyes out if “this is me trying” comes on.

“Why are you sad, Cap?” he asks.

“I’m not sad,” I lie. “I’m a ray of sunshine like I normally am.”

“You’re not a ray of sunshine,” he says casually, lifting his legs to rest on the couch to mirror me. “You’re the period of calm after a storm or, like, I don’t know, a well-fed panda.”

I snort, and I’ve given up pretending that snorting isn’t a thingI do, because it apparently is in Henry’s company. “How poetic of you. I’ll put it in my bio. Halle Jacobs: Aspiring author. Professional people pleaser. Calm like a well-fed panda.”

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