Page 63 of Tips and Trysts

“What?” I ask, dropping my shoulders.

“You look…human,” he replies, frowning. “Which for most people would be great—maybe even aspirational—but you usually look like a woodland elf prince.”

I glance back and forth between my two best friends, exasperation creeping up my spine. I let out a slow exhale. Screwit. “I’m about to snap, so one of you needs to talk me through it or I’m going to blow this debate.”

Dalton and Lander exchange a look. I know what they’re thinking: In our twenty-eight years of friendship, neither of them has given me a pep talk because I’ve never needed one—ever.

More best friend telepathy takes place, and clearly Lander is the winner—or the loser, depending on perspective. He faces me. “Ev, it’s a debate. You’ve never lost a debate. Even if you weren’t ready, you’re…the most handsome one out there.”

I tighten my brow. “That’s supposed to inspire me? Pierre gives better pep talks than you.”

“What do you want me to say?” Lander questions before shooting a glare in Dalton’s direction.

“What, me? Okay, how about this: Everyone else is old as fuck, so even if you lose, you can run again in like, ten, fifteen years because they’ll all be dead.”

Normally, this is when I would tell Lander and Dalton that a pep talk this bad usually results in the end of a species. But I’m still fixated on Cora and how she’s the only one who gets it—who understands the pressure to be so goddamn perfect.

So instead, all I say is, “Can you give me a minute alone?”

Lander pulls his head back in surprise. “You want us to leave?”

We all know it’s weird. Lander, Dalton, and I have done everything together since we were literal babies. Still, I nod.

As soon as my friends are gone, I take out my phone. I don’t really consider the rashness of what I’m about to do. If I did, I would realize I don’t have time to do this well. I would realize I haven’t thought about it, planned it, and carefully selected every word.

Doesn’t matter.I need her.Winging it is my only option, so I’m winging it.

I’m so surprised when the call connects that I don’t say anything at first. Neither does she. But the smooth hum of her exhale streams into my ear, and for a moment I feel a calmness I haven’t experienced since I showed up at her doorstep, kissed her, and believed—for mere minutes—that everything was right.

“Hi,” I say, breaking the silence. “Look, if you’re willing to give me a shot—sorry, I shouldn’t use that word anymore because, you know, you got shot. Fuck, of course you know you got shot.”

This is pathetic. I’m rambling—and I never ramble.

Maybe she should know though. Maybe it’s good for Cora to hear what effect she has on me.

“This doesn’t happen to me,” I admit. “The stammering. The fumbling. I didn’t even know I was capable of being uncertain and, like, unconfident—ugh. But with you, I’m a mess. It’s the single most unsettling feeling I’ve ever experienced. But the thing is, without you, I’m worse.”

I pause. Cora still hasn’t spoken.

“I’m sorry I lied,” I go on. “I should have told you how much I wanted you, but I figured everything would magically work out. That’s how it’s always gone for me.”

I wait. Still no response.

I let out a slow breath. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the moment I met you. I know I told you already…shit, how am I so bad at this?”

I pause again, hoping she’ll say something.

Nothing.

“Alright, well here’s the truth: You make me laugh,” I go on, pacing the prep room. “I know I don’t laugh a lot, but sometimes when I’m alone, I think about things you’ve said and start laughing. Like, this one time, you told me you’d take an Ambien and text Freddy Krueger before voting for me for president. I legitimately laughed about it for a month.”

I stop where I’m standing.

“I don’t really stop thinking about you. When I’m not with you, I imagine what it could be like to hold your hand. To be the person you text right before you turn on airplane mode. Four months ago, I flew to Paris and wanted to text you. When I landed, the first thing I did was check to see if you posted anything. You had. It was a picture of you with your middle finger up. I saved it. Sorry if that’s weird.

“But actually, I’m not sorry. You should know how you fundamentally rewired my brain. And I won’t lie—because I’m never going to lie again: Knowing you and not having you has been agonizing. It has been the great nightmare of my life so far.

“If you let me, I’ll do this right. I’ll hire the best PR team in the world, and they’ll figure out a way for us to be together. You have my word. And I know I don’t have any right, but I’m an asshole and I’m going to ask: Will you please come to the debate? I want to know you’re here. I don’t think I can do this if you’re not here. My father is going to be sitting in the front row, and if I don’t nail this…”

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