Page 73 of We Can't Be Friends

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t know I needed too.”

Maybe it’s the aroma of the comforter, the proximity to Callum, or how once again he’s a safety net and calm, I let my wall down. Give him a few crumbs.

“I like when you ask me questions. It makes me believe you care.”

“I do care.”

Resting my cheek on the bed, I rotate his way.

“What happened to your apartment, Dais?” he asks.

“My shower officially broke. Pipe or something burst. My neighbor's bathroom is in my bathroom. I don’t really understand, but the entire place is flooded. My landlord, after five rounds of phone tag, is going by tonight to assess damage and is going to call me in the morning.”

“I’m sorry that happened.”

“Don’t be. Bad things happen in threes, right? Well this is number two. Just waiting for number three.”

“There won’t be a third, I promise.”

“Don’t make promises. They’re never held.”

“It’s the three of us, forever. I promise,” Aaron said, spooning mac and cheese into Miller and I’s bowls. “MAC forever.”

I roll over before I linger in my memories for too long and sit up.

“I’m going to take a shower.” My stomach growls. “Any chance you’re hungry?”

“Is Thai good with you?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” I turn my lips inward. “I’ll be down in a little.”

“Take your time.”

***

There was a towel warmer in the bathroom. A towel warmer.

It took everything in me to not stay bundled in the soft cotton. My stomach growled every time I tightened my towel cocoon.

The smell of the Thai food didn’t help either.

With a salivating groan, I got dressed. Slipping on my ‘MAKE EMO GREAT AGAIN’ oversized shirt and a pair of brief underwear I went downstairs.

The bottom of the stairs gives you a view of the kitchen.

On the second to last stair I spot Cal going through his cabinets. Rotating between one that he must use as a pantry, his computer, and a trash can that is pulled out.

He’s murmuring to himself. “Farro.” A box of grains is in front of his face, puzzled. “Nope.” He tosses it into the trash. Then Cal sighs. “Goodbye honey mustard twisted pretzels. We had a great run.” Kissing the bag, Cal drops it into the trash. “That should be everything.” His shoulders drop.

“What are you doing?” I ask walking to the island.

He’s startles. “Nothing.”

“Looks like you were cleaning out your cabinet.”

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