Page 111 of We Can't Be Friends

Tonight wasn’t the first time she’s behaved this way. She takes random showers or disappears into her room for half an hour. I’ve worked to categorize what triggers which response, but there isn’t a consistent pattern. Except for her body language. Her eyes go molten, and knee bounces. If she’s talking, she goes silent as if something is trying to escape and she doesn’t want it to.

Am I any different?

When we get back to our flat, I’m a silent tornado. Audrey already knows the drill, prancing like a tipsy deer back to her room to clean it. Opening her door in leggings and a jumper, I hand her cleaning supplies and a cordless vacuum.

I start in the living room, fluffing and chopping pillows on the couch, reorganizing books on the shelf, ensuring each one is lined up correctly, and picking up any big pieces of dust or trash.

Then, the dining area.

Then, the kitchen.

Chloe stands by the front door, watching.

“Are you going to help?” I snap.

She blinks fast and I wish I instantly regretted my tone, but I don’t. What does she not understand about my mother being in Chicago? She’ll come here.

Our place is a mess. She can’t see it like this. I know better than this.

Chloe takes a hesitant step forward into the kitchen. Her lip pops from between her teeth. “How can I help?”

Audrey returns with the vacuum passing it to Chloe. She takes it and still in her leather boots and mini skirt, she starts vacuuming the place. I know we are going to have to do this again in the morning, maybe by the hour till Mom shows up, because of Tucker’s hair.

“I’ll keep him in my room,” Chloe says, cutting the vacuum.

I nod a few times. Make my way upstairs.

She follows.

I turn left and go into her room.

“I try to keep it picked up.”

“It’s fine, Henry.”

Picking up clothes, I don’t know or care if they are clean or dirty, I toss them into her laundry basket and tuck it into the closet.

Making and remaking her bed, I have to slam my eyes shut. Her bed reeks of her in the best way possible. Overwhelming my sensesjust as she does whenever she’s around. I wish I could lay down with her and curl up in these sheets.

But I can’t.

My mind won’t let me.

Chloe helps but is moving too slow.

What if my parents show up right now? What if they see her room like this?

Her room. It halts me in my tracks, feet skidding on the cool tile floor.

Chloe’s room.

My girlfriend’s room.

They don’t know she’s living here. I never ended up telling them that. If she’s living here, shouldn’t she be in my room?

Mom is never going to believe that she’s my girlfriend if we aren’t sharing rooms. She’s going to hate that she’s even here.

My chest is tight. I rub a hand over it, trying to find some air.

---