Page 79 of The Boyfriend List
“I shouldn’t have left like that,” I murmur. I let myself touch her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. The warmth of her fills me with an inexplicable sense of peace and relief that nothing else can. “I shouldn’t have left you like that. Please, let me apologize. Let me make it up to you.”
She sniffs. “I’m supposed to be makingyoufeel better.”
“You are. You always make me feel better.” I tug her into me, and she curls into my side, letting me pull her into a hug that seems to sort out all the jumbled pieces of my heart. “Just by being you.”
She presses a gentle kiss to my neck. “Let’s go home.”
“You’re my home, Gloria,” I whisper into her hair.
A few hours later, we’re in Gloria’s apartment, curled up on her couch beneath a blanket while she snoozes next to me. A black and white Cary Grant film plays on mute on the TV. Twinkling fairy lights strung up around the walls and the faded posters of boy bands and pop stars are homey andcomforting. I’m glad we’re not at my place right now. The reminders of my family would be too painful.
We fell asleep on the couch watching old movies. I woke up a few minutes ago, my mind racing with thoughts I can’t outrun.
Your parents are getting a divorce because you didn’t try hard enough. You didn’t hold them together. You let your guard down.
No one cares about them the way you do. It’s all on you. Keeping the family together is on you, and you failed.
It’s over now. Stop trying to fix them. There’s no fixing this.
I clap my hands over my ears as if it will drown out the voices rattling around my skull. I focus on the sensation of Gloria tucked against me. Her gentle breaths form a meditative rhythm, guiding my thoughts into a less panicked cadence. The smell of her hair washes over me, and I want to bury myself in this moment and never come out again. To encase us in blissful ignorance and pretend Savannah’s wedding never happened.
She hasn’t looked at me with pity yet, which I appreciate. But I fear she will. That she won’t stay with me because she loves me. She’ll stay because she sees the secrets I keep from everyone: that I’m broken. Unable to keep myself together, much less keep the peace in my family. And she’ll want to fix me, to piece me back together.
I can’t stand that thought.
I shift on the couch, the tightness in my neck and shoulders reminding me that the small sofa was made to sit upright on, not to sleep on. Gloria lets out a small sigh. I wonder what she’s dreaming about.
She looks so relaxed and comfortable that I can’t bring myself to let her go. Even if her elbow is digging into my bladder and I really have to use the bathroom. I slowly slide until my legs are off the couch and my feet are flat on the floor. While we’ve been dating for a few weeks now, I don’t think she’d be comfortable knowing we fell asleep curled up next to each other. At least,I don’t think she wants to sleep in the same bed as me before marriage, and this is basically the same thing.
I bend down and scoop up a still-sleeping Gloria, and carry her towards her bedroom. It’s only a few steps away in the small apartment, and I gently lay her down on her queen-sized bed, which is fortunately unmade. It makes it easier for me to pull the sheets back over her. She remains unconscious throughout the whole maneuver.
Returning to the living room, I pick up my phone. It was silenced during the wedding, but now I have dozens of missed calls and text messages from my family.
Brooklyn
Are you okay?
Savannah has sent the siblings’ group chat unhinged, all-caps rants, which is fair. Our parents ruined her wedding by airing their dirty laundry during her first dance.
Troy
Let me know if you want to talk.
That surprises me. Of all our siblings, he seemed the most nonchalant and unbothered by the news. Then again, maybe he was just hiding it, or too numb to react in the moment.
Perry
Can you believe they’re really getting divorced?
All their texts glare at me from the too-bright screen, my eyes not quite adjusting from the dimly lit room to the brightness of my phone. My chest tightens, my heart rate speeding as I scroll through the messages of my siblings. Finally, there’s one from someone else.
Mom
Come home. We need you.
Who’s ‘we’? Her and Dad? Her and my siblings? Everyone?
I’m so tired of being the one who takes care of everyone. The one who makes everyone else happy.
