Page 18 of Fun Together
At least that explains her above-average aggression during the tennis game.
“So, back to the party. I’ll send Andrew an invite just in case.”
“I think he’ll still be on his trip.” Which reminds me, I’m supposed to meet him in—“What time is it?”
She checks her phone. “Noon. Why?”
I hop up to grab my stuff. “I was supposed to be at Andrew’s place thirty minutes ago.” I’m taking care of his plants while he’s gone, and he wants to walk me through everything I need to do to keep them alive.
“Tell him I’ll send him an invite just in case!” Evie shouts as I jog to my car.
7
Eli
“This is a type of succulent.You shouldn’t need to water it too much, if at all.” Andrew nods to the binder in my hands. “You can reference page 15a for more details.”
I open the binder that contains instructions for each plant he owns. It includes diagrams, watering schedules, and even a frequently asked questions section for each plant. “15a. Got it.”
He moves the pot about a millimeter to the left and I start to sweat. Andrew cares about his plants like they’re his own flesh and blood. I know if I so much as let a single dead leaf appear on one of them that I might not only lose his friendship, but maybe my own life.
This binder needs to become my Bible, basically.
“If you have any questions, just message me. I’ve got international texting.”
“We should be fine,” I say, pretending to hug the giant—I flip through the binder to find which plant this is—fiddle leaf fig. I see the wordtemperamentalbolded in red and almost regret offering to do this. But it will be fine. All part of the new responsible me. I’ve turned over a new leaf. Literally.
Andrew finishes his plant tour, and we make our way to his kitchen.
“I like your place,” I tell him. His apartment is one of those buildings that used to be a factory or something, so it has brick walls and tall ceilings with giant windows. “I bet your plants love all this natural light.”
It’s a real grown-up apartment, nothing like the places I’ve lived in the past few years. I guess this is the kind of place you can live when you have your shit together.
“Thanks. I like it here.” He opens the fridge and takes out a jug of almond milk and pours some into a glass. “Feel free to eat or drink whatever is in here whenever you stop by.”
I take a seat at one of the stools by his kitchen counter. “When you do you get back?”
I’ve sort of been hoping he’d ask if I wanted to stay here while he’s gone. That would temporarily solve my current problem of finding a place to live. It feels like too much to ask, and I’d just be freeloading on someone else again.
He takes a tub of protein powder out of a cabinet and spoons some into the cup. “About a month-ish.”
I’ve known Andrew for ten years now and if there’s one thing I know for a fact it’s that he doesn’t ever put “ish” at the end of anything.
Andrew and I met in eleventh grade, when I convinced a group of people to climb onto the roof of our high school one night after basketball practice. He was new on the team, having just moved to Raleigh that school year. There was a formality to him that was so out of place in a sixteen-year-old that I think a lot of the guys on the team didn’t really know what to do with him. He spent the entire first practice worrying over which play was which and where he was supposed to be on the court. I later found out that he hated playing, but his dad made him do it.
I remember thinking he seemed nice enough and always welcomed the challenge of corrupting someone like him in a harmless way. In a way that seemed harmless to me, anyway. I had a fearlessness that came with being young and stupid, operating under the belief that nothing bad could ever happen to me. I was always getting into some kind of trouble. Nothing major, but little infractions enough to annoy my parents, but not enough that I’d land myself in a serious situation.
Case in point, I had the bright idea that we should all climb onto the roof of our school. Why? Because, why not? I told him it was all part of the basketball team’s initiation.
“What if we get caught?” Andrew asked, stiffly clinging to the bottom of the ladder behind the utility room at the back of the school.
“We won’t,” I reassured him.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said before slowly following me up.
He echoes those words, standing frozen in the middle of his kitchen.
“Why do you look like you’re about to throw up that protein shake?”
