Page 2 of Deep In Love
Fondness settles beneath my diaphragm for my favorite barista, roommate, and platonic soulmate. We’ve been inseparable from the day we met in the women’s bathroom in the biology building, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. She was a much-needed light when there was only darkness in my life.
“God, Ames, I could marry you,” I moan, sipping on the latte, which is exactly how I like it: four shots of espresso, very little milk. “It’s been a long day.”
Amy arches a brow, the fuchsia stone in her eyebrow jiggling with the movement. “Charles, it’s only nine a.m.”
I roll my eyes.
Two years of friendship, and I haven’t been able to shake the silly nickname. My mild (see also: massive) obsession with Charles Darwin—world-renowned naturalist and all-around badass scientist—and my full name, Charlotte, gave her the fodder she needed to cultivate thehighly creativenickname. My ensuing annoyance only added fuel to her fire, and now I will forevermore be herCharles.
My beloved Charles,she says when she wants something to go her way.
It works nearly every time.
“And the three hours I’ve been awake have felt like a million years.” I drop my voice. “A student asked me if we evolve after having sex like we’re Pokémon.”
Amy gasps, then releases a booming laugh. She slaps the countertop a few times before she composes herself and pulls a lemon poppyseed muffin from the display. Dr. Yu—the economics professor—gives us an odd look before returning to his paper.
“You need this. You have grumpy face this morning.”
She mimics a frown, her lips pursed cartoonishly and a deep V etched between her brows. Her interpretation elicits my own frown.
That is not how I look.
I steal a glance at my reflection in the display case. Okay, fine. Maybe it’s an accurate impersonation.
“It’s rude to call customers grumpy,” I say, but snatch the muffin away. She grins broadly, my glare sliding off her shoulders. If I’m a storm cloud, Amy is my ray of sunshine.
“You got free coffeeanda muffin, so I can call you whatever I want. You’re my grumpy Charles.” Her fingers hit my cheeks, tugging my lips into a forced smile. “I love you just the way you are.”
Her words strike a chord, and I bite back the tears that spring to the surface. I don’t want to cry, not here—or anywhere else, for that matter—so I mumble “I love you, too” before claiming a table in the back.
I drop the stack of midterms I need to grade onto the table, allowing them to act as an escape from the eddy of insecurity Amy conjured by telling me she loves me. She offers the words so freely, untethered by the weight of uncertainty.
I don’t say it to hear it back. I say itbecause I mean it,she told me once, which promptly brought on an onslaught of unwelcome feelings and thoughts.
She has the emotional freedom I envy.
I’m midway through the ninth exam when my phone dings and I’m greeted by every PhD student’s worst nightmare: a cryptic email from their advisor.
Are you free to meet at 3 on Wednesday? My office. -Cheryl.
It’s a question, but nothing about its brevity suggests it’s optional.
My fingers tingle as I respond, confirming I can meet with her, before I descend into a death spiral.
“Fucking hell,” I whisper. My to-do list is ten miles long; I have lab work I’ve been pushing off for weeks, I’m far from addressing Cheryl’s last comments on my thesis, and I still have forty exams I need to grade before Friday. Meeting with Cheryl in two days does not give me time to complete my list so she doesn’t believe I’m lazy or inept.
Anxiety settles in nicely, right beside her old friend, self-doubt. The two of them are a deadly duo.
“What’s going on over there?” Amy’s gentle voice slices through the fog, and she bounds over, slipping into the seat across from me. Her eyes soften with concern as I pick at my nail polish, the once sparkly purple now chipped and littering the pile of exams.
Gah. I hate that look.
“Cheryl emailed me.”
“So? She does that all the time.”
While that’s true, and Cheryl is notorious for sending too many emails, they’re often lengthy and full of detail. This one is brief, and that’s what sets me on edge.
