Page 87 of Win You Over
Theo laughs, shaking his head. “We’re not giving up!” Theo shuffles onto his knees and hits play on the video again. He fiddles with the machine’s inner mechanisms, issuing me instructions which I follow without argument.
“Finn came into the cafe again yesterday,” he says, his attention still on the record player and the screw he’s removing.
I bristle. “Did you talk to him?”
Theo shakes his head then hands me the small steel object I am pretty sure he shouldn’t have removed.
“Never do. He simply sits in the corner, orders coffee, watches me and then leaves.”
Finn hasn’t returned to campus despite classes starting back up two weeks ago. Remi hasn’t mentioned him, not since the day I came in from work to find him curled up in his bed with dried tear stains on his cheeks.
He’s still sad. He tries to hide it, but I see the way he stares at his phone, like he’s waiting for a message that never comes. And I notice the crack in his mask when something from his past comes up and I’m certain there’s a story there that involves Finn. Their history cannot be erased or ignored.
And now, for whatever reason, Finn is making regular appearances at the coffee shop where Theo works.
“You could tell your boss to ban him if it’s creeping you out.”
Theo sits back on his knees, a long piece of metal in his hand and a grin on his face.
“Don’t be dramatic. He’s the least creepy guy I’ve seen this week.”
“I still don’t like it,” I say.
Theo shrugs. “I know. But he’s just another customer.”
I want to argue, but I don’t because Theo is right. Finn is a customer and I can’t stop him from being there even if I don’t like his proximity to my friend.
We fall silent while the two of us try to work out how all the pieces we removed fit back in. When we’re finally done, I wipe my hands on my jeans and sit back.
“Where does this go?” Theo holds up a solitary silver screw.
We both look at the completed unit, none the wiser where the remaining item fits. We did not have a spare when we started.
“No idea.” I shrug. “Let’s see if it works.” Turning over the record player, I carefully open the scratched up lid and put in an old record I bought in a thrift store. Then, we hold our collective breaths as I press start.
At first, nothing happens, and then, as if it needed time to warm up, the record spins and the needle moves over it, eliciting a tinny, scratching sound that slowly morphs into music.
“Fuck yes!” Theo pumps his hand in the air, the screw flying from it and landing somewhere in the room.
I let it play for a few minutes before I hit stop once, then twice, then a third time. Nothing happens. The record continues playing, skipping over to the next song.
“Well, shit,” Theo says, running a hand through his unruly red locks while looking at the turntable like it’s offended him.
“At least it works,” I say, pulling the plug from the wall to make it stop. “Kind of, anyway.”
Theo stands, and I follow, stretching my aching legs.
“You taking it with you to your new place?” Theo asks, a smirk twisting on his lips.
“Haha.”
“What?” He holds up his hands with mock innocence. “You’re barely ever here.”
Theo has a point, but I refuse to leave him with the full cost of the room to pay for. So while I may sleep in Remington’s bed most nights of the week, eat with his family every day, and have an entire closet to myself at his place, I technically still live here.
“It can stay here,” I say, answering his earlier question. “And I do live here.”
Theo puts a hand on my shoulder.
