Page 15 of Taking Care of You
Smiling, I look away and say, “Yeah, maybe.”
“No ‘maybe’, creep. It is. It’s cool, though. I’ll get you to talk, one way or another.”
A laugh tries to escape my throat, but I hold it back. I can’t give in too easily, after all.
When we get to his house, I see him eyeing my duffle bag as I pull it from the backseat. My cheeks grow warm, but I look at him head on and ask, “Can I crash here?”
He smiles, takes the bag from my hand and puts it over his shoulder. “Sure, creep.” When we get inside, we remove our shoes at the door and walk down the hallway. “You can take the guest room,” he tells me. “No one has slept here since…hell, I can’t remember.” He drops my bags on the bed and rubs his hands together. “Ready to get to work?”
I nod and we head back to the living room and sit on the floor. We grab our English outline and get started.
We work smoothly. We have a lot of ideas and they come together seamlessly. Before I know it, we have most of our first draft done. It came out a lot better than I thought it would.
Looking at my watch, I see it’s almost eight. Ethan stretches and yawns wide. “Sheesh. We worked late. Want some dinner? I can order pizza.”
“Sure,” I say, standing up and stretching as well. I can’t remember the last time I had pizza from a restaurant. We have store bought sometimes when my mom remembers to go grocery shopping instead of buying booze. And school pizza, of course.
“Where are your parents?” I ask as I follow him into the kitchen, where he’s taking a menu out of one of the drawers. We’ve been here for hours and no one has come in or out. It makes me wonder how often they’re home at all.
He leans against the counter, looking over the menu he pulled out. “A conference in D.C. They’ll be gone for the rest of the week.” He hands me the menu and walks to the fridge.
“A conference for your dad?” I glance down and look over the menu. So much looks good. I want to try it all. Calzones, stuffed crust pizza, cheese sticks, breadsticks. I have to clamp my mouth shut to keep from drooling.
“Nah. Medical conference for my mom. My dad loves any excuse to not go to the bank.”
I smile despite myself. I love that his father is supportive of his mother’s career and doesn’t feel like it’s less important than his own.
I hand him back the menu and tell him, “I’ll have whatever you’re having. I’m not picky.”
“Cool. You can have the other half of my calzone. This place makes them fucking huge.” I nod, but inside, I’m excited. I’ve never tried a calzone before. I’ve never been able to afford one.
My father leaves enough money to pay the bills, keep my phone on, and get me a few outfits and a new pair of shoes every few months. We don’t have money for anything extra liketakeout. I don’t mind though. At least I have food to eat, even if it’s nothing special.
After Ethan places the order, we go back to the living room, and Ethan turns the TV on. “You pick this time.” He tosses me the remote and, to my surprise, I catch it. “Would you look at that? You might be a good wide receiver.”
I give him a deadpan look, making him laugh. I put on a random movie that I know I’m not going to pay attention to and I put the remote down on the couch. I tuck my legs under me and try to get into the movie.
That doesn’t last long. I feel his eyes on me, burning a hole in the side of my face. Slowly turning my head, I make eye contact with him. “Now who’s the creep?” I ask quietly.
He barks a laugh and tosses a pillow at me. “You. Always you.” I hug the pillow he threw to my chest and rest my chin on it. “I was wondering who you’re going to Homecoming with.”
I shrug, playing with the pillow a bit. “I’m not.” I don’t do functions. Add to that, I don’t have money to get a suit.
“Why? No date?” His tone is teasing, but I start to feel bad. It’s true, I don’t do dances and shit, but it would be nice for that to be the only reason I didn’t go, not because I can’t afford the ticket.
Sighing, I decide to tell him the truth. I think it will be okay because of how he reacted to seeing my shitty house. He didn’t turn his nose up or look down on me because of it. He still wanted us to hang out and be friends. I guess we can test the boundaries of our friendship.
Putting my head down, I murmur, “I can’t afford a suit. Or the ticket. I asked my mom and dad, but…yeah. I can’t…go.”
When I look over at him, he looks sad. But he wipes the expression quickly. “Easy fix, creep. Let’s go shopping this weekend. I’ll get you a suit.”
I’m shaking my head before he’s done speaking. I don’t want his charity. That’s even worse than pity. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine staying at home. I’ve done it for three years. I can handle one more.”
“Come on,” he drawls, scooting closer to me. “You haven’t been to a homecoming. You should experience one. We only go to high school once.” When I continue to shake my head, he grabs my hand and holds it between both of his. I shoot a look at him, knowing my eyes are as big as saucers.
My hand in his feels so natural, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to sit like this with him. And he doesn’t seem to mind it being there. His hands are rough from sports, but they feel good against my skin.
God, I shouldn’t be thinking like this. Friends.Friends.
