Page 66 of Boiling Point
I closed my eyes, sinking deeper into the couch. “Hey, Aunt Suzy.”
“Hey? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Her voice hit like a rapid-fire assault, equal parts panic and exasperation. “I thought maybe you’d fallen into a volcano or joined a cult or something!”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Really.”
“Where have you been all weekend? Why didn’t you text me back?”
I hesitated too long.
There was a pause on the other end of the line—the kind that sounded suspiciously like gears turning. “You were with that ‘friend’ from physics again, weren’t you?”
I walked to my bedroom and flipped on the light. “Yeah.” I didn’t know what else to say.
Any trace of worry vanished, replaced by gleeful intrigue. “Good for you, Gabrielle! Now, tell me everything. I want all the details.”
I took a breath and let it out slowly. “We went to dinner Saturday night,” I said, dropping onto the bed. “And…studied.”The word felt radioactive on my tongue, like it might give too much away.
Silence stretched for a beat. “You ‘studied’?” she repeated, skepticism bleeding through the line like ink.
“Yes.”
My clipped tone didn’t deter her. “Did you at least have fun?”
I hesitated again, then found myself saying, “I did. We went to this really nice restaurant, and he’s…”—my mind scrambled for something safe—“he’s smarter than I expected.”
“Smarter?” She practically cackled, the sound popping through the quiet like a flashbulb. “That’s a first! Just your type, then?”
“It was nice,” I said, evading with more skill than I knew I had. “He’s nice.”
“This sounds serious,” she mused, almost singing. “Did you spend the whole weekend with him?”
“Yeah,” I admitted, twisting my fingers in the duvet. “And he helped me with some homework. There’s a big problem set due this week.” That much was true, at least.
“Do I at least get to know his name?” she pressed.
I hesitated. “Cal.” His name slipped out too easily, too familiar. I fumbled to recover it, to cover. “Calvin.”
She snorted, a sharp burst of disbelief that made me wince. “Calvin? Please tell me his last name isn’t Klein.”
“It’s not,” I said weakly, trying not to dwell on the fact that I didn’t actually know what Cal was short for.
“So…when do I get to meet thisCalvin?”
I froze. “Uh,” I said, my mind going blank. “I don’t think we’re anywhere near that stage.”
“Gabrielle, really,” she said with exasperated fondness. “What’s the point of getting to know him if you’re not going to bring him home?”
“We’re just hanging out,” I said quickly. “I don’t want to scare the poor guy off.”
“How would I scare him?” She laughed as if the prospect was delightful. “If he can’t handle me, he’s not worth your time!”
“He’s probably not worth my time then,” I deflected, but the words felt unsteady and wrong. “Anyway, it’s not that serious.” Sandpaper on my tongue.
“Notyet,” she said knowingly, nearly singing again.
I pictured her on the other end of the line—sitting at the kitchen table back in Houston with a mug of coffee, a bright red nail tapping against its rim as she plotted my romantic future to the last detail.
“I’m glad you’re finally meeting people,” she said after a moment, her voice softening. “I was worried you were getting too buried in your studies, not getting out into the world at all.”
