Page 31 of Perfectly Us
The admission causes an unexpected lump in my throat.
“You’ll find that someday. I know you will.” Ruben nudges me. “Come on. Let’s get some ice cream.”
Ruben always buys me ice cream to cheer me up. I’m not upset. Not really. But it makes me feel better anyway. I lucked out in the best-friend department for sure.
By the time Ruben drops me off back at home—we took his car to the promenade—I’m sticky with sweat. May was hot, but June arrived with a vengeance. The temperature was 97 degrees Fahrenheit last I checked, and that’s not including the heat index which pushed it over that hundred mark. Add humidity to that, and it’s a miracle I can still breathe.
“Hey, Mom,” I say as I walk into the house and see her standing at the kitchen window, glass of iced sweet tea in her hand.
She looks at me over her shoulder, a dazed look in her eyes. “Hey, sweetie. Have fun?”
“Yeah. Some of the stores were having awesome sales, so I got a few shirts and new shoes. I also found a cool backpack for college. It has a place to charge your phone, and it—”
“That’s nice,” she says, returning her gaze to the window.
Mom cuts me off like that a lot. I don’t know if she does it on purpose, or if she’s just so out of it that she doesn’t realize I’m still talking. She’s on some heavy antidepressants, as well as Xanax and a ton of other shit that helps her block out the world. She’s only ever clearheaded when she goes to her studio, but even then, she’s still not the same.
None of us are the same.
Not since Clay…
No.
I force the thought away and go upstairs, not looking at his door on my way to the bathroom. I strip down and take a quick shower, then go into my room, towel around my hips as I grab boxers and tug them on before sitting on the edge of my bed. I grab my phone.
Me:What are you doing???
The response comes a few minutes later. I hear thedingas I’m zipping my jeans. I throw on a shirt before checking the text.
Shiloh:On my way home. Just got off work.
Me:Wanna hang out tonight? It’s cool if you already have plans.
Shiloh:I don’t have any plans. I’d like to see you.
I reread his last sentence, my heart all fluttery. It’s stupid, of course. He doesn’t mean it the way I want him to.
Over the past two weeks, I’ve gone to his work for smoothies, and in between him helping customers, we were able to talk a little. We went to dinner a few times but have mainly texted. He seems to open up more through text, like maybe he doesn’t have to worry as much.
We’ve talked about movies—we have similar tastes, mainly action and fantasy. Our music preferences are way different; he prefers songs with no words like score soundtracks, while I’m into songs from musicals and pop. He likes RPG computer games, and I’m more of a Mario Kart kind of guy.
What we haven’t talked about?
That night in the movie theater parking lot.
Or why he snaps that rubber band against his wrist when things get quiet.
Me:Wanna grab something to eat? I’d kill for one of those burgers from Papa’s.
Shiloh:Never had it.
Me:WHAT?!?! Dude. We’re rectifying that shit tonight. You haven’t lived til you’ve had a Papa’s burger. It’s like a bite of heaven in your mouth. Angels sing and everything.
Shiloh:I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in heaven.
Me:You will after this burger.
Shiloh:lol if you say so
