Page 39 of Bring Down the Stars
Every year, the Drakes invited my sisters and my mother—with her cigarettes and too-loud laugh—to Thanksgiving dinner at their gigantic row house. Every year, my mother drank too much, no matter how many times I told her to take it easy. They’d call a car for her—a sedan, not an Uber—to take her home, with Mrs. Drake making sure Ma had a week’s worth of leftovers with her and an invitation to Christmas Eve dinner a few weeks later.
The Drakes were good people.
“It would be awesome if things were good with me and Autumn by then,” Connor said. “And I know what you’re going to say, but I like her. She’s beautiful. And super smart.”
“Did you guys talk a lot at the meet?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said with a one-shoulder shrug, which meant he was full of shit. They hadn’t gone below surface topics.
“Maybe you should get to know her a little bit better before you start weaving her into your grand plans to please your parents.”
“I’m not planning anything, except for a first date. I’ve never hung out with a girl more than twice and not gotten to first base.” He grinned. “I like a challenge.”
I rolled my eyes, ready to tell him that Autumn was a human being, not a challenge, but he held up a silencing palm.
“I’m kidding,” he said. “Autumn is…I don’t know. Different. She’s kind of shy, but she stands her ground. I like that about her.”
“Yeah, I like that too,” I said quietly.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Later that night, Connor lay sprawled on the couch with SportsCenter blaring, scrolling his phone. I sat at the kitchen table, tapping my pen against an empty page in my notebook and contemplating running as my Object of Devotion. I couldn’t muster the blood and guts to put it to paper. I liked running. It served a purpose, but did I want to make it my life?
“Oh shit,” Connor cried from behind me.
“What is it?”
“I accidentally texted her.”
“Who?” I said, knowing damn well who.
“Autumn. I was fucking messing around and I hit that stupid predictive text thing, then panicked and hit send.”
“So what?”
“I don’t text or call a girl until at least three days have passed.”
I set down my pen and turned around. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious. It looks desperate to text her the same day.”
I hid a smile. “What did you text?”
“Just ‘yes.’” His eyes widened. “Shit. She’s texting me back.”
Connor jumped up from the couch and came to where I sat, standing next to my chair as we both watched his phone.
Yes…? :)
Connor typed, Hey.
I smirked. “Really?”
“Yeah, so?”
A pause, then a new text bubbled up. What’s up?
