I fish my phone out of my pocket before I remember he’s at dinner with his father.
When I met Stephen’s dad, it was uncomfortable. The room felt too small, the air too stuffy. Thinking about Laurie’s analysis of Sean’s family, I wondered if Stephen and his dad were fighting before I arrived. But why would he invite me over then? Because he doesn’t want to hide his life from me, even the bad stuff. That’s the way we are together. That’s why I lo . . .
The thought catches me off guard. I was thinking it. That’s why I love him.
“Are you scared?” Laurie asks, drawing me out of my own mind. “It’s just a preview.”
I look down and see I’m clutching a throw pillow to my chest.
“Nope,” I say quickly. “Just caught a chill.”
“Seriously?” Laurie stares at me. “It’s like a gazillion degrees outside.”
“I hope you’re not getting sick,” Mom says.
“I’m fine,” I say, pushing her hand away before she can feel my forehead. “Let’s just watch the movie. I’m excited about it.”
I’m grateful when they don’t push the issue further. Still trembling slightly from the confession of feeling that shuddered its way through my limbs, I text Stephen.
The Runaways rocks. You’re my hero. Probably Laurie’s too ’cause he won’t shut up about Sean. Hope dinner is going well. Miss you.
I want to write I love you, but I’m way too scared to risk it. Even thinking it is still scary.
* * *
When I go to bed, he hasn’t written back. I wake up and still haven’t heard anything from him. What if he read between the lines of my text, somehow seeing my wishful “I love you” sentiment in the words, and was put off by it? What if he had a bad dinner with his dad and is really upset but afraid to call? What if they were in a tragic cab accident and are even now in intensive care at my mom’s hospital? My explanations for why I have no Stephen texts or phone calls in the last twelve hours get wilder and wilder. The most recent involves escaped Bronx Zoo monkeys and the Central Park horse carriages. Anxiety crawls under my skin, making me pace around the house in my pajamas while Laurie reads me the ingredients of Pop-Tarts to prove that they are 99 percent artificial.
“Then why do you eat them?” I ask, glancing at my phone for the millionth time.
He shrugs. “They taste awesome. I have an artificial fruit and preservative addiction.”
“Interesting self-diagnosis,” I say.
“I have uncanny skills when it comes to assessing my state of being. My current assessment being that my most serious addiction is to artificial blueberry.”
“Ah.”
He licks Pop-Tart crumbs off his fingers. “So when do I get to meet him?”
“What?” I’m looking at my phone again, not really listening.
“Mystery, but not imaginary, boyfriend,” he says. “Stephen. You’re obviously gone for him. And while the phone call was a suave first move, I’d like to make sure I approve. Said approval requires face-to-face.”
I don’t answer, gazing at Laurie.
“Don’t you want me to meet him?” He looks crestfallen.
“Of course,” I say. It’s dawning on me that Laurie has given me a perfect solution to my ongoing crisis. Stephen invited me to meet his dad. That’s a big move, relationship-wise. So the next step must be for me to reciprocate. Laurie’s perfect. Parents are more intimidating, and I’m sure if Stephen had a brother or sister for me to meet, he or she would have been first. Plus his dad isn’t always in town, so there was an expiration date on this chance to meet him.
“You have a few minutes before you need to get going?” I ask Laurie.
“I was planning to savor one more Pop-Tart,” he says. “You inviting boy wonder over now?”
I bite my lip. “Is it too early?”
“Not really,” Laurie says, looking me up and down. “But you’re not exactly coiffed.”
“Do you want to meet him or not?” I glare.
“If you’re comfortable with being PJ-bedhead girlfriend, don’t let me stand in the way.” Laurie’s Pop-Tart hops out of the toaster. He sniffs it like he’s discerning the notes of a fine wine.
I am a little embarrassed to see Stephen before a shower, but I don’t want to miss this chance. I’m worried about why he hasn’t called and also worried that I’ll lose my nerve about him meeting Laurie if I don’t act on the current impulse.
I dial Stephen’s number. It rings twice.
“Hey.” His voice is tired.
Fail. “I woke you up. Sorry.”
“No,” he says. “You didn’t. I’m awake. I just didn’t sleep at all.”
“Oh,” I say. He was up all night and he still didn’t text or call. My heart feels like it’s caving in on itself. “Are you okay?”
“I’m trying to figure that out,” he says. “How was movie night?”
His tone lightens and I smile, relieved. “Great, in fact . . .” I glance at Laurie, whose eyes are closed as he has apparently achieved Pop-Tart nirvana. “Can you stop by?”
“Right now? Are you alone?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I—” Guilt dries out my throat. I’ll be alone soon enough, but I want Laurie to meet Stephen. It’s not too much of a lie, is it?
“Yes,” he says, cutting me off. “I need to talk to you about something.”
My smile vanishes and my heart is now in splinters. The talk. He wants to have the breakup talk. He somehow picked that I love you right out of the text, has decided I am too needy, and is coming over to break up with me. And when he sees me with unbrushed hair and tattered pajamas, he will have even more of a reason to ditch me.
I try to talk, wanting to delay him, say I’ve changed my mind and we shouldn’t see each other. But my mouth is full of cotton and my lips have gone numb.
“I’ll be right over.” He hangs up.
I set my phone on the counter.
“Is he coming?” Laurie asks.
I nod. He slides out of his chair and comes to my side, frowning.
“What’s wrong? You kinda look like you might throw up.”
I don’t want to answer because I think I probably will throw up if I open my mouth.