“So you hang out with your buddies?”
“They’re all away at school. I just do my work and watch movies with my parents. They like having me there. And the food is way better than the crap we get at the Higg.”
“Sounds pretty chill,” said Brendan. “I haven’t seen my mom since the day I got here.”
“I bet she misses you.”
“Yeah. She just sent me this.”
Brendan picked up his phone and did some swiping. When he found what he wanted, he held up the screen so Sanjay could see his mother’s text and his own reply.
I miss you
Miss you too
Sanjay nodded. “Moms are the best.”
“Totally,” said Brendan.
He stared at the phone for a few more seconds before putting it back in his pocket. Sanjay took advantage of the lull to scoot his chair away from the table.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, rising from his chair. “I really need to go to the library.”
“It’s cool,” said Brendan. “Do what you have to do.”
*
Sometimes, Eve thought, a casual gathering like this just sort of gelled into a spontaneous party, which was, by definition, better than a party you had planned, precisely because no one saw it coming. It was a tribute to the people involved, the chemistry of their individual personalities combined with a collective desire to salvage something from what otherwise might have seemed like a wasted evening, not to mention a big assist from the pitcher of margaritas Amanda had whipped up in the kitchen, using a jug of cheap tequila and a pre-made, neon-green industrial mixer that was tastier than it looked.
It was a conveniently small group—maybe a little too small—and they all seemed to be vibrating on the same wavelength, cracking jokes and laughing a little too loudly, toasting Margo for her excellent scarf collection, Dumell for service to his country, Amanda for the alcoholic beverages, and Julian simply for showing up, representing the millennials. There was a palpable sexual charge in the air—you couldn’t have a decent party without it—mostly generated by Margo and Dumell, who, as the night went on, had graduated from hand-holding and whispered endearments to a full-on make-out session on the couch.
Eve knew it was rude to stare at the lovers, but she found it difficult to avert her gaze. Ever since she’d been aware of herself as a sexual being, going all the way back to middle school, she’d been aroused by the sight of people kissing in public, and the familiar effect was intensified in this case by the fact that Amanda was sitting only a short distance away in the wicker chair, and their eyes kept meeting in the awkward interludes that occurred while the happy couple was going at it. Most of these glances felt completely innocent—two friends rolling their eyes, sharing a moment of amused solidarity—but a few of them went deeper than that, lingering moments of silent, searching connection that made Eve wonder if a door she’d thought was closed might have swung open again.
I should kiss her, she thought, even though she’d vowed never to go down that road again, never to embarrass or expose herself the way she had that last time. I bet she’d let me.
This reverie was disrupted by the sudden realization that she was being watched, that Julian was staring at her with the same sort of longing that she herself was directing toward Amanda. She turned in his direction, raising her glass in a silent toast, not wanting him to feel left out. He returned the gesture, gazing at her with soulful drunken sincerity.
Things were starting to get a little awkward when Margo finally extracted herself from a marathon kiss, brushing the hair from her eyes and blinking like she didn’t quite know where she was. She let out a long, slow, calming breath and straightened her skirt.
“Enough of that,” she said, fanning her face with one hand. “Anyone feel like dancing?”
*
Amber went to a house party with Cat and some of her artist friends, but she left on the early side, unable to connect with the festive mood. Everybody there was really excited about the Call-Out Wall—they thought it would be great to make it a permanent installation in the Student Center—and they found it hilarious that Brendan kept texting her, begging for a moment of her time, sounding more and more pathetic with each successive message.
Amber could appreciate the poetic justice of the situation—let him see how it felt to be silenced and powerless for once in his life, to be defined by other people—but it wasn’t as gratifying as she’d hoped it might be. In fact, the more she thought about Brendan the guiltier she felt, as if she’d done something bad to him, which was totally frustrating, because he didn’t deserve her sympathy or anyone else’s. It was just like her—just like a girl—to feel sorry for a guy she had every right to despise, and then to turn the blame back on herself.
She could have taken Cat’s advice and blocked his calls. That would have solved the problem of her constantly buzzing phone, and spared her his manipulative cries for help. But it seemed kind of harsh, and even a bit cowardly, to call someone out and then cut off all possibility of communication, as if they had no right to respond, as if they were dead to you.
Amber was tired and a little depressed. She just wanted to go to bed and forget this day had ever happened. But there was only one way she was going to be able to do that, and there was no use pretending otherwise. With a small shudder of resignation and distaste, she picked up her phone and touched her finger to his name. He answered in the middle of the first ring.
“Wow,” he said. “Took you long enough.”
“What do you want, Brendan?”
“I don’t know. Just to talk, I guess. I’ve been having a rough night.”
“Well,” she said, a little defensively. “I’ve had some rough nights lately myself.”
A nicer person might have picked up on her cue and asked what was wrong, maybe even expressed a little sympathy, but this was Brendan she was talking to.
“The art show,” he said. “That was really fucking brutal.”
“I’m sure it was. But you have to—”
“Do you really think that about me?” He sounded genuinely curious. “That I’m a huge disappointment?”
Amber hesitated. She’d known that Cat had been working on the Call-Out Wall all semester, but she hadn’t realized that Brendan was a part of the installation until two days ago, when she’d helped transport the paintings from the art building to the Student Center. She was startled when she pulled off a sheet of bubble wrap and saw his happy face with the words HORRIBLE HUMAN BEING written beneath it like a final verdict.
What the hell is this?
It’s my gift to you, Cat told her.
He’s not a horrible human being. He’s just—
Those were your words, Cat reminded her. That’s a direct quote.
Amber didn’t deny it. She’d said that about Brendan on the morning after their disastrous date, when she felt raw and betrayed, and Cat had been there for her, the way she always was, offering support and validation when Amber needed it most.