‘Just thinking . . .’ I shrug as casually as I can muster. ‘Do you?’
‘Honestly?’
Casual quits on me. I climb off the bed, pace while I consider writing honesty off as overrated. No. I need to hear the end of this conversation. Mom was right; he needs to understand just how many limitations are hanging over him.
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘No, I don’t. But I do think about kissing you every time I’m with you. I’m kind of looking forward to the day that’s okay.’
‘What if . . .’ I say, perching on the edge of my bed only to stand back up a second later because all my muscles have been replaced by jumping beans. ‘What if you’re waiting a really long time? It’s unreasonable for me to expect that from you, isn’t it?’
‘It’s unreasonable for you to expect me not to kiss anyone else? You realize I quite like you, right? And that I have this crazy new built-in thing the kids are calling self-control?’
He’s missed my point. He thinks I’m questioning his capability instead of the commitment. A swarm of bees wakes up inside my skull.
‘I don’t want to be with anyone else, Norah.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’ I can’t explain; my mind isn’t putting sentences together properly.
‘Wait. Is this about the party invite on my Hub wall?’ He side-eyes me.
‘Party invite?’ I haven’t been on social media since this morning. There was no invite then.
‘You haven’t seen it?’
‘No.’
He sits up. ‘Can I borrow your cell?’ His is still being fixed.
‘Sure.’ I grab it off the side table, hand it over, slightly embarrassed by its ancient appearance. My mom sells bricks that are more discreet.
‘I thought maybe you were worrying,’ Luke says as he punches buttons. He shows me the screen.
It’s his Hub page. The last post is a colourful upload inviting him to the Fall Ball at Cardinal High. Of course the invite is from Amy. Committee Chair has replaced the Queen in her user handle.
‘You don’t have to worry. I’m not going,’ he says. I think if he could, he’d pull me back down on the bed and wrap me in a hug. At the bottom of his invite, there are almost a hundred comments from dudes that call him bro and chicks that sign their names with an XO. They’re all talking about how much fun this thing will be.
‘You can’t miss this party,’ I say, successfully suppressing all reluctance, though it does leave a bitter taste on my tongue. ‘You can’t stop doing things because of me,’ I tell him. I perch on my bed but have to stand for a second time, because nothing says ‘serious discussion’ like a game of musical chairs. ‘We’re different. I have limits, you don’t. We can’t pretend that’s not a thing. I’m afraid if we do, you’re going to start feeling shackled to me . . .’
‘That’s not going to happen,’ he argues lightly.
‘If we’re not careful, that is exactly what is going to happen.’
‘Norah, it’s one party. If it makes you happy, I’ll just go to the next one,’ he replies, but he’s stopped smiling. I think maybe he’s starting to understand what I’m saying.
‘What about your call last week?’ I say it quietly, hope it lessens the impact. ‘I heard you talking on the way back from the bathroom.’
The part where I’ve invaded his privacy seems to go unnoticed. His face crumples like he’s been hit by a sudden stomach cramp. ‘I forgot about that.’
‘Would you have gone if you weren’t with me?’
He straightens his shoulders. ‘But I am with you, and I love hanging out here with you. I love talking to you, and eating ice cream with you. I love watching cheesy horror movies and staring at the stars with you. J’adore that I can now speak eight whole words of French,’ he says, all smug. ‘Pretty soon I’ll be fluent.’ I crack a smile, can’t help it. ‘I’d rather hang out with you than go to any concert or party.’
He’s so sweet. So nice. It pains me to press on with this and shatter the sentiment. I continue pacing.
‘Humour me for just a second?’ I’m a little breathless, so he doesn’t argue. I’m wearing holes in my carpet. ‘If you hadn’t met me, would you have gone?’
He groans, falls face first on to my bed.
‘Yes, probably. I probably would have gone. But—’
‘And the party?’ I interject. I have to get this out. Clear the air so we can move on. ‘You’d be going to that too, right?’
‘I don’t know; maybe. They’re all pretty much the same, those things.’
‘But you’d go?’ I repeat, jaw tight. For the first time since we met, he’s looking at me like I’m about to go Carrie White on his ass. I’m not; I just need him to see how bad this will be if he stops going out, hanging with his friends, cuts himself off because of me.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I would.’
‘Right. So you have to go. Don’t you see? You can’t not go places because I’m not going.’
‘But I love your company.’
‘And I love yours. But if you stop doing things because I won’t be there, you’re going to end up feeling trapped here.’