by Kata Čuić
He sighs, the sound an assault to my already fragile ego. Like he’s only placating the fragile girl who’s just had her hopes crushed. “Fine. What do you need?”
“Mom and Dad had to leave before we could put all my furniture together. A really good friend would stop by tonight to help me assemble it.”
He raises his eyebrow, likely knowing I’m totally scamming him into free help. “What time?”
I raise my chin in defiance. If he wants to prove himself, now would be good. “Six.”
“And you promise not to be all weepy and want to talk about it?”
“I’ll even throw in beer and pizza.”
“Deal.”
“He’s infuriating,” I complain to my mom.
Her amused chuckles carry over the line, erasing the physical distance between us. “What has Jason done now?”
“It’s not so much what he’s already done. It’s what I know he’s going to do.”
Mom patiently waits for me to spill, familiar enough with my venting needs to let the pressure build until I explode.
“He promised he would help me put together my furniture yesterday, but he showed up two hours late. He never called, never texted, never apologized. Just waltzed in like he owns the place and didn’t say a word about where he was.”
Mom hums in the back of her throat. “He was doing you a favor. As long as he helped you as promised, I don’t see the problem. Besides, you said it’s not what he’s done, but what he’s about to do.”
Ah, yes. This is precisely why his behavior yesterday irks me. “Do you know what tomorrow is?”
“Saturday?”
“That’s right.” I nod my head emphatically, even though she can’t see me. “And you know what will happen, bright and early tomorrow morning.”
“You’ll wake up?” I can picture her smiling and shaking her head good-naturedly at my annoyance.
“No, he will wake me up and drag me to the gym with him at some ungodly hour of the morning.” I don’t have to explain our weekly tradition; she already knows all about it. “He can show up whenever he likes and doesn’t feel the need to apologize or even give me a good reason, but I’m just supposed to jump whenever he snaps his fingers.”
Another thoughtful humming sound assaults my ears. “It seems to me like he jumps to do your bidding as well. I’m sure Jason had better things to do with his Thursday evening before classes start than put together your furniture. Kieran certainly didn’t assemble your IKEA purchases.”
I stop pacing my kitchen and cringe. Kieran is a topic my mom definitely doesn’t know all about. “I didn’t ask Kieran.”
I can hear her raised eyebrows in the tone of her voice. “Have you even seen him since getting back to campus?”
“I haven’t talked to him since the week before summer semester,” I lie. There’s no way I can tell my mom what really happened.
“I don’t know why you dated him as long as you did,” Mom says softly.
I’m not about to admit dating was never part of our relationship. My mother and I are extremely close; she knows most of the intricate details of my life. Still, no parent wants to hear their child has been engaging in meaningless booty-calls for the past two years.
Even I didn’t want to admit that’s what was going on. There’s no denying it anymore, though.
I don’t think I can be a casual sex kind of girl. I want a boyfriend. Someone who will let me cry on their shoulder, spoil me, love my family as much as I do, and let me be a part of their life in return.
“I think you’re looking at the situation with Jason all wrong,” Mom croons. “You’re so focused on not sleeping in and sweating at the gym, but from my point of view, I see a man who wants to spend time with you and has developed his own way of making a special ritual for just the two of you to share.”
I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “What part of sweating at the gym is a special ritual?”
“Do you go to the gym with anyone else? Does Rosie have a standing date with you? Other than your weekly sorority meetings, not a single person involved in your life at Wellbridge makes as much of an effort for you as Jason does.”
Actually, Rosie and I do have a standing date once a week to drink together. Not about to admit that to my mom, either.
“You don’t even know Jason. Why do you always defend him?”
Mom clucks at me. “I feel like I know him because of you. You were with Kieran for so long, but you’ve been talking non-stop about Jason since freshman year of college. Honestly, Emma, I wish you’d open your eyes and see what’s right in front of you.”
And I wish Prince Charming would fall out of the sky and ask me to be his. We can’t always get what we want. “Jason and I aren’t like that. He didn’t have any friends in high school, and I didn’t want to see him be as lonely at college. If we hadn’t bumped into each other the first day of freshman year, I probably never would have thought of him again.”
That sounds harsh, but if anyone will understand what I mean, it’s Mom.
“So, you think he’s only latched onto you for lack of better offers?” Her voice makes it sound as though she finds that idea ludicrous even though she might actually be onto something.
“No, not necessarily. I think he’s a natural loner. If anything, I think he barely tolerates me butting into his life.”
Mom sighs, and my younger brothers make some commotion in the background. “I have to go, honey. It’s time for football practice. Please think about what I’ve said. I know you set your hopes on Kieran, but frankly I’m glad you’re done with him. You deserve so much better than to be someone’s afterthought. You should be the center of someone’s life.”
I stifle my urge to burst into tears. She has no idea how close to home her statement hits. We say our goodbyes, and I promise to call once I’ve gotten settled into my new routine of classes.
Venturing into the living room of my new apartment, I flop down on the couch Jason put together last night. Not once in high school did I catch a boy glancing my way. No one asked me on dates. I didn’t attend a single formal. Until Kieran, I had no idea what it was like to feel wanted.
Sure, that didn’t pan out as I’d hoped, but he did make a little room for me even if it was only in his bed. He certainly didn’t look past me the way other guys do.
I can’t understand why Mom thinks Jason is any better than Kieran. Sure, we’re friends, but not the kind who have side benefits. If she thinks I deserve to be the center of someone’s life, that’s proof enough why Jason and I would never work. He comes and goes as he pleases, without feeling the need to let me in any further than a surface relationship. I truly don’t feel he’s using me to keep his loneliness at bay, but he keeps me at a comfortable-for-him distance.
Really, he’s no different than Kieran at all.
“Wake up. We’re going.” Jason tugs the blankets away from my shoulders.
I slide them back up, then cover my head for emphasis. “Why do you insist on torturing me this way? It’s Saturday morning, for cripe’s sake.”
“Yes, and we have no classes. So, you have no excuses.” He tears the comforter completely off me and holds it out of reach, smiling like some deranged spawn of a demon. As evidenced by the way he continues to grin and wait for me to cave in. And then…oh, and then. He offers the piѐce de résistance. “Your ex-boyfriend will probably be there for you to ogle.”
“He was never my boyfriend!”
“My apologies. The guy you’ll still probably let fuck you when the whim strikes him will be there.”
Tearful hurt gives way to sharp anger, all in the span of several seconds. This. This is what my mom doesn’t understand. Jason can be utterly cruel when he feels like it.
With all my might, I lob a pillow at his head. He catches it and laughs, then proceeds to tail me to the bathroom.
Not even slamming the door in his face is enough to stop him from continuing to rile me up. His voice turns high-pitched in a presumable
impression of me. “And then, he’ll see you all sweaty, your tits bouncing as you work the elliptical. He’ll be so overcome with lust, he’ll take you in the locker room. You’ll be even more turned on, knowing anyone could walk in and catch you at any moment. So, you’ll finally reveal the words you’ve been bottling up for so long. When he hears you breathlessly whisper you love him, he’ll be filled with emotion and change his mind about only using you for a fuck toy. He’ll get down on bended knee and ask you to be his forever.”
I throw open the door with as much of a glare as I can muster this early in the morning before coffee has infiltrated my system. “That sounds more like one of your fantasies, not mine.”
“I thought I did a decent job of combining the two.”
“I have never told you any of my fantasies. You are such a horndog. Seriously, Jason? You’d be more turned on, knowing someone might catch you in the act? I don’t know why I keep you around, let alone gave you a key to my apartment.” I call the last line over my shoulder as I make a beeline for the kitchen. And my coffee maker.
The aroma of freshly brewed nectar of the gods hits me before I round the corner. And there, next to my wondrous machine of wakefulness, shines a beacon of hope on this otherwise miserable morning.
“Please, tell me that bag contains not one but two cheese Danishes. And hand-made by you, not your furry assistant.”
“Please,” Jason mocks as he plops down on one of the stools at my dining nook. “I wouldn’t let that hairy monstrosity near my pastries. I don’t wake up at four in the morning, so he can run a perfectly good coffee shop out of business with his shedding issues. It’s no wonder you didn’t eat anything when you were there the other day.”
I dig in the white paper bag and come up victorious. “Yes!”
“This,” he chuckles. “This is why you keep me around and gave me a key to your place. That, and you probably felt guilty I wouldn’t get to enjoy all the furniture I assembled for you.”
I can’t even deny it by arguing that my place is closer to The Bean Works, thereby a more convenient couch for him to crash on to accommodate his odd working hours. We live in the same building. Jason’s apartment is a floor below mine. Nor will I deny that being a friend to the surliest man on campus has perks no one else realizes. As far as I know, I’m the only student at Wellbridge University who gets these delectable freebies.
And yeah. He did build my furniture since my family had to bail early so my brothers could get home at a decent hour before their first day of school. He should get to sit his ass on the couch which took two hours to attach the legs to and watch TV on the entertainment center/bookcase that took three more hours to assemble.
“What is The Bean Works going to do when you graduate?” I ask, my mouth full of warm, sugary goodness.
“Not my problem.”
“If it’s not your problem, then why did you ask them to hire you when you found a hair in your doughnut two years ago, insisting you could do a better job?”
He raises an eyebrow like my question is ridiculous. “Because I wanted to enjoy hair-free baked goods at the best coffee shop on campus like any other sane person.”
“Fair enough.” I didn’t really expect him to reveal where his insane baking skills come from, did I? Or why he’s more at home in a kitchen than under the hood of a car? Of course not. I talk; Jason doesn’t.
He’s comfortable with quiet. In fact, after many years of observation, I’ve come to the conclusion he revels in it. The ability to hold his tongue and make others squirm while wondering what he’s thinking gives him a sense of power he otherwise lacks in life. That doesn’t lessen the sting of being on the receiving end of his mute power trips. They’re only slightly better than his sharp tongue.
And, me? After the same number of years of careful introspection, I’ve realized if I don’t fill the empty space between us with meaningless babbling, I’ll get caught up in my usual fantasy world. And that’s dangerous territory.
He’s never come outright and said so, as is his MO on silence, but I also suspect Jason knows how much of my life I live inside my head, rather than in reality. If he knew what I’d imagined for a future between me and Kieran, I’d never hear the end of it.
Kind of like his decent job of combining our fantasies earlier.
“Are you coming to the Fall Opener party this weekend?”
He raises an incredulous eyebrow but doesn’t bother verbally answering.
“Oh, come on! We’re seniors! We don’t have much time left in this phase of our lives! You need to let loose and live it up before the responsibilities of adulthood weigh you down! Remember what I told you our first day of freshman year?”
This time, he at least rolls his eyes and regurgitates my words from that first afternoon on campus when I offered him my friendship. “’The next four years can be different if you want them to.’”
“That’s right!” I can’t help but nod like a bobble-head doll, excited he recalls my hopefulness, even if he doesn’t practice it on a daily basis.
A rueful expression further darkens his countenance. “Look, Emma. That might have been possible for you, and with the exception of your lying fuck buddy, you’ve done a damn fine job achieving your goals. But, that’s not an option for everyone.”
“Yes, it is,” I argue.
“I’m not even in a fraternity. I can’t go to a Greek-sponsored campus party,” he returns.
“It’s open to everyone on campus.”
“I would never get past the security dogs who accept or reject attendees, based on looks alone.”
“I can make sure you’re on the guest list.”
He pins me with a harsh glare. “That doesn’t matter, and you damn well know it. Would you make out with this mug? Even if you were sloppy drunk?”
“That’s not fair. We’re friends. We don’t think of each other that way.” As evidenced by the one time I did get sloppy drunk at the beginning of sophomore year and tried to kiss him.
He shakes his head, then sets his mug in the sink. Loudly. “Come on. Let’s get to the gym, so I can get some sleep.”
Just like that, he shuts the conversation down.
I pick at my second Danish, wishing things could be different. It’s so difficult to be friends with a person who only lets me in halfway. “Why do you drag me to your obsessive lifting sessions, anyway? I’ve never been a gym rat.”
A smirk slowly spreads across his face. “What did I tell you the first time you asked me that, freshman year?”
It takes me a few minutes to come up with an answer. “Because you have to give the ladies something to want you for? That doesn’t answer my question, though.”
He heads for the door. “None of the other ladies will let me watch their tits bounce for motivation while they’re running.”
I stifle a snicker as I pour a to-go thermos of coffee. Yeah, my mom doesn’t know about that, either. “Do you maybe make me go with you, so we can spend time together every week?”
Jason straightens up and casts me a confused glance. “Where did you come up with that idea?”
I can’t meet his eyes. “I didn’t. My mom did.”
“You talk to your mom about me?” From the tone of his voice, he’s either angry or surprised. It’s so hard to tell with him.
At least with Kieran, what you see is what you get. He never led me to believe I was anything other than a quick, reliable hookup. The fault of hope lies completely with me.
“I might mention you from time to time,” I hedge as I bend over to slide on my shoes. “You didn’t answer my question.”
A sharp swat to my ass has me jumping upright so fast I nearly spill hot coffee all over myself.
Jason has a completely neutral expression on his otherwise dark face. “I drag you to the gym once a week because you have a Danish problem. It’s a guilty conscience thing. How could I live with myself if you got fat from my baked goods?”
I glance down, suddenly worried an hour
once a week isn’t going to be enough to keep all these delicious calories from migrating to my hips. My stomach definitely looks pudgy in my skin-tight workout gear. I march back to the kitchen and deposit the second Danish into the trash.
Jason looks like he’s ready to explode with fury. “Do you have any idea how long it takes me to make a dozen of those?”
I wince. “Sorry. Did you want to eat it?”
He throws open the door in a huff. “Don’t talk to your mom about me anymore.”
I don’t know why I follow him down to his car, climbing in only to be stifled by his irritated silence. Oh, wait. Yes, I do. I’m getting fat, and I actually need to hit the gym more often. Nothing like starting now since it was already planned.
Special ritual for the two of us, my fat ass.
Lie: The organization of a sisterhood is the result of the combined effort of each individual.
“Do we have any new ideas for Rush Week recruitment? We need a fresh theme. Everything suggested so far has already been done.”
“Maybe if she didn’t shoot down every idea anyone else comes up with, we’d have something already.” Rosie smiles sweetly beside me, looking the picture-perfect sorority sister with her SST shirt, blond hair curled to perfection, and makeup so flawless she could totally rock her own YouTube tutorial channel. Like a ventriloquist, her mouth barely moves as she mocks, “too cutesy, too artsy, too hipster. Nothing is ever good enough for her royal highness.”
As if channeling the words spoken about her, our sisterhood president, Hayleigh, lifts her chin higher to challenge us all to think outside the box. When no further ideas are offered up, she passes the agenda to another officer at the table in the front of the house’s meeting room. “Well, then, if no one has anything to add, let’s move on.”
The officers take turns reading current and old business from each of their designated areas: vice president of finance—dues are to be paid in full before rush begins; secretary—we’re treated to an aloud reading of the year’s welcome letter from the national office; vice president in charge of membership—a restatement of the president’s plea for rush week ideas; vice president in charge of standards—reminders that we are not permitted to be publicly intoxicated on campus at any time, no matter how temping the back to school excitement and plentitude of parties; vice president in charge of community service—
