by Emery Lee
Drew sighs. “They’re that adamant about stealing you away from me, huh?”
I smile. I don’t know if Drew’s just really let himself fall since that day at Paradise Cove or if all the trouble with his parents just has him swooning harder, but he seems like he’s in deep, and it’s got my foot hovering over the brake just a little bit. I don’t want him to accidentally speed us right off a cliff.
“Do you have plans for today?” I ask.
“Breakfast at a café?”
Finally. Something perfectly my aesthetic.
It’s this little French place, and they’re obviously just opening for the day because some guy in an apron is wiping down the windows and a girl with the same apron seems to be setting up the display case. Drew knows I hate early mornings, but at least there’s no line, and it’s easy for us to step up, order our coffee and pastries, and wait only a few minutes before they’re handed to us across the counter.
We sit in a little booth with a rustic wooden table and plush white seats. I raise my blueberry scone to my mouth before I notice Drew staring at me. No, wait, he’s staring at my scone.
“Something wrong?” I say.
He jolts like he’d forgotten I was there. “Sorry,” he says. “Just lost in thought, I guess.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?” I offer.
He looks down at his hands for a moment and says, “About my parents’ divorce . . .” He pauses for a moment before looking up at me and saying, “Actually, I don’t want to talk about that. Just forget it. Did you see the Diary posts I made while you were gone? People loved them. I could replace you as the Diary mod, and they wouldn’t even notice.”
I hadn’t gotten a chance to check the posts, but now I’m a little nervous as I pull out my phone and scroll through his blog. He’s right about people loving the posts. There’s tons of excitement and a shit ton of notes on them, way more than his earlier stuff, but they’re also really intense, all talking about how desperately I love him and missed him and can’t live without him.
“Why are all of these posts about me?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from sounding defensive. “I mean, you could’ve written about your own feelings too. Not just mine.”
He shrugs. “Well, sure, I guess, but you’re way more interesting to people, and I get way more engagement when the posts center you. Besides, it was more fun to think about how much you missed me than get sappy about myself.”
“I get that,” I say, “but it kind of feels like you put words in my mouth, you know?”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” he says. “Besides, my life’s really shitty right now, and the fans make me feel better. You’re not mad about that, right?”
“No, I guess not,” I say.
He flashes me a smile and says, “Anyway, how was camp?”
I groan, a part of me hoping that if I spin this story as terribly as possible, he’ll feel better knowing he didn’t have the worst possible weekend, and I won’t have to feel guilty about not liking his posts. “Those kids were a nightmare,” I say. “And that bed felt like it was made of rocks.”
Drew laughs and says, “You don’t want kids?”
“Why would I want something I have to pay for that’s also pretty much guaranteed to give me clinical depression?”
Drew shrugs. “Okay, so logically it might not make a lot of sense, but I don’t know. I can see myself having a couple kids.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, you can adopt them, because they aren’t coming out of me.”
I freeze, the implications of what I just said settling over me. But Drew’s still smiling like he thinks my response is cute, so I’m hoping he just took it as a snarky comeback and not a we’re going to be together forever, right? Actually, the intensity of his eyes is a little off-putting, like maybe he’s hoping that’s exactly what I meant and he’s about to pop down on one knee.
My scone leaves crumbs in its wake, but I go ahead and shove the whole thing in my mouth to distract myself. Drew really missed me, and he’s obviously getting swept up in our relationship as an escape from his parents’ divorce. I shouldn’t hold that against him.
Plus, he saved the Diary. I can’t forget that.
“There must have been something you enjoyed out there,” Drew says. “I mean, you got to spend endless time with nature. There must have been something you didn’t want to end?”
And I think about the wet grass smell every morning, which disgusts me to no end, the chill of the water that only became colder the longer we were out there, the constant headache from the screaming kids. There was the limited bathroom space, the dry food that we had to keep reheating, the utter silence and darkness at night that kind of creeped me the fuck out.
And really, I’d be happy to never go back there again, but as I dig around for anything that made me even vaguely happy for Drew, I keep coming back to the same thing.
Devin.
I choke on my scone, bringing my coffee to my lips to cover it up. I choke out “Not really” before taking a huge gulp to clear my throat. And it’s hot, and I splutter, coffee dribbling down my chin.
Drew laughs, snatching some napkins off the table to wipe my face. “I know you like your caffeine, but this is a little ridiculous.”
I smile. “Sorry.”
And I really am. I don’t know why Devin’s popping into my head when I’m not even into em like that. E’s nice, but e has nothing on Drew—funny, talented, gorgeous Drew.
“So what do you want to do after this? I’m spending the whole day with you.”
“Because of your parents?” I ask.
He nods, but his eyes fall down to the table. “Yup. Gotta get away, you know?”
“Do you want to pick up Jordan, and we can all go do something?” I ask.
“No, we don’t have to do that,” he says, picking at his banana nut muffin. “I mean, he’s got friends, you know? He’ll probably hang out with one of them anyway. Better we do something, just the two of us.”
He’s acting a little jittery, which is super weird for Drew, but I wonder if he’s just that stressed after shielding his brother all weekend. And really, he’s probably not too worried about him if he’s suggesting we leave him at home. I don’t want to burden Drew with anything else if I can help it.
“Okay. Where to next?” I ask.
And Drew smiles. “Are you kidding? I have a whole list.”
“We shouldn’t stay out too long because I want to update the Diary,” I say. I really should add some more updates, and they’re so in love with Drew now, a few shots with him should keep them placated for a while. “And we should get some photos too.”
Drew rolls his eyes. “We can’t have one Diary-free date?”
Which seems almost hypocritical since he was just talking about how much he loves the attention from it, but I shrug. “I won’t update it until I get home.”
“Fine, and don’t talk about it either. I have a lot of things planned, and I want us to enjoy them.”
Tuesday, June 26
Wehavechemistry posted:
Anyone know of any blogs that post really cute, short romance stories? Preferably nonfiction ones? Ever since the Meet Cute Diary stopped posting, I need something new to occupy my time with.
Gogogadget63 replied: Aw, Noah’s probably busy with his boyfriend. They’re so cute!
Jiggypuff replied: I actually like their relationship posts better than the old Diary stuff.
Gogogadget63 replied: Me too! Drew’s so dreamy. Idc if that’s all Noah posts about now!
I get home late to find that I have three missed calls from Becca. In my defense, Drew and I were really busy all day. After breakfast, he dragged me on a—mercifully short—hike, then to the movies, then we spent two hours making out in the back of another movie. And I told him a few times that I should probably go, but he seemed to miss me so much while I was gone, I didn’t want to just up and leave when he clearly wanted me to stick around. I do feel bad about missing B
ecca’s calls, but I’m also annoyed that she called me three times, like I’m always just supposed to be waiting for her to reach out even if she barely has time for me anymore.
I call her back and it goes to voicemail, which really ticks me off, which means I go to bed angry and wake up even angrier.
Devin brings me the usual coffee, but it doesn’t really do anything to boost my mood. I actually feel kind of bad because e seems pretty happy, and I know I’m just a storm cloud hovering over em.
“Something wrong?”
I shrug. “Isn’t there always?”
Devin smiles and bumps my shoulder with eirs. “Something I can talk you through or distract you from?”
I smile back. “Distractions are good.”
“Then have I got a treat for you.”
Devin checks around once to make sure no one’s watching us, which is ridiculous since we’re sitting in the rehearsal hall, alone. Then e pulls out eir phone and opens up a cutesy little graphic with blue bubble letters and a smiling, blushing Earth.
“Do you have a moment to talk about our Lord and savior, Mother Nature?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not a hippie, are you?”
E laughs. “No, I just care about the world we live in. I’m having a recycling party this weekend if you want to come.”
“A recycling party?” I ask.
E nods. “Yeah, it’s when a bunch of people get together, and we all recycle our junk, and then we make stuff out of the shit we’re throwing away. It’s all very economical.”
“Right,” I say, because I don’t get invited to many parties, but I’ve definitely never been invited to one like that before. “I’ll consider it.”
Devin smiles. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but I’d really like it if you did. I’ve spent the last few weeks looking up craft projects.”
I think about the little doodle e did during our first week, and I can’t help but imagine those craft ideas are probably pretty impressive. Really, I’m shitty at anything art related, but it doesn’t sound like the worst event ever. I’ve always wanted to get into crafts.
“You can bring your boyfriend too, if you want,” Devin says.
“You remembered I have a boyfriend?”
Devin rolls eir eyes. “Please, you talk about him all the time. Drag him along, though. He’s totally welcome.”
I smile. “Fine, I will.”
For what it’s worth, Devin does a pretty great job of distracting me. Once the kids head outside, e pulls out subs for both of us, and we sit around for a while pretending we don’t actually have to get to cleaning up.
“So you’re bringing me free food now?” I ask, biting into the sandwich.
Devin shrugs. “I’ve been baking more, so I thought I’d give you something to try.”
I pause, my eyes wide. “Wait, you baked this?”
“The bread.”
“Obviously.” But it’s pretty ridiculously amazing, just crispy enough at the edges but soft in the middle.
Devin laughs. “When I first started going to therapy, my therapist told me I needed to pick up a hobby, so I just started a bunch of different ones, and I guess they just kind of stuck.”
“And being a baker?” I ask.
“My dad cooks a lot,” Devin says. “After I—well, I think my dad thought it would be good for us to have something to bond over, you know? So we started baking together, and now it’s just kind of a thing. Usually on weekends.”
We fall into silence, and I feel bad digging for anything else since I’ve already reopened probably the world’s worst can of worms.
Fortunately, I spend the rest of my working hours thinking about Devin and that life-changing bread, so I only remember about Becca as I’m grabbing my stuff and climbing into Brian’s car, clicking my phone to find I missed another three calls.
I groan, my head falling back against the headrest.
Brian sighs, turning the key in the ignition. “Please don’t hurt yourself. I don’t want to have to take you to the ER.”
“How do you deal with friends who are being unreasonable?”
He gives me the side-eye and says, “Usually by making sure I’m not the one being unreasonable first.”
And I hate that he said it because it’s such a Brian thing to say, and I know there’s a pretty good chance he’s right. And maybe I need to get better at the self-reflection thing, but I also don’t know why Becca would be mad at me. Because I’m with Drew? That just seems petty. It could be because I didn’t support her TERF crush, but really, that shouldn’t have been a surprise.
But maybe it goes back further than that. Maybe she’s mad because I left for the summer, and now I’m in Colorado getting the best meet cute of my life while she’s trapped in Florida and hating every minute of it.
But that’s not my fault, and she knows that. She can’t really be mad about that, can she?
When I get back to the apartment, I lock myself in the closet and FaceTime Becca, bouncing on my heels hoping she’ll finally answer.
Finally, her face appears and she says, “Noah?”
“Hey,” I say, “I’m sorry for whatever I did to piss you off, Becca. You’re my best friend, and I—”
“Shut up for a second.”
So I do.
“Have you checked the Diary recently?”
And I have to admit that I’m a terrible person and I haven’t.
“Well, check it now. You need to see this.”
So I pull out my laptop and pull up my Tumblr dashboard and scroll through the notifications. I’m half expecting to find twenty thousand hate messages or something, but instead, I find Bunfrees, the super popular news site. Wait, what.
It looks like some Bunfrees writer decided to do an exposé on millennial love culture—as if millennials aren’t all forty and married by now—and they decided to embed the Diary in one of the posts. Which, you know, would be pretty cool if they were actually going to pay me for it.
But that’s not the problem. The problem is the part that people are circulating around Tumblr like wildfire—a screenshot from the comment section of the Bunfrees post saying, “This blog is a lie and these stories are stolen. This one’s about my friend, and they never gave them permission to use it.”
Which, really, is laughable since I literally made up every story from the Diary. But wow, they even linked to another blog where they posted some story about a friend meeting a hot guy at an ice cream shop like eight months ago. And really, the details are different—the description of the shop, leaving a phone instead of a wallet, literally all of the dialogue—but people are eating it up, and I’m just about ready to pull my goddamn hair out. This isn’t like the last troll. Even if I post thirty pictures of Drew and me kissing, it still won’t refute these claims.
It might not be too late to make a statement, but then, it’s my word against theirs, and that probably won’t hold a lot of weight.
Why do people keep doing this?
“What the hell?” I say.
I hear Becca sigh, but she doesn’t say anything. I guess she’s at as much of a loss as I am.
“I’m sure it’ll blow over,” she says finally. “I mean, people steal stuff all the time, and no one cares.”
But I care. Even if people stick with the Diary, all it means is that they think I’m a thief, and they’re cool with that. I don’t want them to think I’m a thief at all!
“Maybe I can talk to the person,” I say. “If I tell them that the story isn’t about them, maybe they’ll agree to admit I didn’t steal it.”
“Noah, they know you didn’t steal it, okay? The whole point of the Diary is for people to post their stories anonymously, so they’re intentionally vague. How are you going to prove the story isn’t about them when half the details are different and they’re still coming for you?”
I rest my head against the wall, struggling to process everything. I mean, the Diary’s my life’s work. It’s probably the
single most important thing I’ve ever done. I can’t just let that all go down the drain.
“Don’t do anything rash, okay?” she says. “Just give it a few days before you try to engage. Oh, and you should probably catch me up on everything you’ve been blowing up my phone about.”
So I try to pull my attention away from the Diary as I catch her up on all the stuff she’s missed. Then I tell her to catch me up on her summer thus far. She doesn’t address the whole not-answering-my-calls thing, and really, she seems like she’s more comfortable avoiding anything that has to do with her, but she mentions that she’s started talking to another girl—one who isn’t a TERF—on Instagram, which I admit is a little sketchy to me, but I tell her I’m happy for her anyway. And really, I am. I mean, sure, it’ll suck to have to explain to her family that she met her girlfriend on a Facebook-owned social media platform, but it beats being lonely.
Then she expertly steers the conversation back to my problems. I catch her up about the camping trip and then start talking about Drew and all the time we’ve been spending together.
“I think he’s finally running out of creative date ideas, so that’s good,” I say.
“That’s good?”
The truth is, I’d rather just curl up on the couch with him and watch shitty movies than hike up to dragon lairs and swing from vines in the Amazon. I just don’t have the stamina for all these outdoor activities anyway, and sometimes it feels like our whole relationship is built around the things we do more than the people we are.
“You and Devin seem pretty close,” Becca says.
I laugh. “No, not really. We’re less close and more constantly forced to be around each other because we work together.”
“Well, you still talk about him like you think he’s pretty cool.”
“Devin uses e/em pronouns,” I say, probably a little too defensively, since e still hasn’t really decided which pronouns e prefers anyway. And I don’t know if I’d say I think e’s cool exactly because e’s a total nerd who’s passionate about recycling and art and campfire songs, but I do feel kind of protective of em, even though I’d never tell em that.
