Page 31 of Gray Area

“Yeah, but you tried to talk to him,” my father points out, “and then you had to meet him at his level. Because you want what isbest for Vivian. That’s what a good man does; he takes care of those he cares about.”

“She is just a girl from class that I feel bad for, Dad,” I tell him.

But my Dad has already started walking away. “Sure she is, Dec,” he says. “See you tonight.”

Chapter 14

VIVIAN

Iforced myself to drink liquids throughout my entire shift, even though my stomach was trying to reject the process. I had some extra time the day before to do some self-care too, because when I showed up to my factory shift, they’d given me a pink slip. I’d been expecting it, but it is still a disappointment. I’d gone home and fallen asleep on the futon, feeling worlds better than the night before thanks to the extra sleep. I am still not completely better, but I amnotmissing out on the weekend differential in my paycheck, so it is off to work I go.

There is a part of me that is also pushing to feel okay so I can still meet up with Declan on Sunday night. It is only because we missed out on the time for our project from the last class, though.

And because I puked on him.

And he’d been so sweet and taken such good care of me.

If I am being honest with myself, I have developed just the slightest crush on the Declan from the other night. And I am curious to see if that guy, the sweet and caring one, is actually there underneath the rough and tough exterior I see in class all the time, or if it had been a fluke.

I felt like maybe I had seen snippets of the kindness from him in class, that he’d tried to show me a different side of himself, but I had dismissed it all. Or maybe, now that I have this schoolgirl crush, I just imagined those things actually happening.

Either way, before I leave work on Sunday morning, I decide to send an email to Declan, replying to the one he sent on Thursday when class had been canceled. It had been a straight to the point email from him—Since there’s no class you want to meet to review project stuff?Literally it is just a sentence, but he could have not contacted me at all. I’d checked my email throughout my weekend shifts to make sure I didn’t miss anything from him. Each time I did, I reread his brief email, trying to find some sort of significance within it.

I haven’t found anything in it yet. This time I open it and just immediately hit reply, not wasting any more time on analyzing the one-liner for something that isn’t there. I write and then delete and rewrite the email I am sending to him. I work very hard for casual but not cold, detached but still interesting.

I am completely overthinking it.

Finally I settle on something I consider to be business casual.Hi Declan, I am just touching base to see if you are still available to meet to discuss our project tonight. I will be at the library at 5 if you are still available. I won’t have access to my email once I leave work this morning, so I’ll hang out until 5:30 if you can make it. Thanks, Vivian.

I hit send before I can reread or change it again. I am exhausted. My sleep the day before had been interruptedmultiple times by sounds from our neighbors. They had been exceptionally loud, filtering through my earplugs and white noise machine. I gather my backpack and jacket in my arms and stand, leaning over the desk to log out of the computer when I see a new email flash in my inbox. A response from Declan.

My stomach sinks with dread. He answered so quickly, he probably wants to bow out. I mean, he’s already done enough for me; he doesn’t need to waste part of his weekend too. I’m sure he was just agreeing to be kind and leave on a good note. It is fine; maybe I shouldn’t open it. Maybe I can just leave it unopened and pretend that I hadn’t seen it and go and just see if he shows up. But I know it would be worse to stew on it all day and get my hopes up because now that I have seen it, I know I won’t be able to convince myself that I haven’t.

I close my eyes and take a breath. Big inhale and big exhale. Better to just deal with this head-on than sweep it under the rug and pretend that it doesn’t exist. I click and feel my heart rate tick up, like my heart is in my throat. Stupid fucking emotions. They screw things up. I can feel the thrumming of my heartbeat in my temples as I wait for the email to load.

Another single line.See you at 5.

I let out a breath I wasn’t aware that I was holding and feel slightly dizzy from it. I close my eyes and steady my breath, letting my heart rate come down. My crush on Declan is a problem, and if I am honest it is more than a little crush. I obviously have developed emotions of some sort for him, and it is distracting me from my life, my objectives. My focus should be my class, my education, my future. Getting feelings for some guy who has been nice to me is a danger zone, a trap.

No excuses, Viv.

The problem is I don’t know what to do. I can’t just decide to never see Declan again, since we are in class together, and most importantly, our group project is the bulk of our grade. I can’tjust stop going because then I risk failing the class. And I can’t drop the class now because then I will never be able to get my money back. I can’t just throw money away. I don’t have that luxury.

Panic starts to well in my chest. “You need sleep,” I whisper to myself, logging out of the email and leaving the housekeeping office. It is never a good idea to make decisions when you are tired. Things are never as serious when you are well rested as they seem when you are exhausted. I know this from previous bad decisions. Those had been more like an overindulgence in donuts, but still, all decisions need proper rest.

I make my way home, shower, and then go to bed. I take the futon since Bailey is still asleep in our room, which also helps me avoid spilling all of this to her. Her romantic heart would tell me to just see what happens with me and Declan, and that is not good for my sleep-deprived mind. And so I push thoughts of Declan away and crash into sleep.

Where I dream of a hard-gazed man who refuses to come to a library, and me crying on the bookshelves.

I arrive at the library just before five. The bus stop for the library is pretty far from the actual building, and it is already pretty dark, so I pull my Tracfone out of my coat pocket and power it up before I leave the bus and hold it in my hand. I try to always be aware of my surroundings, but bad things happen in the shadows of the night.

I hustle my way through the cold, arriving at the doors of the library just as a woman is coming out, all bundled up for the stillcold temps, and locking the doors. She gives me a tight smile as I stop and watch her.

“Um, excuse me, but I thought the library was open until seven on Sundays?”

“Sorry, dear,” she says, but she doesn’t look sorry. “We sent out e-mails fifteen minutes ago. There is an electrical issue on the fourth floor. We have to close early,” she explains, turning abruptly and brushing past me, leaving me utterly perplexed.

This has to be a sign. I mean the freaking library is always open. I’d come here during snowstorms, but some electrical issue on a floor not even close to the main area has it closing early on a Sunday? My heart is sinking, but my head is telling me this is for the best.

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