Page 15 of Rumor Has It

“Then what does it look like?” I ask, challenging him to back up his words.

He runs his hand over his neck, tucking his feet up onto the couch so he can better face me as well. Between the head tilting and neck rubbing, I get the sense this isn’t exactly the easiest conversation for him. Nor does it seem simple for him to explain.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Those movies… they paint this perfect picture, where no one has any baggage or bodily functions. It’s not real life.”

I laugh.“Bodily functions?”

“Yeah,” he says, and laughs. “No one ever goes to the bathroom or has a period. Have you ever seen a main character get her period?”

The movie catalog in my head flips through all my known rom-coms and falls short of his request. “Actually, no, I don’t think I’ve seen one.”

“See,” he says. “No guy ever has a bad hair day, no one ever has a period, and for Christ’s sake no one ever farts.”

“No one wants to talk about farting, Theo,” I say sharply. “That’s not romantic.”

“Ah, see, there you have it. Romance and love are two very different things. Romance is seen in acts, moments made perfect by action,” he says, his voice ringing passionately. “Love is the whole thing, for better or worse, through good and bad. These movies only show you the good, perfect actions.”

After only a moment, there’s one thing I can say. “You’re right.” I nod my head. “I’ve been chasing romance.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he says. “Just don’t confuse the two.”

His points are valid. Too valid, honestly. It’s like he took a paddle full of truth and spanked me with it. Well, that sounds oddly and unintentionally sexual. And for a brief moment, my mind builds that picture. Theo, shirtless and holding some sort of devilish ping-pong paddle.Jesus, what is wrong with me?I really am starved for affection... and other things.

Shaking all manner of dirty Theo thoughts from my mind, I relish in this realization for a moment. I do want romance, but I want love too. To be in love. To feel loved. I gotta hand it to him, I didn’t expect this kind of wisdom to come from him. He’s a smart guy and always has been, but in matters of the heart specifically, it’s truly unexpected.

Between this conversation and the momentary lapse in reality when Theo leaned himself against my doorframe earlier and told me he was easy, I must be in outer space. Because for a split second, for the tiniest fraction of a moment after he muttered, “I’m easy” the way he did, I thought a very dirty thought. And I feel a very profound and special type of shame about that. He’s my best friend for Christ’s sake, my ride or die. I cannot—for his sake and mine—muddy that with fleeting romantic, animalistic perverted thoughts.

I’m sure, in any case, it’s normal to fantasize about your best friend of the opposite sex at least once or twice over the span of more than a decade. That just seems like human nature. But the dirty thoughts coupled with the rumors, and him staying here, and the dance, and cuddles… well, it’s all started to pile up a little too high for me.

ELEVEN

THEO

It’s Sunday, for the love of holy things. Now, I’m not all that religious, and maybe I keep dodging my mama’s requests to attend church with the family, but I do believe wholeheartedly that Sunday is a day of rest.

Which is why Ellie awake at an ungodly six in the morning on this holiest of days is plain offensive. And she’s not just awake. She’s awake and in the kitchen, the not-so-calming musical arrangement of pots and pans clanging together as I pull a pillow over my head to muffle out the sound of my relaxing Sunday choking to death on whatever Ellie is doing.

After praying and waiting several minutes to see if it stops, I give up and roll out of bed. I reach for my phone and see a few missed texts but ignore them all for the sake of trying to ease into the day. Who texts someone this early anyway?

I shuffle out into the hallway, following the scents of freshly brewed coffee and salt and fat.

“Good morning, Theo Baby,” Ellie says, turning to place a cup of coffee in my hand.

“I’d hardly call this morning,” I say, attempting to clear the gruff in my voice. I take a sip as I sit on one of the barstools at her island. She’s got a spatula in one hand and her phone in the other, and I’ve decided at this moment that doing two things at once at six in the morning on a Sunday means you’re the devil. There’s just no need for all that.

“Quick question,” I say. “Why are we awake?”

“Well,” she says, her tone, even in that one word, much too chipper for me. “I got up to feed Wanda and she was very awake, and by the time I was done, I was also very awake. I tried to fall back asleep with no luck.”

“And you thought cooking would help?” I tease.

“No, I tried to fall back asleep on the couch, but when that didn’t work, I figured I might as well make some food,” she says. “Sorry I woke you.”

I shrug, deciding the damage is already done. There’s no need to complain now. “No big deal.” Although, even as I say that, we both know it is. If I’m being honest, I wake up earlier than this the other six days of the week. Ellie knows just as well that Sunday is the one day I get to sleep in, the one day I allow myself to. Of course, there have been certain emergency instances where that wasn’t the case, but it’s been a long-ass time since it was for no reason at all.

“Are you hungry?” she asks.

I can’t tell if I am or not because of the odd hour throwing my body off, but I nod yes anyway. I can’t very well let the food go to waste.

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