Page 36 of Drawn Together
Me:Whatcha doing?
That ghost of a smile transitions into a real one, corners lifted, and I can’t see much, but I recognize the warmth it gives me.
Fletcher:I am about to pick up where I left off in my assigned reading for the week.
Me:Thoughts so far?
His back tightens and when a minute goes by with no answer while he is actively on his phone, I am rereading my own texts to see if I maybe did something wrong. I’ve been known to do thatover text—too many reactions too fast. I try to simmer myself down into something more palatable for Fletcher and Lennon, and even Edith, but I wonder if it’s all a useless effort.
Lennon opens the door to her room, bringing a wave of vanilla with her.
“Hey, do you have plans tonight?”
My heart jumps an embarrassing rate at the question. Almost as embarrassing as how I desperately shout, “Nope.”
“Do you want to go out with Stephan and I?”
“Is it another trivia night? I should warn you I don't know many topics besides literature. And some of those ‘How is it made?’ shows. I enjoy watching the old guys make hard candy.”
She blinks. “No, we’re just going out for dinner.”
I look back to Fletcher’s apartment to see it’s empty now, my text still left on read.
“Then yes. I would love to go.”
I pull myself off the couch, legs tingling from being cross-legged too long, and head toward my room. The wood floor is cool beneath my wool socks, but not unpleasant—it’s the chill that makes you want to wrap yourself in a throw blanket like a burrito. Or drink something nutmeg-y.
I meant what I said about my closet to Fletcher—it is pathetically small—but it is host of my many sweaters still resting in their boxes, and this seems like a good opportunity to pull them out, along with my red leather boots and the scarf scrunchie I have been too scared to wear to work. Edith is not a fan of eccentrics.
There's something about dressing for fall that feels like preparing for a movie montage. I always imagine someone out there narrating my movements—probably Meg Ryan. I am in a dance of getting ready, throwing clothes on and taking them off, before going to the next option then back to the first. Somewhere in there, I throw on a toasted burgundy blush, realize I overdidit, and try to wipe off the excess with my middle finger. Which, ironically, gives me the exact look I was going for.
When I leave my room Lennon is opening the door in her caramel coat and dark boots. The hallway is steeped in amber lighting from our neighbor’s ‘mood bulbs’ that he switches out for the season.
“Hi, Stephan—” I pause, because just behind my roommate's boyfriend is none other than Fletcher Harding. Dressed in denim jeans and a gray sweater below a dark green wool coat, he looks like he might read Brontë on purpose and knows how to make cider from scratch.
“You’re here?” My voice does nothing to hide my enthusiasm at his presence, and I don’t even mind.
“I’m here.” He pats his leg and rocks on his feet, so not fitting in this area. I smile at that, and while he doesn’t return it, his usual scowl is nowhere to be found.
“I was going to answer your text, but then Lennon said you were coming to dinner so…” He looks over my shoulder, and Lennon is licking her fingers in an attempt at tampering down Stephan’s cowlick. “I thought we could talk about it there. Since those two will probably leave halfway through dinner.”
“Sounds good.”
The cold autumn air rushes in as we step out into the night. Leaves skitter across the sidewalk like tiny dancers in the wind, and the city smells like roasted chestnuts and chimney smoke.
For the first time in a long while, I don't mind that the mockingbird didn’t show up today.
I’ve found something just as curious to watch.
The couple in front us weaves through the crowd, arm in arm, while Fletcher and I follow them. I have no clue where we are going tonight, but I have to admit I am slightly disappointed it’s not Backside Diner. I’ve been twice this week already, and I think I’d like the waitresses to know my order by heart one day.
“So, do you guys get together a lot?”
Fletcher goes to respond, but surprisingly, Lennon peaks over her shoulder at the two of us, and I swear she almost grins. “Usually, Stephan’s the one who pulls us all together for plans, but apparently Fletcher really wanted to come out tonight.”
“Alright.” Fletcher brushes the topic past before turning to me. “So, what were your thoughts?”
“On?”
