Page 8 of Drawn Together
“It’s…incomprehensible.”
“You’re such a,” I search for the right word, and my brain fails me.
“A what?”
“Lothario.” Did I even use that right?
Fletcher mouths the word Lothario like it’s bitter—a battery touching the tip of his tongue, sending a shiver down his spine.
“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard, and I don’t even know what it means.”
I’m suddenly thinking I don’t know what it means either, so I just skirt right past that.
“I can’t believe you think romance is incomprehensible. That is so not true, you can’t just—” Before I can finish the sentence, the announcer taps the mic again.
“Alright, everyone, next question!”
Four
Wordoftheday:Nedovtipa
Definition: Czech word forsomeone who is unable to take a hint
Free sourdough bread gift certificate in hand, a stomach full of deconstructed chili dogs, and a victory in my head, I walk out of the bar alone.
Noah had to leave early for a shift, though he gave me a solid handshake before he left, and I vowed never to wash my hands again. Margot slipped out shortly after, attempting to catch the ferry in time to make it home for her nightly rerun of Wheel of Fortune. Stephan took one look at a very sleepy Lennon and wrapped her in his jacket, pulling her out of the booth and on the way to his apartment.
So, that left Fletcher and me. And, I was not sticking around for that. I happily collected my champion's trophy for sourdough and bounced right back outside.
The air is crisp but not cold. I take a deep breath, inhaling of the aroma of laundry detergent, a hint of dried leaves, and thedistant food carts still open on the avenues. The brownstones glow under streetlights, their stoops dotted with pumpkins and the occasional flicker of early Halloween decorations. Little plastic dog skeletons propped up like they’re peeing in a yard and colorful mums in big terracotta pots add to the aesthetic.
By-standers walk in their different apartments, turning on landscape and fairy lights. The neighborhood—like the season—is gently winding down.
And, the entire way home, Fletcher walks five feet behind me, his stupid boots stomping in puddles I’ve avoided until now. Every time I look over my shoulder to make sure he’s there, he suddenly looks at the tops of buildings and the skyline, like he is very interested in the view.
Maybe if it were someone who’s actually menacing-looking, I would be alarmed. But Fletcher, hands in his pockets and long legs trying to slow down his quick strides, looks like a puppy that hasn’t grown into its oversized paws yet.
Finally, when we’re four blocks from my apartment and I’ve taken the most absurd route to get there, I huff and turn on my heel.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m walking you home.”
“Please, don’t.”
I’m desperate for friendship, sure. But, not that desperate.
“I would do the same for Lenny if she were walking home alone.”
Lenny. Stephan called her that earlier, too. Huh. Should I be calling her that? The only reason I even know her name is the lease agreement that’s been stuck to the side of the fridge since I moved in.
“I’ve walked home alone plenty of times before.”
“At night? In the back alley?”
“Yes.” No. “I can handle myself just fine.”
It’s not like I’m completely unprepared; I do have a weapon.
