Page 6 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
I smile. We interned at the same high school while we got our teaching degrees and were offered contracts there after we graduated. It hadn’t been smooth sailing for any of us, but Mark stuck with it after being offered the coveted drama teacher position, and Heather found her footing with the science department. I’d bowed out after my single-year contract expired, focusing instead on the part of the experience I’d enjoyed: writing lesson plans and designing units of study. My business is still gaining traction, but I’ve landed some big projects; my online bundle for instructingThe Odysseywas recently picked up by an entire school district in Denver. A welcome boon… even if it’s going to be consumed by my deductible.
“Just don’t commit to a place tonight, okay?” Heather implores. “Go to our place, put on some comfies, and veg out until we get back tomorrow. We’ll plan from there.”
“Which is to say that we’ll come home to a spotless apartment and review the plan you’ve already come up with,” Mark amends.“You’ll humor our suggestions, then execute your original plan because you’ll come up with the best solution, anyway.”
“True,” I laugh, but throw them a bone. “The comfies are a great call, though.”
“See? We’re helpers.” Heather sighs. “Hang tight, girly. I’m so sorry we can’t be there.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t,” they chorus.
“You’re right. It really, really isn’t.”
Something in my voice must betray how close I am to tears, because Heather’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle when she says, “We’ll see you tomorrow. I love you!” Mark sends his love as well and offers me the last of the exfoliating mask concealed in the butter penthouse of the fridge. I end the call as Heather gripes at his betrayal; he’d been hiding it from her.
While the screen is still illuminated, my eye lands on the bright pink icon of the rideshare app. I glance at the door Grant left through, then turn my head to look at the one that leads outside. It would be rude, but I could leave. I can pop over to my friends’, ditch the boob tape, don some pjs, and start making lists in a desperate attempt to maintain order in my crumbling life. Not too different from a regular Friday for me.
I grimace. God, that’s grim.
A text from Cole appears at the top of my screen.I’m at home. Please come talk.I glare at the message.Home.If there’s anything I am sure about, it’s that the two-bedroom apartment we’ve been overpaying for over the past two years is no longer my home.
A tentative knock sounds from the door to the rest of the house. “Hey…Ellie?” It’s Grant. I unpeel myself from the mattressand rise with a crinkle of plastic. When I open the door, I find him and Diego shoulder to shoulder in the hallway, Alistair behind them. Diego waves.
“We, um…” Grant clears his throat. “We worried that you might be sad—”
“Do you want cheese?” Diego interjects, shouting over his roommate.
“Do I…” I blink.“What?”
The shorter pup thrusts his arm forward, hand up in offering. Resting on his palm is a single package of string cheese.
I stare at the offering. They have brought me cheese.
“We looked online for what helps girls when they’re sad,” Alistair explains, his expression guarded as he waits for my reaction. “Cheese was the only suggested thing we had.”
My chest gives a little squeeze, and I press my lips together, blinking furiously against a week’s worth of tears. They brought me cheese!
Three pairs of eyes go round in horror.
“Oh, no!” Grant’s voice is pure panic as he shakes his head. “If you don’t like cheese, we can find something else? We just don’t have much in the kitchen. Maybe a banana? Or we’re about to go out—” He grabs at Diego’s still outstretched forearm.
“No! The cheese is great. Thank you.” I relieve Diego of the string cheese, and his hand drops to his side, his frame going slack with relief. “I’ve had a rough week. And this”—I hold up the package—“is the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me since I woke up Monday.” I dab at my good eye, where a tear is threatening to fall. “These are gratitude tears.”
The guys let out a collective “Ah!” of understanding.
I peel open the package, revealing an inch of shiny, off-white mozzarella, and take a bite. The three watch me in silent satisfaction at a job well done, Alistair craning to see from behind the other two.
I swallow. “Thank you, really. And you’re right. I’m kind of down.” I frown, accepting the gauntlet of questions I’m about to endure. “My boyfriend broke up with me tonight.”
“Oh, shit!” Grant’s brows are high. “Thatsucks.”
Diego shakes his head, all empathy. “I’m sorry, Ellie.”
I nod, waiting for a follow-up. Seconds pass. That’s it. Once again, no prying. No prodding for gory details. Just an acknowledgment: This sucks, and they are bummed for me.
“Well, hetriedto break up with me,” I continue, curious how long this suspension of inquiry will hold. “He started it, and I finished.”
