Page 37 of Kissing is the Easy Part
“Sorry for the inconvenience.” I have done everything since the beginning. I chased him. I waited for him. I planned every date, folding my backbone like origami. And I even offeredthis, but he sits there like some judge on a talent show and I’m out of tricks.
It’s supposed to be different with him. A do-over. A chance to rewrite the first time the way it should have been, with someone who cares. But he’s sighing like I scheduled a last-minute meeting on his Teams calendar and he’s asking to circle back next week.
“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I want this, too, just . . . not tomorrow. Please understand that. Let’s talk in the car,” he says, already calculating how to minimize the time loss. “Come on.”
He doesn’t even reach for my hand as we leave the restaurant, and on the way back, his patience begins to fray.
“Flora, am I not allowed to have priorities? I’m doing everything I can.”
“Of course. Your priorities are pretty clear to me.”
He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Look, I can keep apologizing if you want me to, but you’re not listening anymore. I don’t know what else to say. Maybe we should call it a night?”
It’s worse than those PR-scripted celebrity apologies, theI’m sorry if you were offendedkind. He’s not sorry. He thinks he’s right. And now he’s done trying.
“Please take me home,” I say with the most civilized tone I can muster.
In the back of my mind, I fantasize about him pulling over and kissing me until I forgive him, but knowing Sean, I’d have better luck wishing for a Godzilla invasion. He stops the car in front of my building, and I turn to face him. Maybe he’ll come up with something soft now.
“Let’s talk when you calm down.” His expression is all serene and above me. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”
I throw open the door and get out, and then I slam it shut for theatrical effect.
* * *
On Sunday, Sean calls me once and gives up when I don’t answer. It’s for the best. If we talked we’d probably end up fighting again, and I refuse to be the reason his precious test scores suffer. He can focus on his stupidF = maequation and deal with me later.
That evening, I call Madison.
“Wanna come over?” she asks. “I’m watching cheerleading championship videos. Maybe we can talk through some choreography.”
I groan. She takes thiswaytoo seriously. “No . . . why, Mads? Cheerleading is no fun without boys around.”
Madison chokes on the other end. “You think I’m captain because I want to shake pom-poms for boys? I don’t care about our stupid jock friends and their dumb games. Cheer is aboutus.”
She always has to win. If she’s not running for junior class president, she’s plotting how to take our squad to nationals. I can’t deal with this now. When I see Raymond’s incoming call, I’m more than happy to take it.
Raymond is chaos in human form, but he’s exactly what I need. He throws the best parties to which everyone’s invited, but behind closed doors, he’s a vicious hater who has an opinion on everything. If I need a laugh, I call Raymond.
“What are you doing home on a Sunday night?” he slurs, half drunk and probably freshly stoned.
“Nothing. Just sitting here, being angry at Sean.”
“Why? What happened?”
“It’s stupid. I don’t want to get into it.” Sean has three mistresses named Einstein, Newton, and Galileo. What else?
“Well, you wanna hang? It’s creepy, you sitting home like a widow.” He burps. “I haven’t talked to you in ages.”
“We talked, like, three days ago.”
“Yeah, but I mean a real heart-to-heart, in person. Remember how much fun we had last summer? That was epic.”
I laugh. Those mad summer nights of bad decisions and zero regrets. Thinking back, I kind of miss those carefree days of not stressing about pleasing a boy.
“If you’re not doing anything, I can come over,” Raymond says.
The suggestion is as innocent as a newborn kitten, but I stop to consider if Sean will like this. Raymond is an old friend, though, not some casual acquaintance who hits on me. I never flirt with him, and this certainly isn’t a date.
