I definitely don’t want to sound desperate. “Um, not that I’m aware of.”
On the monitor, a woman walks in and waits at the counter.
“Hang on,” says Lucas. “I’ll be right back.”
Once he’s gone, I quickly grab my phone and shoot off a text to Clem.
911! I need a pep talk.
On the monitor, Lucas stands with his back to the woman as he types her numbers onto her lotto tickets. He looks up to the camera—to me—and rolls his eyes, letting out a short sigh that blows the hair off his forehead.
“Clem, Clem, Clem, come on!” I mumble.
My phone lights up with her face. “Okay,” I say into the phone. “I don’t have time to explain. But I need a pep talk. Quick.”
“Wait—what’s—” she sputters. “Okay. Waylon Russell Brewer. You are a gift to humankind. God or whoever’s in charge made you and mwah! Chef kiss! Perfection! You deserve to have good things and good people. You have more vision and culture in your pinkie than most people have in their whole bodies. Ten years from now—”
“I gotta go,” I say. Lucas has disappeared from the monitor. “But that was good. Your pep talk game is at an all-time high.”
“Wait,” she says. “I love you. My life is better because I share it with you. Twin love for life.”
“I love you too,” I whisper back into the phone and hang up, my whole chest glowing with optimism.
Lucas pushes the stockroom door open and I shove my phone back in my pocket. He wipes his hands down the front of his jeans, and I can see that he’s as nervous as I am.
I inhale sharply, shuddering as I exhale.
“Were you talking to someone?” he asks.
“Nope, just, uh, humming to myself.”
He stands between my knees and presses his palms against my thighs. “Waylon?”
“Lucas?”
“I think I’m ready to . . . tell people.”
I hook my arms around the back of his neck. “Are you sure?” I try to keep my voice perfectly even and measured. This is all his decision, and I don’t want to sway him one way or the other.
He pulls my arms down and takes a step back, his whole face lighting up. “I never thought I’d feel like this.”
“Yeah?” Hope bubbles in my chest and I feel like I might burst. I’d told myself over and over for the last few months that this was only physical. Nothing more, but somewhere along the way, it became more, and now—
“I met someone.” He sighs, like a hulking weight has been lifted. “His name is Rashid. He works in the library at school and he makes me so happy. Just talking to him about stupid stuff like our allergies flaring up and our favorite TV shows and weird things our moms say . . .” The words roll right out of him and he claps his broad hand over his smiling lips as he takes a step back. “I haven’t even asked him out yet. Isn’t that shit wild?”
“But you . . .” I force myself to recalibrate, blinking over and over again, because I will not cry. I refuse to cry. Definitely not for this piece of shit. “Good for you, Lucas.”
Realization settles on his face. “You’re not upset, are you?”
I stand and wave a hand in his general direction. Breathe in. Breathe out. “Um, no. I’m fine. Completely fine. So fine.”
“So fine?” He dodges my path to the door. “We said this was just physical, Waylon. From the very beginning. And you just told me to my face we weren’t exclusive. Just now.”
“I. Am. Fine,” I say through gritted teeth as I shove him out of my way.
He loses his footing and stumbles backward into a pile of empty boxes. “We can talk about this,” he tells me.
I stomp out of the stockroom and pray to God he’s watching me on the security monitor, because if the best thing he’s ever had in his life is about to walk right out the door, I hope he’s there to see me go.
Anger rolls through me in fresh waves until I slam my car door shut behind me. Then, and only then, is it safe. The tears come in a quick surge, and once they start, they don’t stop. Sobs rack my whole body as I pull out of the parking lot and leave Lucas right where I found him, in a grimy gas station on the outskirts of town.
Four
At home, I don’t even knock on Clem’s door. “Clem?” I ask, fully