think she wanted me to actually write it down, but I never did. It’s more of a running tally in my head. I add plush carpeting to the list, right after dewy spiderwebs, but before baristas of any gender wearing sparkly nail polish.
I grab a pair of boxers out of the duffel bag by the nightstand, shaking them out like anybody’s going to care they’re wrinkled, and then I flop back onto the bed with my phone. The urge to text Peak is strong, but I don’t know. I kind of just want to think more about Jubilee right now. And I know, I KNOW they’re the same.
But compartmentalization and all that.
I slide the comic out from where I hid it under my pillow, frowning at the silly sentimentality. It’s not like it means anything; she didn’t even have to pay for it. She probably doesn’t even remember giving it to me.
It’s fine.
I try to call my mom—I tell myself it’s not because I’m lonely, it’s just to remind her to send my stuff—but she doesn’t pick up either way. I text her the reminder instead, and she responds surprisingly fast: Can’t talk, out with friends, will call later. I’m not holding my breath, though. She has called exactly once since I’ve been here, and only because she couldn’t find the remote. It’s whatever.
I start to call my sister next but then cancel it. She’s in Boston; she even sent me a snap earlier of her making fishy faces in the aquarium there. Boston’s not too far from here, an hour or two at most, but I have no idea why she’s there.
I pull up her Instagram and click through, anything to keep my mind busy tonight, and ah yes, it’s a charity event sponsored by The Geekery. Makes sense. There she is, smiling with a bunch of sick kids at the New England Aquarium. There she is, posing with Spider-Man in front of a sign that reads SWING INTO ACTION WITH THE GEEKERY CHARITIES. There she is with a glass of champagne, laughing. There she is, visiting a hospital with Captain America earlier that day. I can’t decide if I feel better that she’s close if I need her, or worse that she’s this close and not here.
Regardless, it’s not her fault. I’m not her responsibility. A new picture appears right before I click off, a selfie of her pointing at the penguins in the enclosure behind her with an overdramatic “wow” face. I’m just about to leave a comment about what a massive nerd she is when a text pops up on my phone.
PEAK: Bats!
I stare down at the words on my screen like a deer in the headlights. And oh shit. This feels wrong somehow. Like sharing crab rangoon changed everything, and now it’s all different and confusing.
donttextbackdontdontdont
ME: Peak!
imgoingtohell
PEAK: Oh good, so you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere.
You really did just abandon me.
And okay, even with the emoji at the end, the idea that she felt remotely abandoned, kidding or not, just sucks. It sucks even more because I was right in front of her yesterday and couldn’t say anything. And I kind of hate that. I don’t want her to feel like that ever.
ME: I didn’t abandon you
PEAK: You haven’t texted me in forever
ME: I was working.
Okay, it’s not technically a lie, but.
PEAK: Likely story.
Be cool, Ridley. Steer this away from work. It’s too fucked up.
ME: Cross my heart.
PEAK: Still doing promo for Satan’s Comics?
ME: No, something new. Just started.
shitshitshitshitshit
This is the opposite of steering things away from work. This is making work a priority. This is literally going into more detail about it. What if she figures it out? What if she already has? What if she’s just messing with me, dragging me along? What if this is