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From the image of Big Ben in the background, she and Stefon had been in London for a day or two. She’d sent various photos of their tour of several majestic palaces.
Of all the people who deserved good things, it was my mom. Even Stefon looked like a young, refreshed version of himself. They’d be the kind of couple who, at eighty, looked like they were in their fifties. Part of me suspected that even when they returned home, they’d be wrapped up in each other.
Mom and Stefon would have eyes only for each other.
That wasn’t a terrible thing, not if Matty and I were dating. It wasn’t like we’d want them in our business.
Would they let us stay in the guesthouse without supervision?
Just landed in NYC, Mom wrote, I heard from Mr. Jones. He reports that you’re adjusting well to virtual classes even though there’s only a few weeks left of school. Miss Paulina told Stefon just this afternoon that you and Matty are getting along great. I think her words were “thick as thieves.” I’m so happy to hear that things are going well. Miss you, sweetie. See you in a few days. xo Mom.
My eyes focused on the sentence about Miss Paulina saying Matty and I were thick as thieves. What a loaded statement. Sly, sly Miss Paulina, I thought.
It wasn’t entirely surprised that Drew reached out to Mom to let her know I’d completed all my school assignments without issue. As my assigned counselor, it was his role to do that. Still, just seeing his name filled my chest with a barrage of confusing feelings.
Not because I mourned what was, but because it was starting to become clear to me that what we had wasn’t real. It was all a mirage. I thought we were in some sort of relationship.
It wasn’t clear to me what Drew thought we were.
As if on cue, a new text came in.
Drew: I hear congratulations are in order, Ciaran. You should be proud of this major accomplishment.
Confusion swept over me as I read his text a dozen times without blinking.
Congratulations?
Major accomplishment?
What was Drew talking about?
My fingers itched to turn off my phone and throw it over the cliff. I shouldn’t—couldn’t—have immediate access to my phone.
Because I wanted to reply.
I wanted to call him.
I wanted to confront him.
I might say things that I’d come to regret. I might yell. Hell, I might cry.
Mostly, though, I was worried I had everything topsy-turvy in my head.
That I had imagined everything that occurred between us. That I’d conjured up a fake relationship between us.
That I’d dreamed it when he went down on me that one night in his condo.
That I’d daydreamed Drew tugging me into his bedroom and pushing me down to the mattress. That’d I’d imagined he pulled down my shorts. That without saying a single word he swallowed my erection.
That I’d exploded in his mouth less than a minute into the entire experience.
My face burned at the memory.
Another ding. My hands shook.
No reply, Ciaran? It was from Drew. I can tell that you’ve read my message.
I sat in a balcony chair and my fingers took over. I wrote back, I’m not sure I understand. Congratulations for what?
