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He follows me as I walk up the stairs and into the lobby. “Friday night? Um, yeah, I guess.”
“Let’s meet at my place. Seven o’clock?” I stop abruptly and face him.
He’s catching his breath, and there’s a strange, half-panicked look in his eye.
“We can hook up if you’re down? Bang it out. It builds chemistry pretty quickly in my experience. I’m in the on-campus apartments—I’ll text you my apartment number.”
Ian’s jaw drops slightly, his eyes widening just enough to elicit a laugh from me.
“Bring condoms!” I yell before leaving the theater building without so much as a glance back.
I textIan my apartment number on my way back. It’s a cool September evening, the first hints of fall in the air. I swear I step on a crunchy leaf, but it might just be a potato chip.
I know the reputation I have in the theater department, and for the most part, it’s true. That’s why it doesn’t bother me. People try to talk about my sex life and inject shame and judgment, but those things stick to me like I’m made of water. It’s not for everyone, and that’s okay, because it works for me. But because it doesn’t work for everyone, I probably should have asked if Ian wanted to hook up instead of just telling him, but in my experience most people are eager. If there’s ever a horny group, it’s theater kids.
I’m not confident Ian won’t be as awkward tomorrow night as he was at rehearsal tonight. I’m not even sure why I offered it in the first place, but hooking up with my scene partner has created chemistry in the past—an accidental discovery. Plus, the added benefit of hooking up with Ian is the opportunity for a rebound fuck. I love them. It’s like my memory cells replace all my old encounters with the new one. This is a two-for-one deal I can’t pass up.
When I get back to my apartment, I call out for Jessie and Mac, trying to gauge if anyone is home. No response means the coast is clear, and I flop down onto the couch, pulling out my phone to check my mom’s text message.
Hi honey! Just had my 5th date with Rob, what a sweetie. He’s so handsome and thoughtful . . . I really think he might be The One. Miss you! Call me soon? Love, Mom
My stomach drops, and I have to set my phone down and take a few deep breaths.
If I had a dollar for every time my mom thought her current boyfriend was The One, I wouldn’t need my rich, emotionally distant father to pay for school—my mother’s delusions would cover it. But they don’t. In fact, my mother’s beliefs about love and soulmates have never done a damn thing to improve my life. If anything, they’ve made life harder. My childhood was spent picking up the discarded pieces of her heart as she cycled through relationships, falling madly in love and then tumbling into madness when those relationships inevitably didn’t work out. I should be spending my senior year thinking about postgrad plans, but now that my mom is dating someone new, I’ll inevitably spend my time wondering when this relationship will end too.
“Hey, you okay?” Jessie’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
I didn’t even hear the door open, but Jessie is here now, sans Mac, holding a Styrofoam food container from the cafeteria and staring at me with concern in her eyes.
“Yeah. I just . . . I got a text from my mom.”
Jessie knows the bare minimum when it comes to my mom: that she drinks too much sometimes when she goes through a breakup—which is, if I’m lucky, only once a year, sometimes less.
The last time Mom went through a breakup was last fall, sometime after the Halloween party where Jessie and Mac made out (but Jessie didn’t actually know she was making out with Mac, because Mac apparently makes a killer Shakespearecostume). Mom’s been single since that breakup—almost a year ago—so this is one of her longest stretches as a single woman. If she has been dating, she hasn’t texted me.
A long time ago, I told my mom she had to stop texting me every time she met someone, and to only text me if it was serious. This was partially so I could prepare myself for the breakup, but also because I got sick of constant updates about every single date she went on.
“Everything okay?” Jessie asks, not pressing for more despite her obvious curiosity.
“She, uh . . . she has a new boyfriend.”
“Oh! That’s kind of exciting?” Jessie says hesitantly, studying my face to see if that was the right thing to say.
I shake my head, and Jessie mimics the action.
“For absolutely no one,” she adds, trying to play off her mistake.
The corners of my mouth lift into a smile, and I join her in the kitchen as she unpacks her food, dumping half the contents of her Styrofoam container onto a plate. Soy sauce, ginger, and garlic waft toward me, making my mouth water, and I reach out to steal a noodle.
“Maybe for normal people, but for my mom, it just means heartbreak is around the corner.”
“What do you mean?” Jessie asks.
“Ya know, she has trouble holding onto relationships, and when they inevitably end . . . she just . . . doesn’t handle breakups well,” I say with a shrug.
I pop another noodle into my mouth, and Jessie playfully slaps my hand as I reach for a third bite. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.
She tucks the rest of her food into the fridge and carries her plate to the table.
