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“Jackasses,” I say. “So that’s why you were on the second floor?”
Rob nods to the bartender. Apparently he’s ready for another.
“Where’ve you been, Atwood? We haven’t seen you at happy hour for months.”
When I don’t answer right away, he whistles. “Ah, young love. I did hear about you and Enzo DeLuca.”
“I guess it’s making the rounds.”
That picture of Enzo and me at the airport has been widely circulated now, and it feels super weird whenever people mention it. No one much cared about my comings and goings before. Enzo says it will only get worse, though he’d help me navigate it all, as people realize we are serious.
His words, not mine.
But that was two days before he told me not to come to New York today as planned. Enzo apologized a hundred times, and I told him I understood. But I’m not so sure I do. It’s been gnawing at me for the past two days. Even if he’s working all weekend, why not have me come up anyway? Surely he could take a break one night to eat dinner? I even mentioned that last night, that maybe I could come and we could both get some work done together. Companionably.
Apparently I would be toodistracting.Which seems like a compliment on the surface, but if the only time we’re together is when he’s totally free, we won’t be together very much.
“Trouble in paradise already?”
I swat him on the arm. “You’re incorrigible. No, there’s no trouble in paradise.”
The door opens, and I assume it’s one of our faculty members, but no one approaches the bar, so it must be someone leaving instead. Luckily, we’re far enough away that I don’t get blasted with cold air. But the others aren’t long behind us. Within fifteen minutes, our party of two turns into ten.
Two beers later, I’m feeling better about my jerk boss—sharing horror stories with my colleagues is a balm second to none—and even about my cancelled trip. I’m not even thinking about Enzo, much, when my phone buzzes with a text from him.
Enzo: Having fun?
For a second, I think he’s actually here. That he came to surprise me. But a quick scan of the bar proves otherwise.
Chari: Yes. You?
Thankfully, he’s a quick texter.
Enzo: Not so much
“Chari, want another drink?”
Rob points to my empty beer.
“Sure,” I say, “but this round is on me.”
Enzo is still typing.
I pay the bartender for two drinks and get two drink chips for my friends. Last call for me and then the Angel pill. It’s been a long day.
Enzo: So who’s the guy?
Four words took that long to type? I look around again. No Enzo.
Chari: ?
Enzo: Gian was there earlier, said he saw you
I would definitely have noticed if Enzo’s brother were here. He mustn’t have stayed for long. Or maybe he was in the restaurant. Either way, I’m annoyed enough not to text back.
First, he cancels.
Again.
