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Although it has only been a few hours.Mia didn’t show her true self until years into our friendship.
“Who’s that?” Sophie asks, and then she shakes her head. “Sorry, that was nosy of me.”
“No, it’s fine. Mia. She’s my roommate.” I scan the text. “She wants to know what time I’ll be home.”
“It’s nice of her to check on you,” she offers.
Or controlling. But maybe Sophie’s right. Maybe this is her way of showing she cares. I pick up the phone and respond.
Having dinner in Boston. Be home later.
I turn the phone back over and pick up my slice.
It isn’t until I’m settling into my seat on the train that I look at my phone again. Five texts.
Mia: Oh. With who?
Mia: Hello?
Mia: Wow, so glad I went through the trouble of making dinner for you to celebrate your first day of work.
Mia: Seriously? No reply?
Mia: Fuck you.
I close my eyes. This can’t be normal. The phone pings again, and I sigh, considering ignoring anything more she has to say. But I cave. Like always.
Mia: I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you. Are you okay?
I type out a quick response.
All good. Sorry. Grabbed a slice of pizza with one of my coworkers. I’ll be home soon.
As I put the phone down, I can’t help but wish I could live at home with parents who loved me.
8
CRASH INTO ME BY DAVE MATTHEWS
JAY
Ifigured I wouldn’t see Cat again unless I stopped in during one of her shifts. Something I’d already decided to avoid. For years, my focus has been locked on one thing, and I’m within inches of my goal. I don’t need the distraction. Especially when it comes in the form of a beautiful woman who clearly doesn’t evenlikeme. And maybe isn’t interested in men at all.
Although I’m not entirely sold on Mia’s story. There was a spark between Cat and me that first day. One that, based on the way she watched me, she felt as well. Knowing Mia, she was playing with my head.
But I pushed every thought away after the conversation. After I offended her.
Then she sat in front of me on the train, and in seconds, I lost the battle I was so sure would be effortless.
Every day for the past three days, she’s gotten on just before the train leaves, grabbing the first available seat—which, so far, hasn’t been next to me. I’ve been intentional about that. I’m not ready to talk to her, so after that first day, I’ve made a point to sit next to someone else first. And then I use the forty-minute ride to study her.
I’m fascinated by her.
Which makes almost zero sense.
She’s no different from any every twentysomething college girl I’ve met. Don’t get me wrong; she’s beautiful. But she doesn’t flaunt it. She doesn’t wear low cut-tops or tight-fitting clothes. She doesn’t even notice the attention she garners from both men and women around her. It’s like she exists above everyone else.
Not in a cruel or uncaring way. But it’s like she walks in and takes the air from the room. With her headphones in her ears and a magazine or book in her hand, she makes it clear she doesn’t want to interact with the rest of us.
