Five Feet Apart(11)

“Maybe if you just call her—”

He shakes his head at me and cuts me off. “Moving on. Seriously, it’s fine, hun. The place is great, and I’ve got you and my guitar! What else do I need?”

My stomach clenches, but there’s a knock on my door and Julie comes in, holding a dark-green tray with a pile of food.

My dad sees her and brightens up. “Julie! How’ve you been?”

Julie puts down the tray and presents her belly to him. For someone who insisted for the past five years that she was never having children, she seems ridiculously eager to be having children.

“Very busy, I see,” my dad says, smiling wide.

“Talk to you later, Dad,” I say, moving my cursor over to the end-call button. “Love you.”

He gives me a salute before the chat ends. The smell of eggs and bacon wafts off the plate, a giant chocolate milk shake sitting on the tray next to it.

“Need anything else, Stell? Some company?”

I glance at her baby bump, shaking my head as a surprising swell of contempt fills my chest. I love Julie, but I’m really not in the mood for talking about her new little family when mine’s falling apart. “Poe’s about to call me.”

Right on time, my laptop pings and Poe’s picture pops up, the green phone symbol appearing on my screen. Julie rubs her stomach, giving me a strange look before flashing me a tight-lipped, confused smile. “Okay. You two have fun!”

I press accept and Poe’s face slowly comes into view, his thick black eyebrows hanging over familiar warm brown eyes. He’s gotten a haircut since the last time I saw him. Shorter. Cleaner. He gives me a big ear-to-ear smile, and I attempt to grin back, but it ends up looking more like a grimace.

I can’t get the image of my dad out of my head. So sad and alone, in bed, but the lines of his face still deep and filled with exhaustion.

And I can’t even go check on him.

“Hey, mami! You are looking WORN,” he says, putting his milk shake down and squinting at me. “You go on one of your chocolate pudding benders again?”

I know this is where I’m supposed to laugh, but I seem to have used up my pretending quota for the day, and it’s not even nine thirty yet.

Poe frowns. “Uh-oh. What’s wrong? Is it Cabo? You know sunburn is nothing to play with anyway.”

I wave that away and instead hold up my tray like a game-show model to show Poe my lumberjack breakfast. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, and a milk shake! The usual for our breakfast dates.

Poe gives me a challenging look, like I’m not getting away with that subject change, but he can’t resist holding up his plate to show me the identical meal—except his eggs are beautifully embellished with chives, parsley, and . . . Wait.

Freaking truffles!

“Poe! Where the hell did you get truffles?”

He raises his eyebrows, smirking. “You gotta bring ’em with, mija!” he says as he moves the webcam to show me a med cart that he’s converted into a perfectly organized spice rack. It’s filled with jars and specialty items instead of pill bottles, sitting under his shrine to his favorite skateboarder, Paul Rodriguez, and the entire Colombian national soccer team. Classic Poe. Food, skateboarding, and fútbol are by FAR his three favorite things.

He has enough jerseys pinned up on his wall to fully clothe every CFer on this floor for a poor-playing, no-cardiovascular-strength B-team.

The camera swings back to him, and I see Gordon Ramsay’s chest peering out from behind him. “But first—our appetizers!” He holds up a handful of Creon tablets, which will help our bodies digest the food we’re about to eat.

“Best part of every meal!” I say sarcastically as I scoop my red-and-white tablets out of a small plastic cup next to my tray.

“So,” Poe says after he’s swallowed his last one. “Since you won’t spill, let’s talk about me. I’m single! Ready to—”

“You broke up with Michael?” I ask, exasperated. “Poe!”

Poe takes a long sip of his milk shake. “Maybe he broke up with me.”

“Did he?”

“Yes! Well, it was mutual,” he says, before sighing and shaking his head. “Whatever. I broke up with him.”

I frown. They were perfect for each other. Michael liked skateboarding and had a super-popular food blog that Poe had followed religiously for three years before they met. He was different from the other people Poe had dated. Older, somehow, even though he had just turned eighteen. Most importantly, Poe was different with him. “You really liked him, Poe. I thought he might be the one.”

But I should know better; Poe could write a book on commitment issues. Still, that never stopped him on the quest for another great romance. Before Michael it was Tim, the week after this it could be David. And, to be honest, I envy him a bit, with his wild romances.

I’ve never been in love before. Tyler Paul for sure didn’t count. But even if I had the chance, dating is a risk that I can’t afford right now. I have to stay focused. Keep myself alive. Get my transplant. Reduce parental misery. It’s pretty much a full-time job. And definitely not a sexy one.

“Well, he’s not,” Poe says, acting like it’s no big deal. “Screw him anyway, right?”

“Hey, at least you got to do that,” I say, shrugging as I pick at my eggs. I can see Will’s knowing smirk from yesterday when I told him I’d had sex before. Asshole.