Date Me, Bryson Keller(36)

“Felt what?” My heart’s in my throat.

Bryson doesn’t speak. As I watch him drive, I keep playing over and over all the times that have made me question if Bryson Keller is straight. I want to ask him about it. I need to, for my own peace of mind, and for the sake of my heart, which will be breaking come next week. By the time we pull up to the front of my house, I’ve finally worked up the courage to speak. I clear my throat, ready to ask the question that needs to be asked.

“Are you—” Just then, his phone rings. Bryson looks from me to the ringing phone.

“It’s my mom. She’s away on a trip until Saturday. So I should take this.”

“Go ahead.”

Bryson answers the phone. “Hey, Mom. How—what?” Bryson’s frown deepens as he listens to his mother. “What kind of accident?” Two minutes later, he hangs up. He turns to me. “My sister’s in the hospital.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“She was in a car accident on her way home from college.”

“Is she okay?” I reach for his shoulder. Bryson leans into my touch.

He nods. “Mom says it’s just minor injuries. But I should head over there.”

“Do you need me to come?”

“No,” Bryson says. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for offering, though.”

    “No problem.” I grab my things and reach for the door handle.

“I promise we’ll talk more.” Our eyes lock. “Soon.”

“Okay,” I say as I climb from the Jeep. I watch as Bryson drives off. He stops in front of the neighbor’s house and reverses. Bryson rolls down the window and I bend to look into the car.

“To answer your question,” Bryson says. “Yes, I think I might be.”

And with that, he pulls off, leaving me breathless and full of even more questions.





15


I won’t get to see Bryson at all today. Which makes me want to simply just roll over and stay in bed. I blink the world into focus and reach for my phone. I reply to a message in my group chat before checking out Instagram.

I scroll through my feed and stop on one of Bryson. It’s a selfie of him in his sister’s hospital room. There’s a small smile on his face, and even without a filter he looks good.

Babysitting today, the caption reads, with a doctor emoji. Already there are over fifty likes, even though the picture was only posted about fifteen minutes ago. I double-tap the picture and smile at the red heart.

My phone buzzes with a text from Kelly mere heartbeats later.

You’re up? Yay!

I smile and respond: How’d you sleep?

Eh, not good, Bryson says. Very tired. I was here at the hospital until late. My sister’s getting discharged in a few hours. Concussion and whiplash. She’ll be stiff, but nothing too serious.

    You should get some more rest.

Haha do I need some beauty sleep? Bryson adds a winking face.

Is it even possible for you to not look good?

You flirt you.

A few seconds later, another text follows.

Got to go. Chat later.

This time the kissing face that follows is intentional—I’m sure of it. I think back to last night and Bryson’s confession. We need to talk about it, but it’s the type of conversation that needs to be had in person, face-to-face.

I lock my phone and climb from my bed. I walk to the bathroom and begin my morning ritual. I’ve become used to being done by seven o’clock because of Bryson, so by then I’m already dressed. I realize too late that I’ve done everything too quickly.

With a sigh, I head downstairs and find Dad making waffles. Mom sits at the island as usual with her iPad open to today’s news. She scrolls through the articles but stops at the sight of me. Mom fake gasps when she sees me taking a seat next to her.

“Is it really you?” she asks.

“It has to be a mirage,” Dad adds.

“Maybe a hallucination.”

I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t been spending as much time with my family as I normally would, but it’s only been three days. If this is how they’re reacting now, how are they going to handle it in a few months’ time when I head off to college?

    “Are we tripping right now?” Mom asks.

“Funny,” I say.

Dad laughs. “Are you eating with us today?”

“Yeah.” I reach for the coffeepot. I pour myself a cup and add two sugars and some cream.

“How was the game yesterday?”

“Priya scored, so we won.” I take a sip of my coffee. As I drink, I find myself missing what has become my routine with Bryson. He was right when he said the bacon and eggs at Glenda’s were the best. “The boys won, too.”

“You watched that game, too?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

“Baby steps,” Dad says. “I might make you a soccer fan yet.”

Mom shakes her head. “I don’t need to find two people asleep on the couch. Why even bother waking up if you’re just going to fall asleep instead of watching?”

Yazz rolls into the kitchen. “Oh, you’re still here.” She looks me up and down. “I hate to admit this, but I miss our morning altercations.”