Shuffle, Repeat(47)
“But technology,” I say. Because it’s Shaun, he understands.
“It makes it worse. We talk on our phones or our computers and it’s supposed to be better, it’s supposed to connect us, except now when I close my eyes, all I can see is the tech version of Kirk. He’s pixelated or blurry or frozen because the connection has died.” Shaun sighs again and my heart hurts for him. “Maybe that’s it. Maybe our connection has died.”
“You’re such a poet,” I tell him, and his eyes snap to mine. Then he grins really big, because he gets it—that I’m defusing, I’m softening, I’m making it better the only way I know how.
“You’re such an *,” he tells me.
“I love you,” I say, and hug him hard.
“I love you, too.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Shaun.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, June.”
? ? ?
After lunch, I’m trudging toward Spanish III when everything goes dark red. Someone has covered my eyes with their hands. I spin, which puts me right in the circle of Oliver’s arms, and I’m looking up at him. We both immediately break apart, stepping backward. “What are you doing?” My tone sounds belligerent, which is the opposite of how I feel.
“I have a present for you.”
Color rises up my chest and past my collarbones, making me feel the unholy triumvirate of flushed, pissed (at myself), and embarrassed. “Oh, really?” It’s supposed to come out nonchalant, but…
But it doesn’t.
Oliver reaches under his jacket and I see that his left side is bulky because he’s got something hidden there. “I made it myself.”
My blush deepens, and I try to distract from it with a glare. “Why?”
He laughs. “You’re so dependable.” He pulls out the thing that’s been in his jacket, and presents it to me with a flourish. I accept it and…stare.
“It’s a pillow,” I say.
Oliver laughs again. “Your powers of perception are overwhelming.”
“Thank you?” I am honestly not sure what I am supposed to do with a pillow that might be made out of felt and is definitely turquoise on one side and hot pink on the other. Also, one corner is truncated, like someone lopped it off and sewed it back together.
“It’s for the mornings,” Oliver explains. “Because you think my car is too big and you’re never quite comfortable. You can sit on it.”
What Oliver has just given me is—by a long shot—the most awkward gift I have ever been given, but that’s not why I feel awkward. I feel awkward because it is a gift. All I can manage to do is accept the pillow and mumble some gratitude. “Thanks.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Oliver says, and he doesn’t look at all awkward. He just looks happy.
Damn it all to hell, Oliver is more than good-looking.
He’s beautiful.
Mom and I are getting ready to start a game of Scrabble. It was her idea, I suspect because she’s feeling guilty about forbidding me to move in with Dad next year. I got turned down for financial aid at all of my New York college choices, but I thought we could still swing it if I lived with him. But Mom says his apartment is small and the neighborhood is sketchy. When I talked to Dad about it, he said he would love to have me, but he wouldn’t do it against Mom’s wishes. Thus—since Mom has been putting money into Michigan’s prepaid tuition program for a while now—it looks like I’m heading to U of M next year.
It’s not my first choice, but I guess it won’t be terrible. Darbs is going to Eastern, so I’ll still be able to hang with her, and Shaun will be only three hours away at Ohio State. He claims that we will be locked in a heated football rivalry that may break our friendship.
Oliver hasn’t made a final decision yet, and I’m kind of glad about that. Ever since Valentine’s Day, I’ve found myself being just a little more careful around him, taking extra caution not to cross any lines.
And caring what he does with himself next year—that kind of feels like crossing a line.
For Mother-Daughter Bonding Night, Mom is making hot apple cider. She adds spices to the steaming pot while I set a bag of popcorn in the microwave. I’ve just pressed the start button when the home phone rings. “I got it,” says Mom, so I assume she’s expecting a call from Cash.
As she heads into the living room, I watch the digital numbers on the microwave count down and I wonder if Shaun is talking to Kirk yet. Shaun said he wanted to discuss the “quality of the relationship” tonight, whatever that means. As I’m rewarded with the first pops from the bag, Mom answers the phone in the other room. “Hello?” she says in that questioning way that you do when you honestly don’t know who is on the other end.
Landlines.
I still assume it’s Cash until Mom says, “What?” and I hear something heavy slam down, like maybe she dropped a book. My stomach dips and I have a sudden terrible image of my father dead in New York, either run over by a taxi or shot with a wayward bullet. If it happened, this is absolutely the way I’d find out.
I step away from the microwave so I can hear better. Mom’s voice has scaled up an octave and she’s saying things like “Are you freaking kidding me?” and “Calm down, I’ll be right there!”…so at least it doesn’t sound like it has anything to do with Dad.