Giselle
Sitting in the living room in Drew’s apartment, the receipt with Brandon’s number on it was tucked deeply within my pocket. It felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. Each time I readjusted in my seat, I could hear it crinkle. I nervously drank cup after cup of coffee. The copious amount of caffeine was making me want to run laps around the apartment. And the urge to run, that was a particularly rare thing for me.
Drew’s parents were over for dinner, and their presence made me even more anxious. To be blunt, they drove me nuts. Although I was sure she hadn’t meant to upset me, Drew’s mother had repeatedly teased me about a mysterious suitor she claimed I was seeing. She had no clue how accurate her claim was.
The third time she had brought the topic up, I almost dropped my cup in a mixture of anger and shock. Ginger had promptly changed the topic after noticing my clear discomfort.
I hadn’t told Ginger about my encounter, and I didn’t plan to. Not yet anyway. There was no reason to make a big deal out of a seemingly meaningless encounter with a stranger. And that’s all he was, a stranger. Well, a stranger I had kissed. That did make the situation slightly more complicated. Still, the receipt in my back pocket seemed to hold the significance of a million unspoken possibilities. Those possibilities were alluring and demanded all of my attention. I simply couldn’t stop thinking of him.
Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see were perfect pink lips and dangerous blue eyes. I could never tell whether my image of his eyes portrayed them holding anger or attraction. With him, it was hard to tell. Even if I had known the answer, I wasn’t sure it would have mattered. There was something about him that blurred the lines between different emotions; he was strangely complex. There wasn’t much I did understand about him, to be honest.
Eventually, Drew’s parents went home. Ginger and I were left alone while Drew showered. I repeatedly folded and unfolded the receipt in my hands. Ginger was in the kitchen making tea. The constant buzzing from the TV and the scream of boiling water were the only noises in the living room and kitchen combo. Ginger handed me a cup of lavender vanilla tea before sitting down and turning up the volume on the TV. For the first time in my life, Anastasia was not holding my attention.
Should I tell her? I was beginning to sweat from the stress of keeping a secret from her. We never kept these things from each other.
As I squeezed the receipt in my fist, I felt as if it were on fire. It was sort of a bizarre irony. Fire, the only natural weapon that could never harm me. I had never understood the sensation of burning before. Now there was nothing in the world that I could imagine as being more painful. I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that urged me to tell her. I knew I would feel better if I came clean.
Ginger turned to look at me. “Is something wrong? You’ve been so quiet all evening.”
This was my chance, my opportunity to tell her. I thought I might hyperventilate. My hands were shaking, so I balled them into fists in an attempt to calm them; I just couldn’t do it.
“No, there’s nothing,” I whispered.
Ginger looked at me skeptically. “Are you sure?”
She was giving me another chance. Could I lie to her a second time? I already knew the answer to that question. It was as if I had never really had a choice.
“Yes,” I replied.
She looked as if she was about to say something else, but she was cut off by the sound of Drew exiting the bathroom.
“Ging, can you bring me my sweatshirt from the living room,” he yelled.
“Sure, babe,” she replied.
She picked the sweatshirt up off the armchair and carried it back to his bedroom.
I had made my decision; now it was time to act on it. I stepped outside of Drew’s apartment and pulled out my phone. My hands shook as I entered the number on the receipt into my contacts. My heart almost burst from within me as I hit the “call” button.
“Hello?” that same confident voice said through the phone.
“Brandon?” I asked, although I already knew what the reply would be. “This is Giselle,” I whispered.