“I have, but nobody is hiring. Or at least hiring for positions I’d actually want. There’s a job opening for a graveyard-shift clerk at the gas station, but what’s the point of that? I’d just sleep all day and work all night, and the pay is shit.”

“If I hear of anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.”

“And I guess for now you just keep your full-time job of selling insurance during the week and your full-time job of Rupi on the weekends.”

“Dude, she really is a full-time job.” Yet he’s grinning broadly as he says it.

“I don’t understand your relationship at all.”

“Of course you don’t. It’s transcendent.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Exactly,” he says smugly. But it isn’t long before his blue eyes grow serious again. It’s not an expression you often see on Mike Hollis’s face. “She’s only a sophomore, bro.”

“Rupi? So?”

“So she won’t graduate for two and a half more years. That means two and a half more years of me making this God-awful commute so I can sell insurance with my crazy father.”

I put down my beer. “Are you considering…breaking up with her?”

He’s utterly aghast. “What! What the fuck is wrong with you? Of course not. Did you not listen to the part where I said we’re transcendent?”

“Right, sorry, I forgot.” I study him again. “So what exactly are we talking about here? You hate your job. You hate living at home again. You hate commuting. You hate that Rupi has a couple more years of school left. But you love Rupi.”

“Yes to all that.”

I purse my lips. “Okay, answer me this. If none of those things you listed as hating were in the equation, what would you be doing?”

“I’m not following.”

“Pretend you don’t have to worry about jobs and commutes and all that crap—what would you want to be doing?”

“I would—” He stops. “Nothing. It’s stupid.”

“No, tell me,” I order. “Let’s figure this out, man.”

Hollis gulps down some more Boom Sauce. “I’d travel,” he finally confesses. “Like, dude, do you realize how many other countries there are in the world? Dozens!”

“Hundreds,” I correct.

“Don’t be crazy now. There’s only seven continents, why would there be hundreds of countries? Your math is erroneous. But yeah, that’s what I’d do. I’d travel all over the motherfucking world and meet new people and experience new cultures and eat weird food and—oh, Rupi and I could bang on trains and airplanes and camels if we go somewhere with camels—”

“Wait, Rupi’s on this trip, too?”

He nods fervently. “Where else would she be?”

I nod back, but slow and thoughtful. “You want my advice? You should talk to Rupi about all this. Be honest about how exhausted you are, and tell her you’d love to go on a trip with her. Maybe you can plan something for the summer? It’d give you something to look forward to while you make that long commute to New Hampshire…” I trail off enticingly.

Hollis narrows his eyes at me.

“What?” I say.

“Have you always been this smart or have I just always been this stupid?”

I grin at him. “I choose not to answer that question.”

 

 

34

 

 

Demi

 

 

By the end of January, Hunter and I still haven’t defined our relationship. We’re just sort of floating along, having sex on a consistent basis, cuddling, texting, giving each other advice. I attend his hockey games even though I still don’t care about hockey. He watches crime documentaries even though he finds them disturbing.

As Brenna likes to say, we’re in a situationship. But according to Pippa, we’re a married couple who won’t even call themselves boyfriend and girlfriend.

Pippa’s right. He’s my boyfriend, and I’m his girlfriend. It’s funny—for two people who communicate extremely well, neither of us has raised the subject. I know why I haven’t, but I wonder what’s holding Hunter back.

Me, I’m scared to make that commitment. What if things change the moment I call him my boyfriend? What if suddenly he decides I’m tying him down or cramping his style, and starts looking elsewhere? It’s an irrational fear, and the bitter memory of Nico’s cheating isn’t helping matters.

The ambiguity of our relationship is a constant source of anxiety for me. Human beings have a compulsion to define things. Definitions provide us with comfort. But I’m torn about what I want more—to label us, or to avoid possible rejection. For now, I simply don’t bring it up, and neither does Hunter.

His team is in the midst of playoffs and he’s been working hard this past week. Practices are grueling, and he’s covered in bruises every time I see him. Tonight he was feeling particularly sore, so I decided to go out with my friends and give his body some time to recover. It’s impossible for me to see Hunter without climbing all over that hard body and banging his brains out.

Hunter, however, is grumpy about being alone tonight. He keeps texting pictures of various parts of his body, some bruised and some not, begging me to come over and kiss them. Eventually, I interrupt Pippa midsentence and say, “Hold that thought. Let me just tell him to eff off.”

ME: I’m with my friends, Monk. The world doesn’t revolve around you.

 

 

HIM: Sure it does.

 

 

ME: I see. Are you channeling your father?

 

 

HIM: OMG you’re right. I’m sorry. The world is not my oyster. I’m just one pearl floating in a sea of pearls.

 

 

ME: That analogy is nonsensical. Now go away. I’m with my friends.

 

 

HIM: Fine!

 

 

I put the phone down. “Sorry, that needed to be done,” I tell my friends.

Pippa, TJ and I are in a cramped booth at one of the campus bars. Corinne is on her way to meet us, and this will be my third hangout with her since everything exploded back in November.

The first time was beyond awkward. We had a movie night at Pippa’s and I couldn’t bring myself to utter a single word to Corinne. Every time I looked at her I pictured her naked with my ex-boyfriend. The second time went better, because there was drinking involved. But then I had one too many tequila shots, which tipped me into Scorned Woman territory and I may have made a snide comment or two. I’m vowing not to do that tonight.

When my phone lights up again, I flip it over facedown. “This guy,” I grumble.

“Hockey boy?” Pippa says with a laugh.

“Yes. He’s all bruised up and sore, so he’s taking it easy at home and he’s bored. When he’s bored, he gets annoying.”

“Don’t they all?”

“Hey, I don’t annoy anyone when I’m bored,” TJ protests. He casually swirls his straw in the strawberry daiquiri we forced him to order.