We Are NOT a Thing by Halo Roberts

Author:Halo Roberts
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Halo Roberts
Published: 2021-04-05T00:00:00+00:00

That Can’t Be It

JAKE

Present Day

“So we spent one fucking awesome night together. I never saw her again until there she was, sitting at game night,” I finish, reaching for my beer.

“Bullshit. That can’t be it,” Paulie scoffs. “You didn’t call her?”

“Well...” I stop, remembering how everything went sideways. “That part got complicated.”

“Lay it on me.” Paulie reaches for the pitcher and refills his beer.

“After Everly left, I went back to sleep, planning to call her that night to go get some dinner. I wake up a couple hours later because Monica has crawled in bed with me.”

“Oh man,” Paulie waves at me to keep talking.

“Yeah, so I kick her out and she gets all pissed off,” I have to laugh, remembering. “So at that point my other roommate Clark comes to my door and asks her what the hell she’s doing because she just left his room.”

“Well she sounds like a peach,” Paulie laughs.

“Super class act,” I agree. “So Clark storms out and Monica starts crying, but it’s her own damn fault. So I bail, head for the kitchen to grab some food and wait for Monica to leave.” I take another drink of beer, thinking. “When she finally stomps out of the house, I go back up to my room and I can’t find Everly’s number. I didn’t even think to grab it, but sure as shit, Monica must have seen it and thrown it out.”

“Shit,” Paulie groans, leaning his elbows on the table, totally into the story.

“Shit.” I echo. “So I didn’t know how to find her, but I came up with the brilliant plan to be all romantic and scrolled back through the pictures of that night. Well, of course, the pictures are mostly crap because we were all drunk. There isn’t a single one of just me with Everly in the whole mix. The best I could find was a big group photo of a bunch of us piled on the couch. You can see my face, part of Everly’s hair by my shoulder, her legs are at kind of a weird angle, but you can see the little butterfly tattoo she has on her ankle.” I stop to take another drink.

“And?” Paulie prompts, impatient.

“And I posted it as my profile pic and in my bio wrote, ‘Miss E, dm me, I need to see you again, Butterfly’.” It sounds stupid now, but I felt pretty fucking poetic.

“So obviously she never called,” Paulie comments, disappointed. “Do you even know if she ever saw your message?”

“I wasn’t sure until about a week later,” I fiddle with the coaster, picking it to shreds. “I recognized her friend from the party, who was actually Stacy, at a coffee shop. I asked her for Everly’s number and she said she couldn’t give it to me. I asked her why not. She said Everly got the message and if she wanted to talk to me she would have.” It’s been over a year and that rejection still feels like a gut punch.

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