“Being friends,” he replies. His breath puffs over my lips, and I almost shiver. “Why do you ask?”
“Because friends don’t usually get erections for each other, do they?” I retort without any real force, bumping my hip into the large ridge in his shorts. Friends also don’t get soaking-wet panties, for that matter.
Hayden glances down and away, looking something close to frustrated. “I just . . . haven’t gotten any action in a while. Ignore me. It doesn’t mean anything.”
He’s probably just saying that to defuse an awkward situation. But it still kind of stings to hear “it doesn’t mean anything” about a boner that I assumed was for me. I hoped was for me.
I nod, stepping away long after I should have. “If you say so.”
“You want to do something next Saturday? Maybe get dinner again?” he asks casually, as if everything were totally normal and not a big confusing horny mess. Fuck, I mean these panties are literally destroyed. From one hug.
“Um . . . sure.” Why the hell not. For no real reason, I nod again. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”
He smiles and raises his hand in a half wave. “Good night, Emery.”
I watch him walk down the hall and disappear up the stairs, and then I finally go inside. As I get ready for bed, my mind keeps spinning on and on about Hayden. I replay and dissect every word I’ve heard today while I shower, brush my teeth, and change into pajamas.
He said he hasn’t gotten any action lately. But why not? Why isn’t he sleeping around like he usually does? Maybe he just said that to brush me off. But it suddenly occurs to me that he never seems to be unavailable. Whenever I text him, he always replies within an hour, and he’s free practically anytime I want to hang out. Is he spending all his spare moments with me? Is that why he isn’t getting laid?
I don’t know what this means. I don’t even know how I feel about it. I bury my face in the pillow, ready to give up and go to sleep.
Just as I start to drift off, my phone rings. Groaning, I roll over and grab it. “Hello?”
“Hi, sweet pea,” Mom cries out, her voice cheerfully loud. I can hear rumbling engines and crunching gravel in the background; she must be at the truck depot. “How are you?”
I prop myself up on my elbow and squint at the alarm clock. “Uh . . . I’m fine. What’s up?”
“I know this is short notice, and I’m sure you’re busy with work, but I got a last-minute delivery to Pasadena. Some kind of electronics parts, I don’t have the manifest in front of me. Anyway, I’ll be in your neck of the woods on Saturday, so I’d love to get lunch if you have time.”
“That sounds great, Mom. I’ll take a half day on Saturday and come out to see you.”
“Oh, how wonderful.” I can practically see her beaming. “You have to tell me everything you’ve been up to. I’m so proud of my smart girl.”
As soon as I arrange to meet her at a Pasadena diner and hang up, I remember that I told Hayden we’d hang out next weekend. “Shit,” I grumble aloud. I grab my phone again and tap out a quick text.
Emery : Can we do Sunday instead of Saturday? My mom’s coming and she’s only in town for a couple days.
Two minutes later, my phone chimes with a reply.
Hayden : That’s cool. Let me know if you need any ideas for what to do while she’s in town.
Emery : Hmm. Not sure. She’ll be in Pasadena.
Hayden : I can give you a ride. I should visit Pasadena anyway and meet the building manager about rent . . . Caltech grad students are poor as fuck.
I pause to consider his offer, my thumb hovering over the keypad. On the one hand, I don’t want anything to interrupt my time with Mom. It would suck if we had to cut our lunch short because Hayden needed to get back to Los Angeles. On the other, I could avoid dealing with the utter hell that is Southern California traffic. Let Hayden raise his blood pressure for me.
As I’m thinking, I get another text.
Hayden : It’d be fun to meet your mom, she must be amazing lady if she made you. ;) You saw my awkward family today, I should get to see yours.
That’s an unexpectedly good point. It still feels a little weird for us to be meeting each other’s relatives all of a sudden, but if I introduce Mom and Hayden, maybe I could ask her for a second opinion. Or maybe it’s a fourth opinion by this point, after all the people who’ve warned me about him.
Before I can change my mind, I send a reply.
Emery : I guess that’s only fair. Pick me up at work on Saturday at 11 AM?
I wait for his confirmation—a simple OK —before I turn off my phone and finally sleep.
• • •
When we walk into the diner on Saturday, Mom is already sitting in a booth with a huge hamburger in front of her. “Over here,” she calls with a wave. “I’m starved, so I went ahead and ordered.”
Hayden looks slightly startled. He probably expected this little old lady with thick bifocals and thinning gray hair—but the plaid flannel shirt and the hat proudly emblazoned with Mother Trucker in tall red letters, not so much. To his credit, he only pauses for a moment before replying, “We don’t mind. I’m only staying for a cup of coffee anyway.”
We sit down facing her. Hayden orders his coffee and I get blueberry pancakes. Breakfast is just about the only meat-free thing on the menu here.
After the waitress leaves, I reach out to hold Mom’s hands. My heart twists a little; her wrists and knuckles seem even stiffer than when I left home. “You’ve got to stop running these long hauls, Mom. The doctor said that manual transmission is wrecking your joints. And what if you get a blood clot in your legs from sitting eleven hours a day?”
“Because friends don’t usually get erections for each other, do they?” I retort without any real force, bumping my hip into the large ridge in his shorts. Friends also don’t get soaking-wet panties, for that matter.
Hayden glances down and away, looking something close to frustrated. “I just . . . haven’t gotten any action in a while. Ignore me. It doesn’t mean anything.”
He’s probably just saying that to defuse an awkward situation. But it still kind of stings to hear “it doesn’t mean anything” about a boner that I assumed was for me. I hoped was for me.
I nod, stepping away long after I should have. “If you say so.”
“You want to do something next Saturday? Maybe get dinner again?” he asks casually, as if everything were totally normal and not a big confusing horny mess. Fuck, I mean these panties are literally destroyed. From one hug.
“Um . . . sure.” Why the hell not. For no real reason, I nod again. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”
He smiles and raises his hand in a half wave. “Good night, Emery.”
I watch him walk down the hall and disappear up the stairs, and then I finally go inside. As I get ready for bed, my mind keeps spinning on and on about Hayden. I replay and dissect every word I’ve heard today while I shower, brush my teeth, and change into pajamas.
He said he hasn’t gotten any action lately. But why not? Why isn’t he sleeping around like he usually does? Maybe he just said that to brush me off. But it suddenly occurs to me that he never seems to be unavailable. Whenever I text him, he always replies within an hour, and he’s free practically anytime I want to hang out. Is he spending all his spare moments with me? Is that why he isn’t getting laid?
I don’t know what this means. I don’t even know how I feel about it. I bury my face in the pillow, ready to give up and go to sleep.
Just as I start to drift off, my phone rings. Groaning, I roll over and grab it. “Hello?”
“Hi, sweet pea,” Mom cries out, her voice cheerfully loud. I can hear rumbling engines and crunching gravel in the background; she must be at the truck depot. “How are you?”
I prop myself up on my elbow and squint at the alarm clock. “Uh . . . I’m fine. What’s up?”
“I know this is short notice, and I’m sure you’re busy with work, but I got a last-minute delivery to Pasadena. Some kind of electronics parts, I don’t have the manifest in front of me. Anyway, I’ll be in your neck of the woods on Saturday, so I’d love to get lunch if you have time.”
“That sounds great, Mom. I’ll take a half day on Saturday and come out to see you.”
“Oh, how wonderful.” I can practically see her beaming. “You have to tell me everything you’ve been up to. I’m so proud of my smart girl.”
As soon as I arrange to meet her at a Pasadena diner and hang up, I remember that I told Hayden we’d hang out next weekend. “Shit,” I grumble aloud. I grab my phone again and tap out a quick text.
Emery : Can we do Sunday instead of Saturday? My mom’s coming and she’s only in town for a couple days.
Two minutes later, my phone chimes with a reply.
Hayden : That’s cool. Let me know if you need any ideas for what to do while she’s in town.
Emery : Hmm. Not sure. She’ll be in Pasadena.
Hayden : I can give you a ride. I should visit Pasadena anyway and meet the building manager about rent . . . Caltech grad students are poor as fuck.
I pause to consider his offer, my thumb hovering over the keypad. On the one hand, I don’t want anything to interrupt my time with Mom. It would suck if we had to cut our lunch short because Hayden needed to get back to Los Angeles. On the other, I could avoid dealing with the utter hell that is Southern California traffic. Let Hayden raise his blood pressure for me.
As I’m thinking, I get another text.
Hayden : It’d be fun to meet your mom, she must be amazing lady if she made you. ;) You saw my awkward family today, I should get to see yours.
That’s an unexpectedly good point. It still feels a little weird for us to be meeting each other’s relatives all of a sudden, but if I introduce Mom and Hayden, maybe I could ask her for a second opinion. Or maybe it’s a fourth opinion by this point, after all the people who’ve warned me about him.
Before I can change my mind, I send a reply.
Emery : I guess that’s only fair. Pick me up at work on Saturday at 11 AM?
I wait for his confirmation—a simple OK —before I turn off my phone and finally sleep.
• • •
When we walk into the diner on Saturday, Mom is already sitting in a booth with a huge hamburger in front of her. “Over here,” she calls with a wave. “I’m starved, so I went ahead and ordered.”
Hayden looks slightly startled. He probably expected this little old lady with thick bifocals and thinning gray hair—but the plaid flannel shirt and the hat proudly emblazoned with Mother Trucker in tall red letters, not so much. To his credit, he only pauses for a moment before replying, “We don’t mind. I’m only staying for a cup of coffee anyway.”
We sit down facing her. Hayden orders his coffee and I get blueberry pancakes. Breakfast is just about the only meat-free thing on the menu here.
After the waitress leaves, I reach out to hold Mom’s hands. My heart twists a little; her wrists and knuckles seem even stiffer than when I left home. “You’ve got to stop running these long hauls, Mom. The doctor said that manual transmission is wrecking your joints. And what if you get a blood clot in your legs from sitting eleven hours a day?”
