I Guess They Never Disappear

Chapter 10

Trigger Warning: Panic Attack (if this is a trigger Please Do Not Read! I want all of you humans to stay safe, okay?) 

One.

Two.

Three. 

Four. 

Five.

Six.

Six days pass before anything comes of the argument. It doesn't seem like a long time, but it surprisingly is. 

And even then, it's not Jared who says anything about it. 

It's my mom. 

Good old Heidi Hansen, ready to intervene whenever her son gets into trouble. 

Even as an adult apparently. 

I've just come home from Ellison that day. When you're an adult, you can't really say you have a stomachache after you fight with a friend. 

Well, I pick up the phone and it's just Heidi checking in, you know, a mom needs to see her kid sometimes, yadda yadda yadda. 

And then it's all, well, Isabel says you haven't been over to theirs much lately, and did anything happen, and are you okay, and please go visit Jared, he misses you.

A likely story.

Jared's never missed anyone in his life. 

Heidi is very good at shaming me into doing things, apparently, because two days later I find myself at Jared's house with an apology present (it's some graphic tee that has Pluto: in Memorandum printed on the front; Heidi picked it out).

It's snowing here in Penfield, and the little lights along the edge of the walkway glow like trapped fireflies under the snow as I walk up to Jared's front door. 

I knock on the door because it feels weird to text Jared to tell him I'm here. I think I forfeited that privilege when I was at this door last. 

No one answers the door for a bit and I'm almost willing to set the present on the porch and flee back to the safety of my car. 

I could knock again, I guess, but that would be rude, especially if Jared or Isabel are on their way to the door to answer it and I'm just sitting here knocking like some sort of annoying prick. 

As I debate this with myself, someone opens the door. 

It's Jared. 

He's wearing blue plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt for a video game I've never played and I probably never will. 

Actually, it looks like he just woke up.

Which is not the thing we're looking for when trying to apologize to a sort-of-maybe friend, because nobody likes getting woken up and that's if it's by someone you actually like, not someone who was yelling at you the last time they were in your house. 

"The fuck?" he says. 

Which is probably the greeting I deserve, after all of this. 

He decides to elaborate on the previous question.

"The fuck are you doing here, with a box?"

I don't want to be here anymore. 

Apparently, standing on a porch holding a slightly-damp box wrapped in brown paper for your not-exactly friend is an okay way to get invited into their house because eventually, Jared steps aside and fiddles with his phone. 

"Five minutes," he says.

"Huh?"

"You have five minutes to elaborate on how in the fuck you are back here after I told you to get out and why you have a box."