sebastian
Dad and I aren't speaking, but it's okay, because Mom isn't speaking to him either. She told me that she'd reached the following decision: that if he didn't apologize, she was going to file for divorce. I'm not gonna lie—it feels selfish, but it's nice to know that I have someone on my side in all this.
Half of me wants us all to work it out. The other half ... couldn't care less.
It's the afternoon now, a mere four days after they gave me the boot to start off with. I wonder if Dad knows I'm back home, if that would enrage him enough to come back for a round two. Either way, I don't care. I'm just happy that, out of all of this, Mom is on my side. It's strangely relieving.
What isn't a relief? The amount of unanswered texts I have from Harris.
Turns out that turning off your phone when you don't want to answer your suddenly-estranged parents' calls to come back home also means you miss out on texts from your overcomplicated situationship. And I do feel bad. Wanting to phase him out seems so much more real—and so much more devastating—now that I've realized I've been ghosting him.
These past few days were just so crazy, and that last conversation I had with him almost feels like the kickstarter to one of the worst days of my life. Well, that, and that damned quarry. When I read his text that he has oral thrush, I almost feel bad, although I'm also a little stuck in feelings of worry for myself, combined with a strange I told you so kind of feeling. I can't say I'm proud of it. In all honesty, I feel like a complete dick. Because, even after I inadvertently ghosted him for almost three days, he still sends me a text like this:
Harris: Hey, Seb, I caught oral thrush in the quarry. You called it. Just thought I should let you know. Hope you're doing okay!! Lmk if you need anything.
Like ... I seriously suck. This is not a good week for me. I've probably ensured that this wasn't a good week for Harris, either.
This is the point where I realize that, even if I'm somewhat upset about our friends-to-benefits thing is all Harris wants from me, even though I want more, I still can't just cut him out like that. Even my whole "phasing him out" wish feels stupid now. Harris doesn't deserve that. He's just a silly, stupid little dork boy. It's not as if he's ill-intended. Even if we can't be boyfriends—and, even if it would hurt—I still want to be friends.
Me: Damn, sorry to hear about your oral thrush situation. Let me know how you're doing, okay??
Me: Also, I'm sorry I haven't responded to your texts. I had a crazy ass week. I feel awful. Can I tell you about it in person maybe? Shakes at Paco's, on me?
I hit send and then sit there for a solid minute, just staring at my screen. Which feels sad. That's kind of sad, isn't it? It's not as if I can just expect him to respond immediately. Even if he was intentionally waiting on responding to me, it serves me right. I deserve it, after ghosting him for three days.
An hour into no response, I discover that I am a very impatient person. I try to distract myself—sorting the books I want to take with me to college in a box. Check my phone. No texts. Making a checklist of everything I still need to get for my dorm at Dartmouth. No texts. Strip the sheets off my bed and toss my bedding in the laundry and move my bed to the center of my room instead of up against the wall. No texts.
Four hours into no response, and I think my eye might be twitching slightly. I don't know, I'm probably losing it. Usually, Harris responds to me immediately. He must be really freaking mad at me to ignore me like this. Which just makes me feel even worse.
Did I ruin this?
I'm remaking my bed with warm sheets fresh from the dryer when Mom knocks on my doorway. "Hey, honey, you okay?" she asks, leaning against the doorframe. Her grey eyes are lined with worry. "You seem upset."
"I'm fine," I tell her, then hesitate. The moment I do, the sides of my comforter that I just managed to wrestle onto my mattress come flying up. Mom sighs, not in an annoyed way, and comes in wordlessly to help.
"Are you sure you're okay?" She tucks the sheet in with ease, pulling it more taut than I had had it, yet somehow managing to avoid it flying away from the mattress. "You can tell me what's wrong, Sebastian."
I want to trust her. I guess I've been bad with that—telling my parents things. At least Mom has shown that she might be receptive to listening to me. I've always avoided sharing with them, because it simply feels easier (can you blame me?), but maybe now is as good a time as any to try it out. If we're going to make this work, I've got to trust her. Probably. I'm just worried I'm going to discover a line, some kind of boundary I never would have been able to anticipate, and everything will go to shit once more.
I start it off with a sigh. "So I've been kind of seeing this guy," I tell her, hating that I immediately feel the back of my neck grow hot. "We're not really in a serious relationship, per se, but we're good friends. I don't think he wants us to be anything more, and like, I'm okay with it."
"Uhuh," Mom says, reaching into my laundry basket for the topsheet. "Ooooh, so warm. Sorry, sorry, honey, go on."
I can feel my blood pulse through my veins. Why is this so scary to me? And why am I surprised that she's handling this so well, after everything? "Well... I kind of ghosted him by accident. With everything that went down this week, I was super distracted and turned my phone off, and ... yeah."
"So are you worried you hurt his feelings then?" Mom asks, folding down the top of the sheet. I mimic her actions on my own side of the bed. "Or is it something else?"
"I mean, I just feel like a crappy friend, y'know? And also, he usually responds to my texts right away, but he hasn't, and it's been almost, like, five hours. So yeah, I don't know. I'm just really in my own head about it. I really, really like him, Mom, and I'm super worried that I messed everything up." I take a deep breath and try to smile, although it feels more like a wince. "Does that make sense?"
"Honey, that makes complete and total sense." Mom gives me her Teacher Smile, the one that's somehow simultaneously comforting, as well as wise. "Would it be appropriate for you to swing by his house, maybe? Ask to talk to him in person?"
The thought of confrontation, even with Harris, makes my stomach twist. "I don't know, Mom. He might want his space."
"I'm not saying you have to have a whole boombox moment from Say Anything."
"Still haven't seen it."
Mom rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean, though. Just go try to talk to the boy, for Christ's sake. It can't do any harm."
I want to tell her that, yes, it can absolutely do harm. "I don't want to push him to a place that makes him uncomfortable, though. If he wants space, then he deserves it."
"But how do you know if he wants space when you haven't actually talked to him?" She gives me a pointed look, and I hate that I'm thinking of Harris always checking in with me and seeing how I'm doing. I know that I shouldn't be giving up so easily. I should be checking in on him, too. He deserves it.
"Alright," I tell Mom, dragging my duvet onto the bed. "I'll go see him."
Mom helps me position the last piece of bedding, and then she smooths it down, smiling up at me all the while. "You won't regret it," she promises, then turns to leave.
"Wait, Mom?"
She turns around. I wouldn't know she was surprised, if it weren't for the few sudden lines in her forehead. "Hmm?"
Another breath. This shouldn't feel so hard. "Thanks. For, um, for listening."
She nods, her smile slight and melancholy. "Anytime."
And the tightness in my chest loosens, if only slightly.