Page 20 of Don't Be in Love

“Do you get why I need you to leave me alone now?” I repeated. Maybe he’d gather some decency and let me off the hook with this tutoring thing.

There was a pause in our back and forth. He searched my face. Up close, I could only imagine how much he was finding. The earring that sagged in my right ear because I couldn’t help but pull on my hoops as a kid. The dark strand of hair that always curled at my temple. Or the scar on my face from the time I tried to teach myself how to swim in my grandma’s pool and hit my chin off the diving board.

“Come to the Dinner with me,” he asked with determination.

“As your date?”I questioned, dumbfounded.

“Of course.”

“No,” I scoffed.

He frowned, the pressure on my arms loosening slightly.

“Did you not hear any of the words that just came out of my mouth?” I pointed out. My cheeks were getting hot. Strands of hair were blocking my peripheral vision, and my patience was thinning to a strand so thin I could floss my teeth with it.

He let go of my left arm to push a piece of hair back behind my ear. “Oh, I heard you. But all it sounds like is you’re protecting your friend from getting hurt, which is inevitable sooner or later.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not interested in her, so there’s no point to this.”

“You don’t even know her. She’s very easy to love.”

“I’m sure she is, but I’m not interested.”

“You don’t even know what she looks like, that’s ridiculous.” Why was I even arguing with him about this when I just said ten minutes ago, I’d never set them up?

“Come to the Dinner with me.”

“God no. And before you open your mouth again, I don’t have time for it anyway, I have too much work to get done along with dealing with you.” I pushed my finger into his chest.

He was unaffected. Each notch my anger rose, his composure remained stagnant. “What’s the point of going to Townsen and living in London if you’re not going to experience it?”

“You don’t get it.”

“Adelaide!” Mia called. “You’re good now, she left.”

I scrambled to get up, pushing off his chest and brushing the dust off my knees. I couldn’t believe neither of us realized the background noise of their voices had stopped.

He stood up after me, but I was already taking a seat at the table. “Don’t talk to me unless you have a question about the project, or I’ll delete your slideshow.”

“Are you going to the Dinner Saturday night?” James asked.

“Not you too,” I groaned.

“Have something against food and dancing?” he responded.

“Love food, despite the questionable cuisine they offer on campus, and I love a good dance. I just don’t have time,” I emphasized, feeling like a malfunctioning parrot who couldn’t figure out how to say anything else.

The final two weeks of September, I had gathered a rhythm. I figured how to get to my classes without counting the number of hallways I turned down. On the days I wasn’t tutoring Dorian, I was working at the bookstore or staying in the library until it closed at 11 p.m. to work on assignments. On the mornings I didn’t have an 8 a.m., I went for a run or prepared my dinner for that night.

Class, work, homework. Class, homework, tutor, work. Run, class, homework, class, homework.

Somewhere in between there also included: pretending that Dorian wasn’t quietly looking at me from behind his laptop during tutoring, and shooing Maureen’s cat out of our apartment back to its home next door.

I shifted my bag on my shoulder as James and I approached Westminster Abbey, Big Ben coming into view. I wasn’t sure how I still had air left after seeing this view so often. Each time the face of the clock adapted to the moon’s glow, it genuinely pulled wisps of air from my diaphragm. It was so beautiful. A piece of art pulled straight from a postcard piercing the night sky.

Green leaves were beginning to collect on the sidewalks. They crunched and scraped against the cement as foot traffic moved through. The first days of October had no effect on the color yet. But the streets were littered with people in peacoats and long belted jackets.