Page 9 of Don't Be in Love

“That he smells like crisps?” I readjusted the phone between my ear and shoulder as I tightened the easel against the canvas before sitting down. Everyone in the art studio—sitting in our large circle of easels facing one another—had already begun on their paintings since I was late “as usual” (according to Poppy, the owner).

“No, no, I’m talking about Mum. You know how she is with the whole ‘I want you to fall in love like I did’ crap. I can’t tell her no now,” she complained.

“Yes, you can.”

“Oh yeah, like how you tell Mum no all the time.”

“That’s different,” I argued, picking up a pencil and beginning to sketch a silhouette.

“Is it though?”

“One, I live in the same country as her. Two, me not caring about university compared to you not wanting to date some guy are completely different situations.” I put the pencil down. “Aren’t you supposed to be helpful? Older sister and all?”

“I was referring to Victoria when it came to saying no, but alright, I see we’re still avoiding that problem until she’s London-bound. And by the way,I ambeing helpful.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not a therapist.”

“That’s why I make pottery for a living smartarse.”

I responded to her with silence.

“Fine, I’ll humor you. Who’s this woman you’ve met?” she asked.

“I think I rather just hang up. Is the crisp boy gone yet?”

“No come on,” she whined. “I want to know now.”

I sighed, erasing the nose and restarting. “I met her this weekend. We went out, had a nice time, and then two days later, I find her in my class.”

“That’s a bit eerie.”

“You’d think but I wanted to see her again, so it felt like fate in a way? That was until she pretended like she’d never met me.”

I pulled the phone away as her laugh rang through my ear. “That has to be the funniest shit I’ve ever heard. What did you do to her?” she shrieked.

“Nothing! I thought we had a good night! I tried asking her out and she told me no.”

“Oh, Dorian.” She felt bad, but I could hear her holding back another laugh. “So now you’re stuck in class with her all semester? That’s embarrassing.”

I scratched the back of my neck. “Actually, she’s tutoring me as well.”

“And why would she agree to that?”

“You ask a lot of questions for someone who wasn’t interested ten seconds ago.”

“How do you even know she’s any good?”

“Because I looked her up. She’s had a number of scholarships and internships in marketing that make a Harvard business student look like a failure. We met at her work yesterday to go over the semester project—you’d think she already took the class.”

“What’s her name?”

“Why?”

“I want to see a picture of her.”

“Adelaide Adorno,” I said hesitantly.

A pause and then, “She’s really pretty.”