Page 15 of We Are Okay

“Okay.”

“I met someone at school. His name is Jacob.”

I can’t help the surprise on my face.

“When?”

“About a month ago. You know the nine hundredth text and phone call you decided to ignore?”

I turn away from her. Pretend to check something on the kettle.

“He’s in my literature class. I really like him,” she says, voice gentler now.

I watch until the first puffs of steam escape, and then I ask, “Does he know about me?”

She doesn’t answer. I pour water into the bowls, over the dried noodles. Tear open the flavor packets. Sprinkle the powder over the surface. Stir. And then there is nothing to do but wait, so I’m forced to turn back.

“He knows that I have a best friend named Marin, who was raised by a grandfather I loved like my own. He knows that I left for school and a few days later Gramps drowned, and that ever since the night it happened my friend Marin hasn’t spoken to anyone back home. Not even to me.”

I wipe tears off my face with the back of one hand.

I wait.

“And he knows that things between us got... less clearly defined toward the end. And he’s fine with that.”

I search my memory for the way we used to talk about boys. What is it that I might have said back then? I would have asked to see a picture. I’m sure there are dozens on her phone.

But I don’t want to see his picture.

I have to say something.

“He sounds nice,” I blurt. And then I realize that she’s barely told me anything about him. “I mean, I’m sure you would choose someone nice.”

I feel her staring, but that’s all I have in me.

We eat in silence.

“There’s a rec room on the fourth floor,” I say when we’re finished. “We could watch a movie if you want.”

“I’m actually pretty tired,” she says. “I think I might just get ready for bed.”

“Oh, sure.” I glance at the clock. It’s just a few minutes past nine, and three hours earlier in California.

“Your roommate won’t mind?” she asks, pointing to Hannah’s bed.

“No, it’s fine.” I can barely get the words out.

“Okay, great. I’m going to get ready, then.”

She gathers her toiletries bag and her pajamas, picks up her phone quickly, as though I might not notice, and slips out of the room.

She’s away for a long time. Ten minutes pass, then another ten, then another. I wish I could do something besides sit and wait for her.

I hear her laugh. I hear her grow serious.

She says, “You have nothing to worry about.”

She says, “I promise.”