Deciding on You || a.i. (Book 2)

10 | Ashton

Life was definitely a lot easier when the only person I truly cared about was myself. I can tell you that much. Now that I'm trying to cover everything on the list, I have to help my mom, plan Harry's party and gifts, remember to do my homework, and listen -- actually listen, not just pretend -- to Michael talk about his problems. I should probably also try to apologize to Cooper, while I'm at it.

I kick the dishwasher shut after emptying the last of its contents and putting them in their rightful places. Before closing the cabinet with the cups, I grab one for myself and fill it with tap water.

It's not what I want, but I can't exactly think about statistics and superhero goody bags if I'm tipsy.

Actually...

No, I couldn't possibly get anything done well while sipping from a bottle of wine.

I pull my hood over my head and zip up the front of my sweatshirt before grabbing my cup of water from the counter and heading for the living room. I'm in the middle of turning the heat up on the thermostat when the doorbell rings.

My mom and Harry went to Chuck E. Cheese with some of his friends, a little surprise to help me get party planning and, more importantly, gift planning done without Harry seeing.

There's no one that I could think of that could be here at 3 p.m. on a Sunday, and my mind quickly jumps from the best to worst case scenarios in the few seconds before I open the door. It could be Maddie, coming to my house to forgive me and bring things back to the way they should be.

Or it could be Lily, returning to try to get laid again. And for some reason, I know I would have a hard time saying no to her face.

When I open the door, I'm expecting anything and anyone. The mess of faded purple hair, leather jacket, ripped jeans, and awkward grin that I am met with, though, was at the bottom of my list of expectations.

"Mikey, what are you doing here?" I ask.

I have to admit, there is something different about him. He hasn't re-dyed his hair, I've seen that leather jacket before, and he probably hasn't gone a day without wearing those jeans in the last year. I look down at his shoes, and it's the same pair of old converse he's worn a million times. But something is off.

"I was around the corner," he says, "Thought I'd stop by here and--"

"With Maddie?" I ask, and he nods, "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine," he says, "I've just had an eventful weekend, and I needed to tell someone. I thought I should tell you about it too."

If Maddie is okay and her well-being isn't what's off about him, then what is? On our way up the stairs, I look back at him. His torn Pokemon shirt still sits the same way as it always did, and he still has that same stupid...

Wait, no, Michael never smiles without a reason, let alone smirks.

When we get to my room, I finally realize it. He's standing taller, but he's more relaxed too. He has a stupid grin that is foreign to his face, and his cheeks are bright red.

"You got laid, didn't you?" I say, turning around abruptly and shutting the door behind us. An even wider smile appears on his face, and the worst thought comes to my mind, "I swear to God if you and Maddie--"

"What the hell?" He cuts me off with a laugh, shaking his head, "Ash, I don't think Maddie would ever sleep with me, even if she lost her memory and I claimed to be you. Nice joggers, by the way."

I look down at my baggy, gray sweatpants and their cinched ankles, stuffing my free hand into one of the pockets with a shrug.

"I like wearing these," I say in defense.