how to catch feelings

87

I skipped class to write the story.

I was pretty confident my professors would understand, and even if they didn't, whatever. It's not like I'd really be missing anything.

Cole's status had long since switched to inactive. I didn't know what to make of that, but there wasn't anything I could do about it until the story was written and posted across all our web platforms.

I went downstairs for a late lunch.

I put a pot of water on to boil and ran back upstairs to grab my phone.

Still nothing from Cole.

Fuck it, I'd text him.

The stomach spiders returned as I opened Messenger and typed out a text. "You good?" I asked.

It was a stupid question, but I didn't know how else to ask.

Several minutes passed before he responded. "Not really."

"I'm sorry. Can I do anything to help?"

"IDK."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"IDK."

"Okay. Well, lemme know if you do. Or if there's anything else I can do."

"Okay."

With a sigh, I pocketed my phone and set about smashing the hell out of my uncooked ramen.

My phone buzzed.

"Okay, yeah," Cole said.

I frowned. "Yeah?"

"I don't fucking know. Sorry. IDK. I guess yeah, can we talk?"

"Sure... I have food on the stove, but yeah."

"Is it okay if I just come over?"

"Yeah. 304-4."

"Yeehaw."

I stared into the steamy abyss of my nonstick Cuisinart pot.

I had a boy coming over. To talk about another one of his friends dying.

Boy, oh boy, talk about lucky me.

Yeah, if you had asked ten-year-old Natalie to describe her future first alone-alone time with a boy, it would not have included the discussion of death.

I glanced around at the mess of the kitchen and then just sighed knowing there was no time to tidy up.

So be it.

If he could handle me at my craziest, he'd just have to deal with me at my messiest as well. That's what friends do, right? Put up with a lot of weird crap? Yeah.

Someone knocked on the door and I jumped.

Did he like run over here or something?

Even though the door was unlocked, I went and opened it.

Cole looked real fucking rough, let me tell you.

But what could I expect out of a guy who'd just found out hours earlier that one of his teammates had committed suicide? Even if they weren't close, there was no doubt he still felt one hell of an impact.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey."

"You wanna come in? I'm just making lunch. Got a little carried away with—Never mind."

"No, I saw the story."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was fine. All the quotes were a load of bullsh*t, but the stuff you wrote was fine."