A silence ensues. Marlon’s phone buzzes, and he glances down at it. He meets my eyes again, eyebrows scrunched.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve really got to go,” he says, stepping backward and away from me, “I’ll see you again soon, okay?”
I’m still standing at my door, watching even as he drives away, waving even as he turns out of view.
During class over the next week, Kiara and Diane don’t dare to bring uphisname again. I avoid the pathway that leads me to Books and Bricks, barring it from my memory. I even try to findanother direction temporarily, just so I don’t risk running into Rafayel by accident.
I spend most of the week with my head down, chasing up crew agreements for the film, locking in locations and sorting out the production calendar.
It’s strange, really, how everything around me falls back to normal.
Seeing Rafayel with his girlfriend had felt like the end of the world. Yet, with every passing second that I distract myself with mundane tasks, the memory of him fades.
His green eyes soon become a distant afterthought. His sandy hair, the curve of his lips.
I snip away at the part of me that’s still tangled up in the grief that he was meant to be my meet-cute, my one.
I’ve been through this before. I’ve gotten rejected too many times. This shouldn’t be any different.
On Thursday after I get home from film school, I’m exhausted from the week. I throw myself onto the couch as soon as I get home.
Mum takes a seat at my feet, lifting them and placing them atop her lap.
“Big assignment, huh?” she asks, drumming her fingers against calves. I sigh, which is all the explanation she needs.
“Make sure you relax, okay? Take the rest of the night off. Why don’t you go get a bite with Marlon or something?”
She pinches my calf cheekily. My stomach flips.
“I feel like staying home tonight,” I say, sitting up. I emphasise my point by wrapping my arms around her, “Nothing says relaxed like spending time with my darling family.”
I hear a scoff against my ear, but she quickly plants a kiss atop my head.
“I’m glad you haven’t forgotten about your darling family since getting a boyfriend,” she teases.
The wordboyfriendrolls over in my stomach. Even now, over a month later, it’s still strange knowing that basically my whole family believes I’m in a real relationship with Marlon.
I wonder what they would say if I were to reveal everything was a ruse. If they knew who it was done all for.
“What are you going to do for your anniversary? It just passed, didn’t it?” Mum asks. Then, she lifts her hands, waving it in worry, “Not that you are pressured to have to celebrate it.”
I haven’t even thought about that.
“I’m not sure yet, we haven’t thought that far,” I say sheepishly.
“You know, for your Dad and I’s first month anniversary, he set up this beautiful picnic under the Harbour Bridge and set up some sketchbooks for us to sketch each other. It was incredibly cheesy, your Dad was not a drawer, but it’s still one of my favourite dates to this day, 22 years later.”
The way Mum reminisces about her and Dad’s love story, how they talk about each other like they are still new, I’ll never tire of it. Even if I don’t experience my own fairytale, I’m happy to bear witness to the greatest love story of all.
“You both are so cheesy,” I tease, nudging her shoulder with mine.
On Friday night, Cheyenne and I call for a couple of hours. I catch her up on everything that had happened with Rafayel, assuring her that I’ve deleted all traces of him from my phone.
She then repeats the same sentiment everyone else had, even making me promise that I won’t let him rethink my worth. She’s witnessed too many times firsthand on the high school grounds how I’d wailed over my failed crushes, believing how unworthy I was, to only find another boy to romanticise, merely a month or so later.
Cheyenne and I continue to chat idly about her trip, about recent gossip we’d found on our shared mutuals, including an old classmate of ours who’d gotten someone pregnant.
Before we end the call, Cheyenne makes me promise not to dwell on Rafayel any longer. I promise her that Rafayel will be nothing but an afterthought, yet it’s only half the truth.
