“No way.”
“I need to keep up.”
Trust me, you are keeping up. A little too well.
“Is this her?” I point to a photo of him and a woman. “Is this your sister?”
He nods.
“She looks just like you.”
“We’re quite a lot alike. Physically, I mean. Obviously.”
“Otherwise you’re very different?”
“She’s quite vulnerable.”
“And you try to protect her.”
“I do what I can. She’s been through a lot, and I just want her to be okay, to take control of her life. I want her to be happy.”
“And what about Ethan? I get the impression you don’t like him much.”
He takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. I’ve noticed he does this a lot when he’s nervous. I probably shouldn’t be asking so many questions about his private life, but I’m here now. He called me, asking for my help, and I was strangely happy to be with him.
“Ethan’s not really the problem, but I do think he has something to do with it – otherwise Mila wouldn’t have just disappeared in the middle of a family dinner.”
Family. Now that I think about it, Sean has never mentioned any other family members. When I got to the restaurant, after his call, he was alone. I want to ask, to dig a little deeper, but I don’t think it’s appropriate right now, and I don’t think it’ll help. Not while we’re trying to keep up this lie between us.
I have to admit that I’m curious. I want to know everything about him now that I’ve started getting to know him.
I never wanted to hear about him before. Jake tried so many times to put us in contact, to make me like him, but I was always hesitant. I didn’t want to know, wasn’t interested in meeting him. Jake didn’t understand the reason at first, and neither did I, really. I knew Sean took up a big piece of Jake’s heart, had been part of his life since they were kids, and part of me refused to accept it. Jake was my best friend, and had been basically since the day we met. I couldn’t seem to accept that there was someone so important in his life other than me. I realise now that this was stupid; I was probably just being a dick, a habit I fall back onto all too often. Especially with people who don’t deserve it.
I head over to the sofa and sit down, turning towards him with one arm draped over the backrest. There’s a comfortable distance between us.
“I like your apartment,” I say, changing the subject.
I want to lighten the mood, help him relax.
“Don’t bullshit.”
I frown. “Why would I lie?”
“Come on.” He looks around, then shakes his head. “It’s an over-hyped studio.”
I shrug. “It’s cosy.”
“It’s small, poky, and right above a Chinese restaurant. All my clothes smell like spring rolls and friend vegetables.”
I laugh.
“But it’s in the city centre, right near college. It’s comfortable and practical. And I live alone, so…” His voice drops at that last statement, and I find myself squeezing my hand into a fist.
“It’s messy, too,” he says, looking around again. “I wasn’t expecting guests.”
This second statement lights a weak, insane sense of hope within me. The professor wasn’t expecting anyone; he’s not used to having people in his house.
“Does that mean you’re not seeing anyone?” I have to ask, because the fear has become real, become solid in my mind.
