Tell Me You'll Miss Me | ✓

24. eye contact

I practically Scooby Doo-gulped at the thought of talking to Summer.

I looked in the mirror again and tried to make my rain-damp hair look presentable. Not that it had ever once been truly presentable. I stared at my reflection for so long it was like I was trying to will a make-up artist and hairdresser into existence to fix me up.

This was the stupidest feeling ever, caring about what Summer would think. I mean, Summer. Of all people. This is what it had come to. She'd comforted me while I cried to the point that I was outright sobbing and shaking, and she'd made me laugh so hard I'd been snorting and clutching my stomach, tears streaming down my face. It sucked that it mattered all of a sudden. That I wanted to impress her. Gross.

Reassuring myself with the knowledge that Summer already knew what my bare face looked like and that I really had to stop caring so much, I steadied myself and padded into the room.

Dad was sat with her on the couch, and the two of them were both clutching big mugs of hot drinks. Dad's looked like tea, but I couldn't see what it was that was steaming up from Summer's mug. She had her legs crossed, turned sideways to face Dad on the couch, and her hair was up in space buns now. She'd been biting her lip. I could tell, where the pretty purple-ish color had worn away.

"There's our girl," Dad said, and I did my best to not visibly cringe.

"Dad," I started, already in despair.

"I know, I know," he chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'm leaving, I'll go," he said, putting on his best overdramatic voice. 

"I've been kind of preparing for teenage-girl-disaster-drama since you were born, so... if your current, uhh-- whatever--" Dad articulately, eloquently summed it up, looking between Summer and me before getting to his feet, "--means you two need to destroy the house or steal the car or anything, just let me know. Have fun, Jess," he said, playfully cheery as he kissed the top of my head. I caught a glimpse of him pulling a face as he headed out because, of course, my hair was still wet.

He was embarrassing, but again... at least Summer already knew that. The two of them were about as embarrassing as each other, really.

In the wake of his exit, Summer seemed to be more preoccupied with her drink than me. She smiled softly down into the mug, and it felt like she was stealing a move from my playbook in avoiding eye contact.

This was surreal. Summer's whole thing was eye contact, because she always said that was how you really learned what someone was like. I never knew what she meant by that. 

I didn't know what to say. I was totally tongue-tied and I couldn't figure out where to even begin. I was grappling with the idea of being stupid-crazy deep in love with my best friend, which was feeling more and more possible with every second I looked at her, and the fact that she still thought I was mad at her. 

And yikes, maybe she was still mad at me. 

I waited a painful extra second or two, in case maybe Summer would look up or say something. She didn't. I perched on the couch where Dad had been, and settled back after a tentative moment. 

"Hi," I said, a funny smile crossing my face when Summer gave a quiet little half-laugh down at her mug in response. 

"Hey," she replied, finally looking up at me. 

It was like I'd been struck in the chest. 

"How was your date?" Summer asked, the expression on her face unreadable. 

"It was a total bust," I said. Summer's eyebrows shot up, and she looked disappointed for me but still intrigued. "I totally ruined things with my best friend when she was just trying to make me happy and, um. It kinda harshed the vibe." I scrunched my nose and mouth up, apologetic.

Summer's eyes flicked away from mine and she stared up at the ceiling.

"I was like... way too busy thinking about how I wanted to control how things with Nora went. I didn't think about how you were, um," I paused, and decided I was feeling just brave enough to use Nora's joke, "on Team Jess all along."

Summer, in a flash, turned to look behind herself so she could rest her mug on the small wooden coffee table that was jammed in the corner between the couch and the wall. She then wafted her hands at her face. 

A sinking feeling hit me then. 

"Oh, shit," I mumbled. "Are you crying?" 

"I'm crying," Summer nodded, her eyes hardcore welling up. She laughed as she said it, but it didn't make me feel much less terrible. 

"God, oh no, okay," I said, looking around me as if there was a fire and I didn't know where the extinguisher was. 

"I'm crying, and I didn't want to cry, I really thought I wouldn't cry-- but I thought you would still be really mad and upset at me, and I was sure that that would make me cry and now here I am--"

I tried not to smile, because Summer was now grinning and weeping at the same time, and she seemed to be cracking herself up.

"And I'm like, you're not even mad! You like, totally get it! And I'm still crying! Shit!"

I started to laugh then, unable to hold it back anymore. I blinked back tears of my own, more successfully than Summer. We were almost as tragic as each other.

I opened my arms out to her and tried to shuffle forwards to hug her, but Summer was quicker than I was. She lunged at me, falling forward, and wrapped me up tight. I could feel her fingers scritch lightly through the fabric stretched taut over my back. 

"Let's never do this again," I murmured, trying to have a sincere moment. 

"You're just mad I was right," Summer said, teasingly, through a watery chuckle. I smiled into her shoulder. How had I fallen in love with such an asshole?