“Okay.” I start rushing, picking up clothes from the floor and tossing it into the hamper. “What’s your ETA?”
“Hmmmm . . . what’s our ETA?” she asks my father, and I start to panic a little more because of the seriousness of this. Mitch needs to get the heck out here now. Then she adds, “Eight minutes.”
“Okay. I’ll see you when you get here.” I hang up the phone and rush back into the room. “Mitchell. You need to get up.”
He stirs and sits up when he hears my shout, rubbing his eyes and blinking rapidly at the sight of me, but not for long. I rush into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I’ll have to take two minutes and skip out on washing my hair. I’m in and out of the shower, wrapping the towel around myself when I hear the knock on the bathroom door.
“Why are you rushing?”
“You need to leave. I’ll see you later.” I finish drying, pull on my panties, and throw on the black flowy minidress with the little flowers before pulling my hair into a sleek bun and putting on some mascara.
It’s not like I have to impress my parents, but I kind of do. I’m their problematic child, not because I do heavy drugs or party hard, but because my sister is a saint so next to her I’m automatically the wild one. Josephine lost her scholarship and got kicked off the volleyball team last year, and she’s still the good, responsible one in comparison to me. It’s ridiculous. It also makes my life a little easier since I don’t have to prove that I’m great at everything all the time. And yet, I’m somehow always chasing that. So, yeah, cute little dress and nice sleek bun. When I open the door, I find Mitchell walking around my room.
“Dude. I told you to leave.” I walk around the bed and grab the black combat boots my sister gave me last Christmas, pulling them on.
“You look nice.”
“Mitch. You need to leave. Please. I’m begging you.”
“Why?” He scowls. “You have a date or something?”
“If I say yes will you leave?”
“No.” His scowl deepens. “Who is it?”
“Even if I told you a name, how the hell would you know who it is?”
“I probably wouldn’t.” His eyes narrow. “Unless he’s on my team. Is it Dylan?”
“What? No.” I stand up quickly. “My parents are coming over!”
“Oh. So why do I have to leave?”
“Don’t you see how this looks?” I blink. “You and me alone in my apartment this early in the morning?”
“It’s not like we did anything.”
“It doesn’t matter. They’ll think something is up.”
“Why is that such a bad thing? Is it because it’s me?”
“It has nothing to do with you, Mitchell.” I sound as exasperated as I feel. I start to shoo him with both hands. “Please. Come on.”
“Your parents love me.”
“Can you please just go?” I walk a little faster toward the door. “My anxiety is climbing every second you’re still here and I’m trying to cut back on the medicinal marijuana, so I really need to keep it under control.”
“Yeah, I heard about that.” He searches my eyes. “I wish you didn’t feel the need to depend on it.”
“On what?” I blink. “Mitchell. Get out please. Jesus Christ. We can have this conversation later and you can judge all you want, but for the love of God, please.”
“You’re right. I’ll be here at seven.” He opens the door and stands in the hall.
“What?”
“Tonight. Seven o’clock. I’m coming over and we’ll Netflix and chill.”
“What? Fuck no. I’m not having sex with you.”
“So we won’t.” His eyes get a little brighter, the way they do when he’s really up to no good. My heart skips a beat. “We’ll just actually just chill.”
“Hm.” My mouth turns up slightly. “How many girls do you actually just chill with?”
“Currently none.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.” I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow.
“Hey.” My mom’s voice rings out in the hallway. Mitchell turns toward her and I stick my head out to watch as she and my dad walk toward us. They have huge smiles pointed at Mitch. “Your mom told me you were living next door. How are you?” She sets down the bags in her hand and hugs him.
“I’m doing well. I was trying to get this one to go for a run with me, but she was all dressed up when I got here.” He tells it so seamlessly, this lie, that even I find it hard to question. “Let me help you get these.” He reaches down for the bags and gives my dad a sideways hug as my mother walks over to kiss my cheek.
I walk back into my apartment, holding the door for my dad, who also stops to kiss my cheek on the way in, bags in his hands as well, as he talks to Mitchell, and I realize he’ll be stuck here now. That was not part of the plan, but there’s very little I can do, so I’m going to have to roll with it, the way I often have had to through the years after that summer. That’s the problem with our parents being friends.