Luke in real life is something no amount of notes could prepare me for. My living, breathing boyfriend is amazing.
Trying to act as if I remember being here before, I slide into the passenger seat and buckle my belt. Once I’m settled, Luke gestures to a coffee waiting for me in the passenger cup holder.
“There are muffins in the console,” he says casually as he backs out of the driveway. I open the compartment between us to find breakfast from what will be my favorite bakery until it goes out of business in a few years.
I know from notes that this has become our ritual: Luke driving me to school each day, often surprising me with morning treats. But thanks to my lack of proper memory, it feels like a first for me today, and I love it.
“Jamie ever call you back yesterday?” Luke asks as he drives. My notes didn’t say I called her, but they would have if she’d called back.
“No,” I say, pretty sure that I’m telling the truth.
“Bummer.”
Too soon, we’re pulling into the student lot. Even though we’re one of the first cars there, Luke turns into a space in the back row.
“Easy escape,” he says when I look at him quizzically. He puts the gearshift in park but leaves the engine running and the heat pumping. I wonder whether Luke always parks in the back and make a mental note to include that tonight so I don’t wonder again.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
“No, I’m fine. If anything, I’m hot in this jacket.”
He turns down the blower.
“Your hair looks good like that,” he says, as easily as someone I’ve been dating for a while might. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, and I find myself wishing my own nearly empty cup would magically refill itself.
I grab a smooth strand of hair. I must have flat-ironed it last night; I didn’t wash it this morning.
“Thanks,” I say, gazing into his blue eyes.
“So, what’s new?” he asks.
I have no idea, so I talk about my best friend some more. “I’m worried about Jamie,” I begin cryptically, hoping to draw out information if I’ve already discussed this particular issue with Luke. According to my notes, I haven’t. Then again, notes could be wrong.
“How come?” Luke asks innocently, taking another drink. The parking lot is starting to fill around us, but we are in our own world.
“Can I tell you something in confidence?” I ask.
“Of course. You know you can trust me, London.”
I do know that, I think to myself.
“Okay,” I begin. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“Of course,” he says, as if it’s a given.
I sit for a moment, looking into Luke’s expectant eyes, trying to think of a way to buffer what I’m going to say. Instead, I finally just blurt it out. “Jamie is having an affair with a teacher. A married teacher.”
Luke doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw drops slightly, and then he recovers. “Wow,” he says, clearly letting the news settle in his brain.
“I tried to talk her out of it, but she’s too stubborn to listen,” I continue.
“How long has this been going on?” he asks.
“It started around the time we met.”
I think I see a speck of hurt flash across his eyes—maybe because I didn’t tell him sooner. I’m surprised myself that I haven’t, but it’s not really my secret to tell. And here now, sharing it anyway, I can’t help but feel a bit guilty.
“Which teacher?” Luke asks, and all at once I’m defensive.