commitment. How could I compete? I couldn’t. Luckily, it was almost vacation time. A week more and I could go home and lick my wounds. Tyler had been using me as some type of stand-in. All along, according to rumors, Tyler had been hot for Hamilton. I should have known it when Hamilton started to smell like the sandalwood and overly strong patchouli incense that Tyler liked to burn in his room at night. During our last conversation, Tyler had admitted it.
“I’m with Hamilton.”
“Hamilton?” I made a face. “Are you that stupid? Do you think you’re the first he’s messed with? Or the last?”
“Shut up.”
We hadn’t spoken since.
Just when I wasn’t expecting it, life had snuck up on me and kicked me hard. I felt a little shaky and needed some food. I’d stayed on campus until the last day of exams to do an extra-credit project for a science class I’d struggled with all semester. Most people had already left, the cafeteria closed, and I wanted more than a vending machine bag of stale chips. I used to love this time of year, Hanukkah and Christmas both, but the thought of trying to celebrate now was hollow. I’d have to arrive home alone, without Tyler, and look like a fool.
Because—and this was the worst part—I’d bragged to my family that I’d finally gotten a boyfriend. I had been out and proud since I was fifteen, but there had never been anybody to bring home before, and I knew when my parents compared me to Ann and Courtney, my sisters, they worried.
I had asked Tyler about coming home with me for the holidays. Tyler’s own parents were in Thailand, traveling, and he’d said yes. But that was before Hamilton came to light, before my meltdown in the cafeteria, before our friendship got tossed.
I’d forgotten about inviting Tyler for the holidays until my mom left me a cheery message on my voice mail yesterday about looking forward to “finally meeting the one-and-only Tyler!” Oh, God . I was so screwed. Why had I told them? Why?
And the more pertinent question: why had I assumed Tyler was my boyfriend in the first place? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
When I’d spent a few mostly drunken nights in his room and we’d fooled around, I’d created this whole fantasy in my mind that Tyler was mine. That I’d finally found somebody.
But I was delusional.
“So are you and Tyler over?” my roommate Zach had asked as he’d packed for his home.
Zach was an all-right guy. He was a physics major who had questionable hygiene, always wearing the same two raggedy Breaking Bad T-shirts and his standard baseball cap and leaving his wet towels on the floor. But his politics were liberal, which he’d made clear to me by stating breezily that he had a “gay uncle somewhere in California,” and he’d waited for me to respond as if all gay people had a secret map linking them together across the states.
Still I didn’t want to test Zach’s open-mindedness and had never taken Tyler to our room.
“You heard?”
“Everybody’s heard. He’s screwing some professor, right?” His voice was nasal. Zach had the “dorm plague” that week and had left his snotty balls of tissue all over our room.
“He’s a graduate student, and it’s no big thing,” I answered, while inside I wanted to scream.
“Sorry, man.”
Zach clapped me on the back, which would have been nice and everything, if only he hadn’t just wiped his nose on his fingers first.
I eyed his suitcase as he finished packing, wondering if Zach’s mom would appreciate all the dingy underwear. His tighty-whities were now gray. I wasn’t one of those college students who’d arrived unable to do their own laundry. My mom had made certain of that much. In Zach’s case, however, I wasn’t sure if his unclean clothes were due to ignorance or laziness, so I left it alone. Maybe after break I’d buy him some bleach.
But even with Zach gone, I was suffocating in my tiny dorm room, imagining all the questions I’d get as Tyler
“I’m with Hamilton.”
“Hamilton?” I made a face. “Are you that stupid? Do you think you’re the first he’s messed with? Or the last?”
“Shut up.”
We hadn’t spoken since.
Just when I wasn’t expecting it, life had snuck up on me and kicked me hard. I felt a little shaky and needed some food. I’d stayed on campus until the last day of exams to do an extra-credit project for a science class I’d struggled with all semester. Most people had already left, the cafeteria closed, and I wanted more than a vending machine bag of stale chips. I used to love this time of year, Hanukkah and Christmas both, but the thought of trying to celebrate now was hollow. I’d have to arrive home alone, without Tyler, and look like a fool.
Because—and this was the worst part—I’d bragged to my family that I’d finally gotten a boyfriend. I had been out and proud since I was fifteen, but there had never been anybody to bring home before, and I knew when my parents compared me to Ann and Courtney, my sisters, they worried.
I had asked Tyler about coming home with me for the holidays. Tyler’s own parents were in Thailand, traveling, and he’d said yes. But that was before Hamilton came to light, before my meltdown in the cafeteria, before our friendship got tossed.
I’d forgotten about inviting Tyler for the holidays until my mom left me a cheery message on my voice mail yesterday about looking forward to “finally meeting the one-and-only Tyler!” Oh, God . I was so screwed. Why had I told them? Why?
And the more pertinent question: why had I assumed Tyler was my boyfriend in the first place? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
When I’d spent a few mostly drunken nights in his room and we’d fooled around, I’d created this whole fantasy in my mind that Tyler was mine. That I’d finally found somebody.
But I was delusional.
“So are you and Tyler over?” my roommate Zach had asked as he’d packed for his home.
Zach was an all-right guy. He was a physics major who had questionable hygiene, always wearing the same two raggedy Breaking Bad T-shirts and his standard baseball cap and leaving his wet towels on the floor. But his politics were liberal, which he’d made clear to me by stating breezily that he had a “gay uncle somewhere in California,” and he’d waited for me to respond as if all gay people had a secret map linking them together across the states.
Still I didn’t want to test Zach’s open-mindedness and had never taken Tyler to our room.
“You heard?”
“Everybody’s heard. He’s screwing some professor, right?” His voice was nasal. Zach had the “dorm plague” that week and had left his snotty balls of tissue all over our room.
“He’s a graduate student, and it’s no big thing,” I answered, while inside I wanted to scream.
“Sorry, man.”
Zach clapped me on the back, which would have been nice and everything, if only he hadn’t just wiped his nose on his fingers first.
I eyed his suitcase as he finished packing, wondering if Zach’s mom would appreciate all the dingy underwear. His tighty-whities were now gray. I wasn’t one of those college students who’d arrived unable to do their own laundry. My mom had made certain of that much. In Zach’s case, however, I wasn’t sure if his unclean clothes were due to ignorance or laziness, so I left it alone. Maybe after break I’d buy him some bleach.
But even with Zach gone, I was suffocating in my tiny dorm room, imagining all the questions I’d get as Tyler
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