Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I’m a worrier, sue me.
Roman finishes chewing and swallowing before responding. “Yeah. She calls a lot.” He takes a napkin and wipes his mouth. “I love her to death, but she hovers. She’s having a hard time with me being gone.”
Well not answering her phone calls probably makes her anxiety worse…not that it’s any of my business.
We eat in companionable silence, my burger moist and delicious and exactly what I needed, especially with all this tart mayonnaise and ketchup smothered on it. I haven’t had anything this greasy in a long time, and I close my eyes during the next bite.
Mmm.
My bliss is interrupted by ringing, and I crack an eyelid to spy Roman shaking his head down at his phone.
I can’t stand it anymore. “You really should answer that. Now I’m worried something might be wrong. This is the third time she’s tried calling.”
“She’s not calling me—she’s FaceTiming me.” Roman chews and swallows.
FaceTiming him? That’s next level. “I think you should answer it.”
He hesitates for a few seconds, and I give him a nod.
“Go on, answer it.”
He grumbles, mumbling under his breath about “helicopter parents and nothing is wrong she’s just clingy” before picking up the phone, gripping it in his large hand, thumb pressing down on the accept button. He holds it up at face level and pastes on a labored smile. “Hey, Mom. Is everything okay?”
“Hey sweetie, I was just thinking about you!” A woman’s cheerful voice carries across our small table, her happy greeting at odds with her son’s stiff posture. “How’s my baby?”
Roman’s eyes dart in my direction, and I hide my grin in the collar of my hooded sweatshirt, pretending not to be eavesdropping. I mean—it’s impossible not to. He has his phone out in the union held up for everyone around him to see.
“Mom, I have class today,” he mutters miserably. “You called three times, so I was worried there was an emergency. Is everything okay?”
“Of course everything is okay. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Oh Lord.
“For starters, we have a geriatric aunt living with us. Also, I have a pre-adolescent brother who is a handful, and you just called me three times in the middle of the day. Why wouldn’t I think something might be wrong?”
“Can’t a mother just call because she misses her son?” I can hear the pout in her voice.
“You could’ve just texted instead and I would’ve called you back when I had a chance.”
“But look, we’re talking now,” she says cheerily. “What are you up to, honey? Are you in the cafeteria?”
“No, I’m in the student union having lunch.”
“When is your next class?”
“In a half hour, but I don’t have much time to finish eating.”
“What are you eating, dear?”
“Burger.”
I continue eating mine, shoulders bent, head down, fixating on my own snack and not what’s happening across from me…
…but man is it difficult.
“Are you with anyone?” I hear his mother ask.
“Anyone where?”
“Are you eating lunch with anyone?” his mom clarifies.
“The room is pretty packed.” Roman’s eyes dart across the table and meet mine.
I smirk and shove hamburger in my mouth.
“Roman Henry,” his mother chastises, displeased that he’s being cheeky.
“No ma’am, I’m not sitting here alone.”
Ma’am. So formal and polite.
“Oh, did I interrupt something? Who’s your friend?”
Roman didn’t tell her he was with a friend. All he said was that he wasn’t alone—and when he looks up at me, I can tell he’s embarrassed to be talking about it in front of me. His mom is kind of talking to him like he’s a baby or someone who has no friends, which I know not to be true.
“My friend,” he says slowly, meeting my eyes above the table.
“Yes honey, but who are you with? One of your friends from school?”
“Just a friend, Mom, not one from high school.”
“I want to meet him,” she continues stubbornly.
Roman’s face gets red as he clears his throat. “It’s not a he, it’s a she.” He takes his phone and twists his wrist so he’s pointing the camera in my direction. “There, are you satisfied?”
“Wait, turn the phone back!” She’s shouting. “Who was that? Was that a girl?”
“Mom, she can hear you—lower your voice.”
“But who is that, sweetie? Turn the phone around so I can see her again. She looked pretty—is she your girlfriend?”
“I’m not dating every girl I’m friends with.”
“But you’re so handsome—who wouldn’t want to date my baby boy?”
Oh man, this poor guy. I feel really bad for him right now; she will not let the subject go.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’ll say hi.”
He doesn’t look convinced or reassured that his mother is going to let this rest once I say hello.
Standing, I cross to his side of the table, resting my hands gently on his shoulders as I lean forward, getting ample screen time.
Give his mother a little wave and a pleasant, friendly smile.