The Things He Remembered

“But he’s kind,” Owen said.

I stayed behind the column.

“Some guys made a joke about my shoes during move-in. He heard them.”

I remembered the shoes. Owen’s old training pair, worn white at the toes. I also remembered the boy from down the hall who had asked whether the university included footwear in its charity package.

Julian Hayes did not have a reputation for patience, but I had been remarkably restrained.

I had only made him apologize.

“He didn’t even know me yet,” Owen continued. “He just stepped in.”

Chloe was quiet.

“He pretends not to care about things, but he does. And he looks at you like he knows exactly what you’re trying not to say.”

A smile moved across his face.

“He’s funny when he’s annoyed. He thinks I don’t notice.”

I lowered my folded arms.

“He’s beautiful,” Owen said, so simply that my breath caught. “Sometimes I forget what I was going to say when he’s looking at me.”

Well.

That was better.

“He sounds difficult,” Chloe said, but she was smiling a little.

“He is.”

Owen’s expression had gone warm and hopeless.

“I like him anyway.”

I let out a small laugh.

He looked up.

The moment he saw me, every bit of confidence left his face.

“Julian.”

“Owen.”

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to hear that you think I’m lazy.”

Chloe looked between us.

Owen appeared to consider walking directly into the athletic center wall.

“I didn’t mean—”

“You sounded very sure.”

“You said you’d pay somebody to carry you to class if it wasn’t embarrassing.”

“That was a private conversation.”

He stared at me, then noticed my mouth twitching.

Relief flickered across his face.

I glanced at Chloe.

“Sorry. I interrupted again.”

“It’s okay,” she said, with the expression of someone who had finally found the missing page of a book. “I think we’re finished.”

She tucked the paper bag back into her tote.

Owen thanked her for understanding.

I took a step toward the dining hall.

He followed immediately.

“Did you eat breakfast?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Was it cold?”

“A little.”

“I could get you another one.”

I looked up at him.

“You already went out for the first one.”

“You shouldn’t skip meals.”

“And you shouldn’t worry so much.”

His eyes dropped to my shoulder.

“How’s your back?”

“Much better. You can check it tonight.”

He nearly missed the curb.

I was back in a generous mood.

For the next few days, everything went beautifully.

Owen brought me coffee when our schedules matched. I borrowed his notes for a general education lecture we shared. He taught me how to hold a basketball properly, standing behind me and adjusting my hands while I made very little effort to improve.

“Your elbow,” he said for the third time.

“What about it?”

“It needs to stay in.”

“You could show me again.”

He did.

I missed the hoop.

A worthwhile afternoon.

Then, on Friday, I passed the residence hall near the library and saw Chloe accepting a takeout container from him.

She smiled. He bent his head to hear her. Whatever she said made him nod.

Nothing about it was intimate.

I disliked it immediately.

I kept walking before he could see me.

Back in our room, I sat at my desk and opened a document. I typed six words, deleted them, and glared at the blank page.

Owen came in ten minutes later.

He took one look at me and set his bag down.

“Are you feeling sick?”

“No.”

He hesitated.

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Do you want some water?”

I stared at him.

He looked genuinely worried.

It made everything worse.

“Can’t you just come here?” I said.

He crossed the room at once.

I leaned back in my chair and looked up at him.

“My stomach hurts.”

“Do you want me to get something from the pharmacy?”

“You could start by rubbing it.”

His eyes widened.

“Over my shirt, Owen. I’m not asking you to perform surgery.”

He crouched beside my chair and rested a tentative hand against my stomach.

“Here?”

“Higher.”

His palm moved. Warmth spread through the thin fabric.

I relaxed despite myself.

“What did you take Chloe?” I asked.

His hand stopped.

“Chloe?”

“The girl who asked you out. Your committee friend.”

“Dinner. She was stuck in a meeting, and the dining hall was closing.”

“How thoughtful.”

He looked at me more closely.

“She paid me to pick it up.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“I was already going. She offered me a few dollars.”

Of course.

He worked shifts, watched his budget, and bought the cheaper laundry detergent. An easy delivery fee would look very different to him than it did to me.

I reached for my phone.

“How much?”

“Julian.”

“How much do I have to pay for you to bring me dinner every day?”

“You don’t have to pay me.”

I sent him money anyway.

His phone buzzed on the desk.

He glanced at the screen and frowned.

“That’s too much. I’m sending it back.”

“Why? Don’t you want to get my dinner?”

“You know that isn’t what I mean.”

I let my expression fall.

His shoulders sagged.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he said softly.

“Doing what?”

He looked at my face, then at his phone.

“I’ll use it for your food,” he said. “Not for carrying it.”

“Fine. But you’re only bringing dinner to me.”

For a moment he said nothing.

Then his hand resumed its slow movement over my shirt.

“Okay.”

I watched him.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

His ears turned pink.

“I think so.”

My stomach had recovered completely.

My dignity was taking longer.

I had intended to make Owen jealous eventually. I had not expected to get there first.

Something needed to happen before I became ridiculous.

That evening I told Marcus we were all going out on Saturday.

“Your treat?” he asked.

“Obviously.”

He grinned.

Owen looked up from his textbook.

“Where?”

“The Lantern.”

“The bar near the station?”

“Yes.”

He looked doubtful.

I smiled at him.

“You’re coming with me, aren’t you?”

He was already lost.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course I am.”