Matt nodded. "Aaron's a complicated person, don't concern yourself with him."
Julie nodded, letting the topic go, but something about the story didn't feel complete.
Maybe she had just expected the story to be better, she concluded, and then she attempted to enjoy the rest of her short time with Anna.
Matt was well-behaved until he got back to the apartment, at which point she was positive he was about to lean in—whether to hug her or kiss her she would never know, because she all but jumped out of the car as if he had set it on fire.
Luckily, Aaron wasn't there yet, so she took out her earrings and put them away, then she changed into one of her college hoodies and a pair of soft pajama pants and curled up on the couch, planning to spend the rest of her evening with George.
When he still wasn't home at the end of 1984, she wondered if she should move on to another book or go e-mail her mom. Since she found out she was knocked up, she had only spoken to her mother once on the phone and she did a bad impression of losing reception so she could get off the phone before she had to lie or tell on herself.
Of course, her mother was going to have to find out eventually. That was a given. But Julie kept telling herself that a better time would come along.
Instead of being a good daughter or opening up a new book, she went to the kitchen to find something to munch on, making a mental note to pick up some healthy foods next time she was at the store so that she could at least keep the munching under control while the little glutton in her womb nagged her to eat all the time.
Nothing looked good, but she finally decided she would have to settle with a can of Spaghettios.
Unfortunately, Baby Poppy Seed seemed not to like that idea, and as soon as the aroma hit her nostrils she was running for the bathroom.
Deciding that had been a bad call, she threw out the food before it even finished cooking, plugging her nose the whole time, and then she went to Aaron's bedroom to hide from the smell.
Unsurprisingly, once she was in there, she found herself bored again, and she wondered why she had always wished for her own apartment when she lived with Jack. She pretty much had all the perks of her own apartment and she didn't even have to pay for it—and she was lonely. Nothing but a poppy seed that couldn't even hear her talk for company.
Thinking of Jack made her decide to do something kind of stupid. She decided on a whim to grab her phone and give him a text, just a "Hey, how are you doing?" kind of message.
Within a minute, he responded. "Fantastic. You?"
Nauseated, but she wasn't going to say that. "I'm fine. I finally finished school, so that's great."
As she flipped her phone shut, she wondered why she was making small-talk about school; he had never cared when they were dating, why would he want to hear it when they weren't?
"Great. More perfect grades I'm sure, huh punk?"
He added a smiley on to the end, and that—used with her old nickname—made her smile. "Of course," she responded. "What else would you expect from an egghead such as myself?"
"Good to see some things don't change," he responded.
But that one made her sad.
She was trying to figure out how to ask if he had done anything Jack-like—taken a new girlfriend, moved in with some up-and-coming band, quit his job, gotten hitched in Vegas—but she didn't know how to word it politely.
Instead, she said, "I'm trying to decide which book to read next. Just finished 1984. Any suggestions?"
"One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," he texted back.
Taking a mental inventory, she came up short. "I don't think I have it. I left that one with you 'cause I have another copy at my mom's."
It took a moment for him to respond, but when he did it was, "Well, my girlfriend's over right now but you could probably stop and grab it if you want."
So he did have a new girlfriend. Of course he did—he was Jack Gelman; he treated girls like shit and they loved him for it.
"No thanks, I'm sure I can read something else. Thanks for the suggestion though."
"No prob," he texted back.
She was done being entertained then, all she had done was successfully make herself feel even worse than she had before she texted him—and then she had been throwing up, so that was really saying something.
Yawning, she decided not to read anything for a moment, just to sprawl out on the bed and lie there thinking about her unhappy life.