Bring Down the Stars

Every year, the Drakes invited my sisters and my mother—with her cigarettes and too-loud laugh—to Thanksgiving dinner at their gigantic row house. Every year, my mother drank too much, no matter how many times I told her to take it easy. They’d call a car for her—a sedan, not an Uber—to take her home, with Mrs. Drake making sure Ma had a week’s worth of leftovers with her and an invitation to Christmas Eve dinner a few weeks later.

The Drakes were good people.

“It would be awesome if things were good with me and Autumn by then,” Connor said. “And I know what you’re going to say, but I like her. She’s beautiful. And super smart.”

“Did you guys talk a lot at the meet?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said with a one-shoulder shrug, which meant he was full of shit. They hadn’t gone below surface topics.

“Maybe you should get to know her a little bit better before you start weaving her into your grand plans to please your parents.”

“I’m not planning anything, except for a first date. I’ve never hung out with a girl more than twice and not gotten to first base.” He grinned. “I like a challenge.”

I rolled my eyes, ready to tell him that Autumn was a human being, not a challenge, but he held up a silencing palm.

“I’m kidding,” he said. “Autumn is…I don’t know. Different. She’s kind of shy, but she stands her ground. I like that about her.”

“Yeah, I like that too,” I said quietly.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Later that night, Connor lay sprawled on the couch with SportsCenter blaring, scrolling his phone. I sat at the kitchen table, tapping my pen against an empty page in my notebook and contemplating running as my Object of Devotion. I couldn’t muster the blood and guts to put it to paper. I liked running. It served a purpose, but did I want to make it my life?

“Oh shit,” Connor cried from behind me.

“What is it?”

“I accidentally texted her.”

“Who?” I said, knowing damn well who.

“Autumn. I was fucking messing around and I hit that stupid predictive text thing, then panicked and hit send.”

“So what?”

“I don’t text or call a girl until at least three days have passed.”

I set down my pen and turned around. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. It looks desperate to text her the same day.”

I hid a smile. “What did you text?”

“Just ‘yes.’” His eyes widened. “Shit. She’s texting me back.”

Connor jumped up from the couch and came to where I sat, standing next to my chair as we both watched his phone.

Yes…? :)

Connor typed, Hey.

I smirked. “Really?”

“Yeah, so?”

A pause, then a new text bubbled up. What’s up?