Someday, Somehow

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Apologize,” she argues. “It’s that simple.”

  I groan. “You don’t get it—”

  “Whatever,” she says with a cracked voice.

  That’s how I notice she’s been crying. Great, now I’m not just an insensitive jerk—I’m a total asshole.

  I run a hand through my hair, sighing. This isn’t how I plan to spend my night, but I can’t not do anything.

  “Rough day?”

  “Try rough semester,” she corrects me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong is that I’m almost a thousand miles from home,” she sniffs and clears her nose with the sleeve of her oversized sweatshirt. “I’m completely alone. We’re a month into a year at a school where everyone knows someone, and grew up with someone else…and they’re all so…”

  She looks around, then stares at her long fingers and sighs. I’ve heard this before; from my sister whose skin is the color of sard. She feels like an outsider among her classmates.

  “Caucasian?” I answer.

  Which is true when the pale-ish Mexican guy can say he’s one of the only POC he grew up around. I know my state. I love us...but we’re a bit homogenous.

  “Different,” she says. “But yeah, that too.”

  I nod. That’s tough. No doubt I made things worse for her earlier.

  Closing my eyes, I try to figure out what to do, or what to say to make everything better.

  “I’m sorry I ruined your mother’s shirt,” I speak from my heart. “Can I make it up to you?”

  She looks at me apprehensively. Her stomach growls and I smile because I know just the right thing to make everything better.

  “You look like you could use a home cooked meal,” I say.

  Three

  Auggie

  I lead her to the back staircase, taking her down to the kitchen in the finished basement.

  “Sorry about the lighting,” I tell her as we enter the kitchen. “We blew a fuse last week and we’ve been too lazy to fix it.”

  “So multi-colored Christmas lights were your solution?” she responds, scanning the area.

  I laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I said at first. You get used to it fast.”

  I usher her into a seat by the stove.

  “Do you like scrambled eggs?”

  “Yes,” she says slowly. “Should I ask if you know how to make anything besides scrambled eggs?”

  “No, I do.” I smirk and continue, “My dad’s a...bit of a professional.”

  “You don’t say.”

  I can tell by her voice that she isn’t impressed.

  This chick is hard to crack but I’m persistent, I’ll find a way. I just keep going, grabbing shit out of the fridge and drawers.

  “The key to great scrambled eggs is sour cream,” I say as I put a dollop of it on my pan.

  She makes gagging noises. “Are you kidding me? That sounds awful.”

  “But it isn’t,” I say. “The cream makes it fluffier and the sour—”

  “Because sour is its own ingredient,” she interrupts me.

  “—adds this nice tanginess to the eggs,” I say, ignoring her snarky tone. “It adds a whole new depth to the flavor profile.”

  “Sounding pedantic won’t save you in my eyes,” she warns me.

  I shrug. It’s easier to prove her wrong with the finished product. A few minutes later, I plate the scrambled eggs and hand it to her along with a fork. She eyes me suspiciously while she stares at the eggs apprehensively.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I got some for me too. I’ll even eat them first if you don’t trust me.”

  She laughs. “You really think that little of me?”

  “No...I just think I’ve given you every reason to think that little of me,” I respond gently as I sit down next to her.

  After just one bite, I notice a gorgeous smile spread across her face. The entire place brightens, and I know I did something right. She likes them. It only takes a bite to regret doubting my culinary abilities.

  “Are you kidding me?” she says, moaning. “Why is this so…”

  She takes another bite, closes her eyes and when she opens them, she says, “Hmm…tasty?”

  “Because I come from a culinary dynasty,” I say proudly.

  She groans loudly. “There he is. Ricky Mc-Richboy.”

  “Am I really that awful?” I ask earnestly.

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never met anyone who’s as insecure about having money as you. Like...who are you trying to prove yourself to?”

  I shovel more eggs in my mouth seeking solace in my silence. That’s incredibly rude of her. I don’t go to her house and accurately call her out for her insecurities. Then again, she’s a stranger with nothing to lose and no reason to pretend to be nice to me.

  So maybe she’s right.

  “I didn’t always have money,” I say. “My dad was single. My grandparents helped raise me, helped when they could financially…they were first generation immigrants and it...it’s not what you imagine.”

  She doesn’t need to know this. That my grandfather came over with a scholarship back when getting a working visa after graduation was easy. Still, with a degree and his residence, he had to work twice as hard as everyone else to support his family. Or that Dad had to work even harder…So why does justifying myself to her matter when I’ve never cared before?

  “Kids are shitty, you know?” I say with a mouthful of food. “First, they don’t like you because you’re poor and you speak Spanish. Then, they like you because your dad made a name for himself...and when they come to the realization that they can’t manipulate you into being their friend, they’re back to disliking you. It’s a cycle I have lived repeatedly.”

  “Ah, pushing people away with the image you think they see of you,” she says, waving her fork around like a laser pointer. “That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

  She takes another bite of her eggs. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a very effective trick,” she says. “But it’ll never do you any good.”

  I nod. She’s very smart and very perceptive. Probably resourceful if she’s from out of state and chose to be here. I’m kind of hoping that this free food will change her mind about me.

  “For what it’s worth, I think the guy in here is a lot better than whoever that was in the coffee shop,” she says in between bites. “You should lead with him. Might make some real friends that way.”

  This girl, wow… I can’t help but laugh at her straightforward mannerism. “Thanks for the free advice. Psych major?”

  She shakes her head. “Business, but that’s a good guess. I took a couple of classes at the community college last year while trying to figure out what I wanted to do—not that I know.”

  I look up from my plate—really getting a good look at her finally. Her eyes are big and brilliant, framed by long, curly lashes. Her hair floats in soft coils around a heart-shaped face. Her skin is topaz, glimmering like a deep autumn sunset in this light. Forget her cute redhead roommate. This beauty could be a model.

  “Wow,” I say quietly.

  She frowns. “Wow, what?”

  Shit, think fast… “Wow, I, uh...don’t even know your name.”

  “Georgia Angelina Jones, I go by George,” she says.

  “Like the state?”

  “Like the Modernist painter,” she answers before stabbing her fork into her food. “My parents were artists...were at least until they had me.”

  “Why Colorado then?” I ask. “Uh, you said you were far from home?”

  “I don’t know, I guess I wanted a change,” George offers. “I didn’t want to end up at the same party schools as everyone else. Not that it matters. I’m drowning and the semester isn’t even half over yet. I don’t know why I thought I was cut out for this place.”

  That’s not right. She got into this school. She deserves to be here just like everyone else.

  “You must be pretty smart to be going to an out of s
tate school,” I say.

  “Maybe,” she says.

  “Bet you did a lot in high school,” I guess.

  George continues with a shrug, “I was Valedictorian and a national debate champion. Also, president of my NHS chapter.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “National Honors Society is a joke.”

  She frowns. “Maybe it’s a joke at your alma mater, but it mattered at my school. I turned it into something people were proud to be in.”

  Driven, dedicated, and successful. And let’s face it, sexy as fuck! So why doesn’t George see how awesome she is?

  “Are you going to introduce yourself or are we going to play twenty questions all night?” she asks with a smirk.

  I laugh. I like her. Like... really like her as a person. And she deserves to know how great she is.

  “Agustin Diego Beltran,” I say, offering her a handshake. “My friends call me Auggie.”

  “Charmed,” George says. “So, what should I call you?”

  “Auggie,” I say proudly. “You might want to get used to it. We’re going to be best friends.”

  Four

  George

  I really had no idea what I was in for. This is what happens when I listen to Dad’s advice. ‘Go have fun, live like a college kid.’ I spent the day with my new roommate and her friends. It was a little like a bad episode of Friends where you get to hang out at the hipster coffee shop and talk about nonsense. Seriously that’s what we did.

  Afterward, we visited the outdoor mall on Pearl Street which is filled with exotic stores, apothecaries, and a few high-end clothing shops. I wish I had been able to explore the metaphysical stores. But the bunch complained that they were too…out there. Whatever that means, I was the minority—as usual—so we didn’t stop there. To top the day, we came to a party.

  “A junior invited me,” Megan said excitedly. “It might be the party of the year.”

  Party?

  It looks like Union Square during New Year’s Eve.

  What is everyone waiting for?

  This party wasn’t worth the three-mile walk from our dorm to here.

  The cheap alcohol tops it all. I didn’t get drunk with the first sip of a screwdriver; I got a massive headache. This isn’t for me. The circle of girls gossiping about everything as they wait to be swooped by some guy—not my scene.

  Haven’t we done this for the past twelve hours? Chat about nonsense. This is why I don’t have many friends. I was too busy with my extracurricular activities that I skipped socializing 101. Give me a good book to read. A movie to watch or a marathon on TBS or Nick at Nite to keep me up all night. I suggest we leave, and what does roommate-dearest say in response? “I’ll find you a place to crash.”

  The bedroom is dark but clean. I grab a sweatshirt and even a bear I find on the floor. It only takes a few seconds for me to fall asleep. It is quiet, smells of sandalwood and pine, and the sheets are soft.

  I miss home.

  Everything is going well until the guy from the coffee shop wakes me up. I swear it feels like a dream. A nightmare. But after we talk, I realize he’s not as bad as I thought. He’s one of the good guys but likes to pretend he’s anything but.

  His food…who knew eggs could taste this great? In exchange for yet another plate, I could offer to fix the light fixtures. This place is off code.

  And there I go, thinking like my father. Instead of teaching me construction, he should’ve taught me how to socialize. I wish my aunts had been around more often during my teenage years. I’d be a little cooler, or at least I’d know how to make friends easily.

  Auggie takes the empty plate from my hands and offers me some milk. I nod, that sounds better than whatever they’re serving upstairs.

  “It must be hard moving away from all your friends and family,” he says.

  I shrug and smile. I don’t make friends easily. Well, actually, I don’t make friends at all. Dad and I have always been on the run. Running to school, running to a construction site, running to tae kwon do, running to the grocery store...

  There’s never time to exchange more than a greeting and a weak how are you before I have to go again.

  During my spare time I help Dad around the house or at work. If I do the latter, it pays for my knickknacks, and I get to spend time with him.

  “It’s just Dad and me,” I remind him.

  “Any other family?”

  “Mom’s family faded away after she died. Dad’s sisters stepped up, but now they have their own families, so during my teenage years it was just the two of us.” I drink some of the milk he poured me.

  “Grandparents?”

  “How about you?” I fire back without answering his question. And study him.

  He’s not as bad as I thought earlier. In fact, he’s very nice. And good looking. Tall, mussed-up, dark hair, hazel eyes. Black t-shirt hugging his lean and defined muscles. There’s a playful tug at the corner of his mouth, and I see a dimple forming on the left side of his cheek.

  He turns me on, but he’s he and well, I’m me. This is college, and I don’t have time to entertain anything but books and friends if I make any.

  I look at him and give him another thankful smile. Any other guy would’ve tried to kick me out or…let’s just leave it at or. This is yet another sign that my roommate and me aren’t a good fit. Next year, I have to find a way to get out of the dorms. Would Dad be willing to help me sign a lease for an apartment?

  Maybe I can convince him during Christmas break. I have to start working harder at this friendship thing and find a few roommates to go in with me. That’ll sweeten the deal with Dad. If I have company, he can’t bring the question of, who’s going to look after you?

  Me, Dad. I can look after myself.

  “So, any family?” I ask again, shoving away something that’s not important—yet.

  “I’m the oldest,” he says and takes out his phone showing me a picture of two much younger children.

  “Twins?” I ask and study the picture.

  He nods.

  “Your sister is super cute. Your brother looks like a much younger version of you.” I say, turning to look at him.

  Our gazes lock. I can feel the crackling around us. Sparks bouncing between each other. Brushing my locks from my forehead, his gaze slides to my mouth. Those penetrating, hungry eyes make my mouth go dry.

  Every thought inside my head is gone when he says my name, “George. Georgie-girl.”

  His voice is a low, sexy sound that makes my entire body quiver.

  He moves his hand to the back of my neck, pulling me toward him very slowly. My knees wobble as his other hand slides along my waist.

  I’m frozen in place, waiting for his next move while a rush of emotions flow through my blood. Heart beating, breath holding, lips parting as he angles his head and presses his lips against mine.

  Without any coherent thought passing through my head, I push myself closer to him, deepening the kiss. His arms go around me, pulling me hard into his body.

  It’s a long deep kiss. Like those I watch on a romantic comedy or read in love stories. The feeling fills places I had no idea were empty and floods me with desire—hunger.

  I’m breathless and so out of my element that the warm fuzzy feeling becomes anxiety. Shocked by the throaty moan I release, I push him away.

  “Hold on, Romeo,” I say as I try to recover from whatever just happened between us.

  A dream. The prelude to a long passionate night. A…I stop myself from thinking any further.

  “You kiss…” I touch my lips. “Well, it was good, above average to be precise.”

  Dreamy.

  “The thing is that this isn’t what I’m signing up for.”

  “It’s not?” he asks, controlling his own breathing.

  “Nope,” I respond, trying to act breezy but I’m anything but. “I can use a best friend more than a toe-curling kiss and a romp between the sheets. You just offered the former.”

  He scratches
his head and shrugs. “I guess I did, should’ve thought it through before I extended the friendship membership.”

  I laugh at his joke.

  He smiles and I see the humor in his fired up eyes.

  “Friends then?” I ask, because I kind of like him and I can use more late-night chats with someone like him.

  “Of course,” he confirms. “The best friends in the entire world.”

  “Let me walk you back to your dorm,” he offers.

  “Thank you for everything.” I rise and put the glass of milk in the sink.

  “That’s what friends are for.”

  After that soul-gripping kiss I wonder if we can really be friends.

  Five

  George

  The blaring of my phone’s alarm clock startles me out of a dream. In the dream, I was on vacation far, far away from school. I groan as I sit up. Shit, my back and neck are so sore. I can’t believe I fell asleep while studying again.

  I shut my eyes, a yawn threatening to escape from my mouth as I slowly pry papers off my face. I hope they aren’t smudged and ruined from my drool. It’s stupidly bright in Auggie’s kitchen. Fuck, I should’ve stayed at my dorm.

  Maybe I should talk him into buying softer lights—or something with a dimmer switch—for when I stay.

  I can’t believe it’s this bright so late…I look at the window where the blaring sun blinds me.

  Fuck!

  Wait, what time is it? I close my eyes and take a breath. You’re just dreaming. Dreaming? Wait, I can’t go to sleep just yet. There’s that sound again…my eyelids pop open as I frantically search for my phone.

  The alarm is still going off when I find it under a stack of notes. Oh no, it’s seven thirty in the morning. I have a half-hour to get across town to my exam.

  “Shit,” I say. “Okay, fuck. No...shit.”

  I start scrambling to collect all of my papers and get going as soon as possible. How could I have slept in today of all days?

  “Morning,” Auggie says behind me.