41 Lucas Isnt Waiting by the Phone

August 12th

Operation Try Meeting Again Because for Some Reason It Hasn't Worked so Far and We're Running Out of Time Oh My God was a go, and I resolved to not sit on the living room couch like I was waiting for my prom date. Armand wouldn't be headed home until after his class, which meant that I had about three hours to kill.

We had agreed to meet around dinner, and the likelihood that he'd eaten anything of substance during the day was approximately zero, so in a burst of inspiration I rummaged through the fridge and decided to make eggplant lasagna.

It was always a lengthy endeavor, but well worth the effort. There was no better comfort food, and it would certainly be better than hot pockets or whatever Armand would otherwise eat for dinner. I was anxious, my nerves alight at the prospect of seeing Armand in person, of having him see me, but I took comfort in the process of chopping vegetables and administering seasonings and, huh, we could actually do with a cute little spring salad as an appetizer. I could whip up a vinaigrette—

It was approaching seven—our designated meeting time—and the lasagna was nearing perfection. In my cooking haze, I had failed to properly set the table. I threw on one of the tablecloths I'd purchased the moment we'd rescheduled post my car breaking down. Elegant embroidered napkins? Check. A solid first two courses with the understanding that Armand had volunteered the dessert? Check. Should there be candles?

Nope, too much, Barclay. Walk it back.

In putting the finishing touches on everything, I glanced at the clock, which showed that it was now seven fifteen. No cause for concern yet, but as a pre-emptive measure, I shot Armand a quick text.

Lucas: hey, where are you

For the next almost-twenty minutes I paced between the kitchen and living room in a nervous purgatory. A terrible thought occurred to me, which was that he'd forgotten. A split second later an even more terrible thought occurred, which was that he'd remembered but had decided to stand me up. Leave me pacing a kitchen full of food like an absolute idiot.

I ventured another text: you okay?

My stomach was twisting, and some of it was from the delicious smell of freshly baked lasagna that was mocking me from the glass serving tray. But mostly it was the growing certainty that I was the butt of a joke, that Armand and Robin were laughing right now, talking about how Armand had only agreed to meet me out of pity—

It was eight o'clock.

Lucas: OH MY GOD ARE YOU DEAD

This time I only needed to pace for ten minutes before my phone buzzed. I opened the text so fast I nearly dropped it.

Armand: God I'm so sorry

Armand: Should have texted sooner. Sorry. Got ambushed by nerds.

Armand: People who read the comic. I hate them.

Armand: I mean I don't like them.

Armand: I mean I wasn't happy about being approached. And made to talk.

Armand: I'm sorry I missed you.

Armand: Sorry

I tried to breathe a sigh of relief that he didn't seem to have stood me up, but I was met with such a wave of disappointment that I had to sink onto the couch.

Lucas: its ok, just glad you're not dead

Lucas: and you didn't stand me up, that would've sucked

I shouldn't have typed that last bit. It was too vulnerable.

But he wrote back immediately this time—

Armand: I honestly was looking forward to seeing you, it was going to be the highlight of my rubbish day

Armand: I really mean that, not just being biscuit

Armand: *British kill me

I let out a soft laugh despite myself.

Lucas: hey don't talk about your fans that way, you're talented and they're appreciating you! :)

Lucas: but speaking of biscuits, if you're on your way you shall have food waiting for you, I can wait up

Armand: I swear I'm trying to leave but this one young person keeps crying

Another half hour passed, though, and no sign of Armand. It was getting late, and knowing the schedule Armand kept, it was likely he wouldn't make it in until double-digit hours. I stared forlornly at the lasagna.

Lucas: hey look I'm sorry but I have work in the morning and I can't stay up much longer

Armand: I'm so so so sorry Lucas, do you see why I hate this

Lucas: no worries! the food's in tupperware in the fridge so you can help yourself whenever you get in

Lucas: drive safe!

Lucas: oops just remembered robin would be driving, so I guess he can drive safe and you don't get eaten by fans ok

Armand: I'm so sorry again, I promise I'll make it up to you

Lucas: maybe I'll see you at robin's play :)

Armand: I'll save you a seat.

I stared at our conversation for entirely too long, chest buzzing. I tossed a modest portion of the lasagna into the microwave for a minute, then chewed absently, barely noticing how sub-par it tasted reheated.

He had been planning to show up. He wanted to meet me. He wanted to make it up to me. The implications of this fluttered around my brain, not making a lot of sense and coming dangerously close to flooding my stomach with butterflies. When was the last time I'd looked forward to something this hard?

I needed something to distract me before I melted into a complete breakdown.

Surely it wasn't too early to start planning my outfit for the play.

It would be nice to go out. Somewhere that wasn't work and wasn't the apartment. It turned out that a lot more of my social life than I'd realized had revolved around Darren.

And now I had two things I needed to be distracted from.

I ran my hand along the hanging clothes, reaching impulsively toward the back of the closet, where the colors were. I pulled out a robin's egg blue silk top—I'd loved it the moment I'd seen it but vividly remembered Darren calling it "very ... Easter egg." The tag was still on.

The stupid part of me—the part that had so easily convinced me that Armand had stood me up on purpose—still believed what Darren had said. That calling any kind of attention to myself was childish, and that I'd make myself look ridiculous if I wore clothes like this.

But the rest of me—the parts that still warmed at the comfort and compassion Armand had shown me over the past few days, at the thought of a night at the theater, at "I'll make it up to you."

The rest of me couldn't wait to be the most fabulous damn Easter egg Armand had ever laid eyes on.