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I’ve texted him almost daily, subtly flirting, making little jokes. He responds, but not quickly, and not with more than a word or two.

I’ve even tried looking for him online, desperate for a little hit, but on the internet it’s like the man barely exists.

I’m so fucking confused.

I’ve been trying to distract myself from my obsessive worries that maybe he’s over me and our sexy little fling, already, by busying myself with work. It’s easy, when there’s always so much work to do.

But I still can’t stop thinking about him.

Missinghim.

And now here I am, scrutinizing his former lover, as if that will help me understand him better.

The lover he’s trying to protect by not even telling his family he was seeing her.

I just don’t get it.

He says he didn’t love her, but maybe that’s not true? Because he’s gone to some pretty extreme lengths to protect her privacy.

I check the clock. It’s four-thirty, and I wonder if I’m going to see him today. Or if he won’t even come home until after I’m gone. Which seems to be his thing now.

Finally, I decide to text him.

Me:I’m baking at your place today. What time do you think you’ll be home? I can make dinner.

Ugh. When I read it back—after sending—it sounds like something a clingy, wannabe girlfriend would say.

At least I don’t have to sweat it very long. By the time the hot jock finds the sexy professor he’s banging in bed with his father, and a naked fist fight ensues, Harlan texts me back.

Harlan:Not sure.I have a meeting.

I decide to believe him.

And try to lure him with sex, because I’m getting that desperate.

Me:Too bad. Sounds boring. And here I am all alone in your kitchen wearing an apron and not much else.

His reply is immediate this time.

Harlan:Shut… your… mouth.

Excitement tingles through me.

Me:Come home and shut it yourself.

He doesn’t answer.

Since that night at the hospital, I’m really not sure how to interpret these silences of his.

He didn’t actually come in and meet Mom, but when he dropped me off at emergency, he told me to call him if I needed anything.

I didn’t, because I didn’t need anything from him.

Mom is fine, thankfully, except for a broken ankle. She tripped on our rickety front steps, which I suppose anyone could’ve done, while carrying a box of cupcakes out to a client’s car. But she should’ve been more careful. She never asks for help when she needs it, and she’s weaker than she used to be. She’s tired more. She gets lightheaded, even dizzy.

And I should’ve been there to help her, to make sure that didn’t happen. I felt so horribly selfish about it, I didn’t leave her side for days.

Harlan sent us food, takeout from some amazing restaurants, for the whole week afterward. So neither of us had to do much cooking.