Page 7 of Fun Together (Make Romance #1)

Eli

He moves the pot about a millimeter to the left and I start to sweat. Andrew cares about his plants like they’re his own flesh and blood. I know if I so much as let a single dead leaf appear on one of them that I might not only lose his friendship, but maybe my own life.

This binder needs to become my Bible, basically.

“If you have any questions, just message me. I’ve got international texting.”

“We should be fine,” I say, pretending to hug the giant—I flip through the binder to find which plant this is—fiddle leaf fig.

I see the word temperamental bolded in red and almost regret offering to do this.

But it will be fine. All part of the new responsible me. I’ve turned over a new leaf. Literally.

Andrew finishes his plant tour, and we make our way to his kitchen.

“I like your place,” I tell him. His apartment is one of those buildings that used to be a factory or something, so it has brick walls and tall ceilings with giant windows. “I bet your plants love all this natural light.”

It’s a real grown-up apartment, nothing like the places I’ve lived in the past few years. I guess this is the kind of place you can live when you have your shit together.

“Thanks. I like it here.” He opens the fridge and takes out a jug of almond milk and pours some into a glass. “Feel free to eat or drink whatever is in here whenever you stop by.”

I take a seat at one of the stools by his kitchen counter. “When you do you get back?”

I’ve sort of been hoping he’d ask if I wanted to stay here while he’s gone. That would temporarily solve my current problem of finding a place to live. It feels like too much to ask, and I’d just be freeloading on someone else again.

He takes a tub of protein powder out of a cabinet and spoons some into the cup. “About a month-ish.”

I’ve known Andrew for ten years now and if there’s one thing I know for a fact it’s that he doesn’t ever put “ish” at the end of anything.

Andrew and I met in eleventh grade, when I convinced a group of people to climb onto the roof of our high school one night after basketball practice.

He was new on the team, having just moved to Raleigh that school year.

There was a formality to him that was so out of place in a sixteen-year-old that I think a lot of the guys on the team didn’t really know what to do with him.

He spent the entire first practice worrying over which play was which and where he was supposed to be on the court.

I later found out that he hated playing, but his dad made him do it.

I remember thinking he seemed nice enough and always welcomed the challenge of corrupting someone like him in a harmless way.

In a way that seemed harmless to me, anyway.

I had a fearlessness that came with being young and stupid, operating under the belief that nothing bad could ever happen to me.

I was always getting into some kind of trouble.

Nothing major, but little infractions enough to annoy my parents, but not enough that I’d land myself in a serious situation.

Case in point, I had the bright idea that we should all climb onto the roof of our school. Why? Because, why not? I told him it was all part of the basketball team’s initiation.

“What if we get caught?” Andrew asked, stiffly clinging to the bottom of the ladder behind the utility room at the back of the school.

“We won’t,” I reassured him.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said before slowly following me up.

He echoes those words, standing frozen in the middle of his kitchen.

“Why do you look like you’re about to throw up that protein shake?”

He looks down at the drink in his hand, like he forgot he’d even made it. “Just nervous about my trip.”

“You seemed excited before. Why are you so nervous?” He’s always been so hyper-focused on work and moving up the corporate ladder that he’s probably on edge because he doesn’t know how to take a vacation.

“Yeah, but something’s changed,” he mumbles.

“What do you mean?”

He sighs and looks out the window above his sink. “You’ll question my sanity if I tell you.”

I lean forward, eager now to hear what’s going on. “Well now you have to tell me.”

“I don’t want to be late for my flight,” he says as he dumps the protein shake down the drain.

I check the time on my phone. “Your flight isn’t for five hours. What’s going on?”

“I’m meeting someone.”

“In Amsterdam?”

He nods his head. “Yeah, she’s from a town just outside of there.”

“Who is she ?” This is even more exciting than I thought. A secret girlfriend. I didn’t know he had it him.

“Her name is Emma.”

“How did you meet her?”

He shakes his head and adjusts his glasses. “You’re going to laugh.”

“Let me guess. You accidentally ordered the wrong tulip bulbs, and she was the customer service rep you reached out to online, but now you’re scared because you’re going to get there and find out you’ve fallen in love with a chat bot.”

“How do you come up with this stuff? No, I didn’t fall in love with a chat bot.” He taps his fingertips on the countertop. “We met on the houseplants subreddit.”

“Wooing the ladies with your knowledge of rare moss varieties.”

He snorts. “Something like that.”

“I think that’s cool. Getting back on the horse. Taking the bull by the horns. Other animal-related motivational stuff.”

“Please, shut up.”

“Do you know what she looks like?” Not that looks are super important, but I’m sort of curious about this woman because since I’ve known him he’s only ever dated Faye. I wonder if she looks like Faye.

“Yeah, we’ve FaceTimed each other.”

“So, she’s pretty?”

“Yes, she’s pretty,” he says, exasperated.

“And she has a good personality?”

“Yes, she’s really smart and we have a lot in common.”

“So, if she’s pretty and cool, then why are you acting like you’re being forced to visit her against your will?”

“Because I feel ridiculous. Flying to a foreign country for someone I’ve only been talking to for a few months.”

“I think it sounds romantic, like something out of a movie.” Maybe I should take a page out of his book and forget the dating apps and scout out r/bakedgoods instead.

“So, you agree that I am trying to live out some cliché fantasy?”

“That’s not what I mean. What’s the worst that could happen?” When Andrew is spiraling like this, you have to talk him through a worst-case scenario.

“She murders me.”

Maybe that wasn’t the best line of questioning. “She won’t murder you. Just don’t touch any mysterious ferns or whatever you two are probably into.”

“I guess if it’s too awkward, I can just come back home.”

I already see him forming an escape plan. “Don’t talk yourself out of a potential great time before you even get there. If you’ve gotten good vibes from her so far, you should have nothing to worry about.”

“I guess you’re right. I need to stop overthinking it.”

“Does Faye know?” I blurt out the question before I even have a chance to think that it might a weird thing to ask.

“About?”

“About plant girl. Emma.”

“No. Do you think I should have told her?”

If I were Faye, would I want to know my ex was off to frolic in a field of tulips with his cute new Dutch girlfriend?

“I guess not. Are you two on good terms?”

“We still text sometimes. I saw her yesterday for the first time in a while. We didn’t talk too long, but we’re on as good of terms as we’re going to be, I think.”

On Friday afternoon she seemed a little tired, almost sad, to me. I think that’s why I wanted to make her laugh so badly and experience the satisfaction of distracting her for a few seconds.

“Just asking, since she and I are working together now. Don’t want to break some kind of code by talking to her.”

“There’s no code. I mean, it’s fine if you talk to her.”

“Do you think you two would ever work things out?” I’ve been wondering this ever since he told me they broke up.

This is one detail I can’t stand not knowing anymore.

Is this trip just his way of going off and experiencing something new, before he comes back and realizes what he needed was back here all along?

“No.” He pauses for a few seconds. “Or . . . I don’t know. Seeing her again . . . brought back some feelings. We’ll see how this trip goes.”

If he’s saying maybe, that means he might be keeping that option open. And that’s answer enough for me. I need to get my mind out of the Faye gutter.

My cap feels tight suddenly. I take it off to adjust it. “You’re good with me being friends with her?”

“Of course. She could probably use a friend. She doesn’t put herself out there much, you know?”

That’s what we’ll be, then. Friends.

I stand up, eager to get up and do something. “Ready to go?” I ask.