Page 36 of Regretting You

Chapter Twenty-Two

Clara

It was a long weekend. Lexie and Miller both worked late shifts.

Other than sitting with Miller during his break Saturday night and spending two hours on the phone with him last night, I haven’t seen him.

I haven’t seen much of my mother either.

After Friday night’s weirdness, she spent all day Saturday on the computer applying for jobs.

I spent most of Sunday in my room catching up on homework.

I’m later than usual when I get to Jonah’s class. I’m the last one to arrive before the bell rings, so I’m surprised when Jonah approaches my desk and kneels in front of it. He usually doesn’t pay me individual attention in front of other students.

“How’s your mother?”

I shrug. “Good, I guess. Why?”

“She didn’t return my texts this weekend. I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”

I lean forward, not wanting anyone else to hear what I’m about to say. “I came home Friday night, and she was sitting in the front yard, crying. It was weird. Sometimes I think she’s on the verge of a breakdown.”

He looks concerned. “Did she say why she was crying?”

I look around, and everyone is talking, not paying attention to us. “I didn’t ask. She cries more than she doesn’t, so I just stopped asking her about it.”

The bell rings, so Jonah returns to his desk. But he seems distracted as he starts to explain the lesson for the day. He looks tired. He looks like he’s over it.

It disappoints me a little. Sometimes I feel like being an adult is so much easier than being a teenager, because you should have it all figured out as an adult.

You’re more emotionally mature, so you can handle crises better.

But seeing Jonah right now as he tries to pretend he’s not distracted, and watching my mother try to navigate her life as if her will still exists, is all the proof I need that grown-ups might not have their shit figured out any more than we do. They just wear more-convincing masks.

That disappoints me.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I wait until Jonah’s back is to the classroom before pulling my phone out and setting it on my desk. I swipe the screen and read Miller’s text.

Miller: I’m off work today. Want to work on the video submission?

Me: Yes, but I really don’t want to be around my mother right now. Can we do it at your house?

Miller: Sure. Come over around 5. I need to take Gramps to the doctor at 3 so I won’t see you after school.

Miller is on the porch waiting for me when I pull into his driveway at ten after five. He jogs toward my car and hops into the passenger seat before I even have time to get out.

“Gramps is asleep,” he says. “Let’s go to Munchies first and let him rest for a while.”

“What’s Munchies?”

Miller looks at me like I’ve just blown his mind. “You’ve never been to Munchies? The food truck?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

He’s completely taken aback. “You mean you’ve never had the Mac?”

“Is that a food?”

He laughs and pulls on his seat belt. “Is that a food ,” he mimics. “I hope you’re hungry, because you’re about to have the best experience of your life.”

Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting at a picnic table, staring at the camera Miller propped up with a tripod right before he went to order our food.

It’s pointed right at me. He said he’s going to start filming random things when we’re together because it’ll be good for the film project to have extra footage.

Or B-roll , as Miller referred to it. He already talks like a director sometimes.

He told me never to stare directly at the camera because we need to pretend it’s not there, so of course I stare at it and make faces the entire time he’s in line at the food truck.

I’ve honestly never seen Miller this enthusiastic over something. I’m actually more jealous of the sandwich than I’ve ever been of Shelby. He’s that excited about it. Apparently, the Mac is a grilled cheese sandwich stuffed with macaroni and cheese that was boiled in holy water.

Okay, so holy water isn’t really an ingredient, but with the way he talks about it, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were.

When he approaches the table, he sets the tray in front of me, kneeling down on one knee like he’s presenting a queen with a gift. I laugh and pull the tray from him, grabbing one of the sandwiches.

He sits next to me, rather than across from me, and straddles the bench. I like it. I like how much he wants to be near me.

When our sandwiches are unwrapped, he waits to take a bite of his because he wants to watch my reaction to my first bite. I bring the sandwich to my mouth. “I feel pressured to like it now.”

“You’re gonna love it.”

I take a bite and then rest my arms on the table while I chew. It’s delicious. Not only is it the crispiest, most buttery toast I’ve ever tasted, but the mac and cheese is so warm and gooey I feel like rolling my eyes.

But I shrug because I like teasing him. “It’s okay.”

He leans forward in disbelief. “It’s ... okay ?”

I nod. “Tastes like a sandwich.”

“We’re breaking up.”

“Bread’s a little stale.”

“I hate you.”

“Cheese tastes processed.”

He sets his sandwich down, grabs his phone, and opens Instagram. “I’m unfollowing you again.”

I laugh after swallowing my first bite and then peck him on his cheek. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

He grins. “Promise?”

I nod. Then I shake my head. “It’s second to how you taste after eating suckers.”

“Good enough for me.” He picks up his sandwich and takes a bite. He groans, and the sound he makes causes me to redden a little. I don’t think he notices, because he tears off a miniscule piece of bread and reaches across the table, placing it next to an ant. The ant eventually carries it away.

Miller kisses my cheek, then takes another bite of his sandwich. “You thought about what kind of film we’re going to make?”

I shake my head and wipe my lips with a napkin. He reaches up and brushes something away from my mouth with his thumb.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” he says.

“We have three months.”

“That’s not a lot of time. It’s a lot of work.”

“Dang,” I say with a sarcastic undertone. “Guess that means we’re gonna have to spend a lot of time together.”

He’s holding his sandwich with one hand and rubbing my leg with his other while we eat. He’s super affectionate. And he’s not afraid to kiss me in public. Or in front of a camera.

I suspect we’ll be getting detention more than once this year.

“Stop looking at it,” he says, referring to the camera.

“I can’t help it,” I say, looking away. “It’s just right there in our faces.”

“And you want to be an actress?”

I nudge him with my elbow. “That’s different. This”—I wave to the camera—“is awkward.”

“Get used to it because I want a lot of footage to work with. I want to win this year. Last time I submitted, we got fourth place.”

“In the whole region?”

“The state.”

“What? Miller, that’s fantastic!”

He shrugs. “Not really. Fourth place cut deep. They only post the top three finalists to YouTube. No one cares about fourth place. I decided me and you are going for gold.” He leans in and kisses me, then pulls back and takes another bite of his sandwich.

“Does it bother you that I kiss you so much?” He’s talking with his mouth full, but it’s kind of adorable.

“What a strange thing for a person to be bothered by. Of course not.”

“Good.”

“I like that you’re an affectionate person.”

He shakes his head, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “That’s just it, though. I’m not. I wasn’t like this with Shelby.”

“Why is it different with me?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure that out. I just crave you more than I’ve ever craved anything in my life.”

That comment makes me smile, but I raise a teasing eyebrow. “I don’t know, Miller. You were pretty damn stoked for your sandwich.”

He has half a sandwich still left to eat, but as soon as I say that, he stands up and walks over to a nearby trash can and tosses it inside. He sits back down. “That sandwich meant nothing to me. I’d take your tongue in my mouth over that sandwich any day.”

I crinkle up my nose and pull back. “Was that supposed to be sexy? Because it wasn’t.”

He laughs and pulls me closer to him, pressing his mouth to mine. It’s not a sweet kiss, though. This one is full of tongue. And ... bread .

I push him away. “You still have food in your mouth!” I fake gag and take a sip of my drink.

His drink is already empty, so he takes mine from me and drinks some of it.

A moment later, he looks longingly over at the trash can and sighs. “I threw it away to make a point, but I really wanted to eat the rest of it.” He looks back at me. “Would it be gross if I dug it back out of the trash?”

I laugh. “Yes. And I’d never kiss you again.” I slide him the rest of my sandwich. “Here. You can eat the rest of mine. I’m not even hungry.”

He takes my sandwich and eats it, then finishes off my drink.

He gathers all the trash and throws it away, then returns to the picnic table and straddles the bench again, sliding me closer to him.

He presses his forehead to mine and smiles, then pulls back, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear.

“I think I’m psychic. I knew we would be good together, Clara. ”

“You aren’t psychic. We’ve been together for less than a week. It could go downhill before tomorrow.”

“It won’t, though. I have a good feeling about us.”

“That’s just attraction. It’s not a sixth sense.”

“You think that’s all this is? Attraction?”

“What else would it be? We barely know each other.”

“I gave up half a sandwich for you. That’s way more than attraction.”

I laugh at his persistence. “You’re right. That was a pretty grand gesture.” I lean in and kiss him, but when I start to pull back, he moves forward, unwilling to break the kiss. I turn my body toward him and lean into his mouth.