For two weeks that January, Lukus wouldn’t speak to me. It was agony. He got to the point where he could say a polite hello, but there was nothing beyond that. If I happened to catch him walking to class, he would acknowledge me, but his pace would quicken. I tried to subtly interrogate his new roommate, Andrew, who informed me that Lukus was heartbroken and too hurt to be around me.
Wait a minute….he was heartbroken? Where did he get off being heartbroken?! I simply said I wanted to slow down a bit and spend part of my time trying other things, and he snubs me and HE’S heartbroken!?! The nerve!
I took the problem to my parents, who lived a mile down the street from school. But they weren’t home. Gone for the weekend. I let myself into their apartment and spent the whole weekend eating junk food, watching B movies and spending ridiculous amounts of hours sprawled across their giant bed while singing sad ’80s love songs. When they finally got home, and after my mom told me to “please go take shower, do something about that breath, and clean up the cookie crumbs from out of our bed,” I laid the situation out to them.
When I finished my sad tale, my dad says, “So…you…broke up with him?” My mom, incredulous, says, “No honey. Where did you get that from? She just wanted to slow things down a bit.” My dad says, “Oh, sounded to me like you broke up with him. That’s how I would’ve taken it if I were him.”
LIGHTBULB!!! Break = Break-up to a guy!
“So…what do I do now? He hates me. He doesn’t want to talk to me,” I asked.
“Why don’t you let us see what we can do,” my mom replied. “We?” my dad says.
I still don’t know what they said to Lukus. I know he went over to their apartment. I know that they talked a while. But most importantly, I know that there was a bouquet of roses accompanied by a fancy chocolate box inside my car on Valentine’s Night with a beautiful letter written regaling Lukus’ undying love for me – his best friend.
I thanked him, of course, with a kiss. Or two. Or more. I stopped counting.
