One Week by Nikki Van De Car

“That’s kind of brave, that’s all. You know, completely cutting yourself off from everyone.”
    I look at him suspiciously to see if he’s trying to make up for his rude and undeserved comments earlier.
    “I’ve never been able to do that,” he continues. “You called me a mama’s boy—”
    “I didn’t exactly say that…” I interrupt.
    “I know, but that’s what you meant. And I got a lot of shit about it at school too, for calling home and checking in all the time. I felt like I had to—my mom has four more kids at home, and I’m the oldest and was always around to help out and stuff. It’s been hard on her having to do everything on her own, plus having to pay for my room and board.”
    “You got a scholarship though, right?” I ask.
    “Yeah. And I have…I guess, had a job, but it didn’t cover everything. So even before my giant fuckup, I called all the time. But maybe it wasn’t so much for my mom and my brothers and sisters as it was for me. Like maybe I couldn’t let go of them either.” Jess looks away from me, and I realize suddenly that most of the time he looks right at me when he’s talking to me.
    I want to ask him what that must be like—to have family that you feel so close to that you want to talk to them, to help them out. But I don’t really know how to say it, and I feel like I’d sound all self-pitying if I tried. And then it’s too late, and the waiter comes with Jess’s mystery vegetable medley.
    Jess looks at them and sniffs uncertainly.
    “Would you like anything?” the waiter asks me.
    “Um, I’ll have the pasta. Thank you.”
    “That was probably the better choice,” Jess says as he stabs a piece of eggplant with his fork. “I’m not sure when these vegetables were last in the ground. Maybe a year ago.”
    I smile at him uncertainly. Does this mean we’re cool now? Jess didn’t exactly take back what he’d said, or implied anyway, about me being a spoiled little rich girl. But then again, I figure people don’t just go around talking about their family and their problems with someone they don’t have any respect for. Or maybe they do. Maybe Jess does. I don’t, anyway.
    “Want some?” Jess holds out his fork. I look at the grey, limp mushroom—at least, I think it’s a mushroom—and wrinkle my nose.
    “No, thanks.”
    I keep him company while he finishes his dinner, and then he keeps me company while I choke down mine.
    “Uh, do you want to come hang out in the roomette?” I ask hesitantly.
    Jess grins. “I thought you’d never ask. Let me just swing by my seat and grab my bag.” He signals the waiter for the check, and then looks at me expectantly.
    “What?” I ask.
    “Do you think I could have the rest of my eighty bucks now? I’ll buy your pasta, but I need your money to do it.”
    I dig into my purse for my wallet, blushing. I can’t believe I never paid him. I’m usually really good about stuff like that. I hand him the money, and insist on buying my own dinner.
     “You already bought me a cheeseburger,” I remind him. “In fact, I should take this one.”
     “No way,” Jess says firmly. “If you’re going to buy me dinner, it had better be something better than this.”
    We end up splitting it, though Jess spends the hike back to the roomette speculating on which New York restaurant he should have me take him to when we finally get there. I do my best to ignore him.
    “Wow,” Jess says after I unlock the door. “This is the smallest room that has ever existed. Except for maybe those pods in Tokyo.”
    “It doesn’t even qualify as a room,” I agree.
    “Which is why they call it a roomette, I guess.” Jess takes the seat opposite the one I’d spent the afternoon in, and immediately the roomette feels infinitely smaller than it already was. I have to squeeze past him to sit down, and since Jess is slouching down, there’s no way for me to sit without our knees touching.
    Jess spots my book, and grabs it before I