The Moon and More(74)
Author: Sarah Dessen

“So you made popcorn and got into my bed with your dirty shoes on.”

“My shoes aren’t dirty,” my sister, who knew better than to vouch for Morris, said. She held out the bowl to me. “Want some? It’s still warm.”

I glared at her. Then I remembered I’d skipped lunch because of Margo. Experience had taught me that I really only had the energy to be annoyed with one sister at a time, so I took a handful. “I’m still not happy about this.”

“I know,” she said, as if she’d had nothing to do with it. Morris, beside her, helped himself to some more as well. “Why are you home so early?”

“I told you,” Morris said. “She’s got a date.”

“She always has a date these days,” Amber told him, like I wasn’t even there. Then she tossed her fake hair, a move she’d clearly been practicing. “She’s seeing a dater.”

“A dater?” I repeated, getting my towel and stepping into the bathroom. The door was superthin, so I could still hear every word.

“A guy who likes to date,” she explained, chewing. “As opposed to one who just wants to hang out.”

“What’s the difference?” Morris asked.

“Do you plan extravagant events and outings that make for special moments?” she asked him.

“What do you think?” I called out, stripping off my shirt.

“Exactly,” Amber said. “A dater likes dates. Theo’s a dater. The guys I get involved with just like to hang out. Preferably with cheap beer or video games involved. Ideally, both.”

“What’s wrong with video games?” Morris said.

“They’re passive. Dating is active. Which means you don’t do it sitting on the couch.” I heard her eat another handful of popcorn. “Which is why I, myself, am not a dater. I like the couch. And the beer and video games. And I love the boys who love them.”

Usually, I found Amber’s theories to be far-fetched, if not outright ludicrous. But this one, I realized as I started the water, was not so off. Theo was the planner, the cruise director of our relationship. He planned, he paid, he engineered the Best Memories Ever. And on days like this, especially, I was really fortunate to have him.

When I got out of the shower, my sister had vanished, leaving just Morris and the now-empty bowl of popcorn. “Where’s the dating expert?”

“Went to get another Diet Coke,” he replied, studiously avoiding looking at me, even though I was wearing a towel that covered everything. Having a guy for a best friend required certain modifications, especially when it came to undressing. But Morris and I had been best friends a long time. Like me and Daisy, we had our rituals.

I grabbed my clothes, then went back into the bathroom, leaving the door only a crack open. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Wanted to talk to you.”

I raised my eyebrows at my own reflection. “About what?”

“Daisy.”

“Oh.” This sounded serious. “Okay. I’ll just be a sec.”

I got dressed, then combed my wet hair, put on some makeup, and dug my nicer sandals out from behind the hamper. When I returned, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his phone. I joined him, then waited. Morris talked, as he did everything, at his own pace and on his own schedule. Finally he said, “I have to break up with her.”

“Excuse me?”

“Daisy. I have to break up with her.”

“Why?” I turned to face him, narrowing my eyes. “I swear to God. If you fooled around with another girl—”

“Of course not.” He sat back, leaning on his palms. “She’s going to college in, like, four weeks. Once she gets there, she’ll want nothing to do with her stupid loser high school boyfriend.”

I felt a pang just hearing this. “Morris. Don’t—”

“We both know it’s the truth,” he said, cutting me off. “And Daisy’s so sweet, she’d feel like crap having to dump me, especially long-distance. She’d be miserable. Someone’s gotta be the bad guy. I’m better at it.”

I bit my lip, thinking of Daisy studying her dress dummy, acknowledging in her own way how far-fetched their chances of staying together were. Different languages, same message.

“She’s not leaving yet,” I told him quietly.

“But she will.” He cleared his throat. “It’s like Amber said. She needs a dater, and I’m a couch guy. That’s never gonna change.”

“You don’t know that.” He made a face, doubting this. “You don’t. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But even that’s not long enough to be the person she deserves. I just think it’s probably time to let her get started finding whoever that is.”

It was the most twisted, sad, Morris-esque logic. And yet I understood it completely. Some people—like myself and Theo, say—would let the flame burn as long as possible, squelching it only when it was just about going to go out anyway. But Morris, despite his lack of long-term goals, still had a way of seeing the bigger view.

I could hear Amber coming back down the stairs. Aware he probably didn’t want this public conversation or knowledge, I said, “So when are you going to do it?”

“I don’t know.” He looked down at his hands. “All I’m sure of is that it’s gonna really suck.”

I reached over and squeezed his hand. “You’re a good guy, Morris.”

“Naw, I’m an asshole,” he replied, pushing himself to his feet. “But at least this time I can say I have a good reason.”

Again, this made me think of Daisy, and her white lie about the dresses. We were willing to do so much for the people we loved, even if it meant hurting ourselves. Maybe that, in the end, was what love—all kinds—was really all about.

Amber came back in, carrying a can of Diet Coke, which she popped as she crossed the threshold. When she saw Morris headed for the door, she said, “Don’t leave on my account.”

“This isn’t your room,” I pointed out.

“Gotta go,” he told her. To me he said, “Talk later?”

“Talk later.”

He left, and a moment later I heard the door fall shut behind him.

“I told him to take his shoes off,” Amber informed me. “Just so you know.”

“And yet, you kept yours on.”