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Part 2

The Way I Am Now (The Way I Used to Be, #2)

JOSH

Iโ€™m sitting behind the front desk at the athletic center, scanning in a student ID every few minutes, making sure the picture in the database matches the person entering the building. The afternoon sun is streaming in through floor-to-ceiling windows, making me tired.

Fridays are always dead here, especially during summer sessions, so I finally have a chance to study. Iโ€™m wading my way through the chapter on research methods for my psych class, when I hear Coachโ€™s telltale key chain jingling down the hall. I straighten up, take a sip of coffee, try to look more alert than I am.

As he walks up to the desk, he says, โ€œBright and early Monday morning, yes?โ€

โ€œYes,โ€ I agree, โ€œsee you Monday.โ€ โ€œTell your father hello for me,โ€ he adds.

โ€œWill do, thanks, Coach. Have a good weekend.โ€

Iโ€™ve almost earned my way back into my coachโ€™s good graces. He got me this work-study position for the summer, I think, mostly to keep tabs on me. Heโ€™s tried hard to make sure thereโ€™s been no time for study, no time for anything, except working my ass off to prove myself. Which has meant basically being errand boy for the whole department. Someone needs lunch, I go get it. A visiting bigwig donor or VIP needs to be picked up at the airport, Iโ€™m their chauffeur. Gym equipment needs cleaning, Iโ€™m the janitor. Struggling athlete requires tutorโ€”thatโ€™s me too. He did at least let me take the weekend to go home; I told him it was a family thing, and I was thankful he didnโ€™t press me for details.

I guess I deserve the punishment, considering what I did.

But every morning when my alarm goes off at the crack of dawn for practice, I have this tug-of-war in my head. Between the part of me that

I’m aware Iโ€™m fortunate to have this opportunity and I want to honor my commitment. I accepted the scholarship and joined this team, and I know it makes my dad proud. But part of me just wants to sleep in sometimes, to experience college as a regular student focused on education rather than a game I rarely enjoy.

Most guys on the team only take three classes each semester because there arenโ€™t enough hours in the day, but Iโ€™ve pushed myself to take four this year, despite my adviserโ€™s advice. This summer, Iโ€™m aiming to squeeze in at least two more classes; otherwise, I risk extending my time in college, and I really donโ€™t want to keep playing longer than necessary.

I knew there would be sacrifices and pressure, but feeling so burned out after two years, with still more to go, makes me want to walk away from it allโ€”basketball, school, everything. This morning, though, my psychology professor asked me something that stuck with me: she wanted to know if Iโ€™d consider declaring a minor this fall.

โ€œA minor?โ€ I echoed, surprisedโ€”Iโ€™ve barely declared a major. Sports medicine was Bellaโ€™s idea during freshman year, and it seemed like a logical choice at the time since she was pre-med and made a strong case.

โ€œA minor in psychology,โ€ Dr. Gupta clarified when she noticed my confusion. โ€œYouโ€™ve already completed all the prerequisites.โ€ I realized I had taken two of her classes and another psychology course last semester to meet my social science requirement. With my AP Psychology credits from high school, I didnโ€™t need any introductory courses to start in psych. Iโ€™ve always been interested in the subject, but it wasnโ€™t part of a bigger planโ€”it just kind of happened. So, I didnโ€™t know how to respond.

โ€œThink about it,โ€ she told me. โ€œLet me know if you have questions.โ€

But now that Iโ€™m sitting here, really thinking about it all, Bellaโ€™s argument was mainly thatย Iย played a sport andย sheย was studying medicine, so we would be able to take some classes together.

I take my phone outโ€”she texted me at the beginning of the week. The first time Iโ€™ve heard from her since we broke up in December. She wrote:

Are you on campus for the summer? Want to get a drink sometime, catch up?

Iโ€™ve been putting off responding because Iโ€™d feel bad if I said no, but if I said yes, I can foresee what would happen. Sheโ€™d take me back even though I hurt her, and Iโ€™d let myself go along with it because we made sense on paper. And that rational part of me, the one that keeps my commitments even when I donโ€™t want to, does sometimes wonder if I threw away a good thing with her. It wonders what wouldโ€™ve happened if I hadnโ€™t answered Edenโ€™s call that night. Iโ€™m 99 percent sure Bella and I would still be together and I wouldnโ€™t have found out about what happened to Eden and Iโ€™d be blissfully ignorant about my dadโ€™s relapse and I never wouldโ€™ve screwed up basketball last winter, and these last seven months wouldโ€™ve been smooth sailing, everything going as planned.

But even as I reread her text now, Iโ€™m reminded of the things off paper that didnโ€™t work.

She asked if I wanted to get a drink because she doesnโ€™t even know I donโ€™t like to drink. Because Iโ€™d never told her. And I never told her because then sheโ€™d ask why and Iโ€™d also have to tell her about my dad and how the handful of times Iโ€™ve been drinking in my life, Iโ€™ve drunk way too much and ended up massively regretting it and being terrified that Iโ€™m more like my dad in that way than I want to admit. Because even though we lived together and we got along and I genuinely liked herโ€”loved her, I thoughtโ€” there still were things I could never say to her. Not like Eden.

I leave Bellaโ€™s text sitting there and switch over to Edenโ€™s text from this morning, the one that made me literally laugh out loud in the locker room.

At work rn, perfecting the art of latte foam design

She sent a picture of a wide-rimmed mug with the Bean logo from back homeโ€”sheโ€™d mentioned a couple of weeks ago she got a job there.

I know, I know. a lot of baristas go for the obvious heart or rosette, but my signature shape is . . . the blob.

Itโ€™s very blobby (sp?). Starbucks has nothin on the Bean

thank you.

iโ€™ll make you my special vanilla blob latte next time youโ€™re here

I keep debating whether I should tell her Iโ€™ll be home this weekend. We never did see each other again over spring break. She called, left me a voice mail, which I listened to way too many times over the last few months. She told me she wanted to see me. I gave her excusesโ€”lost phone, broke phone, got sick, had to get a new phone, got busy, had to leave earlyโ€”none of which were lies, exactly, even if I felt like they were.

Sheโ€™s been texting pretty regularly, but itโ€™s all light and airy surface stuff like our communication is suddenly quantity over quality. Itโ€™s never been this way with her before. I feel like something has changed but I donโ€™t know what or why, and Iโ€™m too scared to ask her about it. Thankfully, she doesnโ€™t talk aboutย Steve, at least. I donโ€™t think I could handle that yet . . . or ever.

I leave for home the next morning, stop for gas at the gas station I always stop at, twenty miles into the five-hour drive. I look up at the number on the pump. Two. The exact one I used the last time I was driving home, back in December.

It was snowing that afternoon when she called the first time and hung up. I was on my way to practice. She called and hung up four times in a row. I

deleted her number from my phone years ago, but I could tell it was her from one breath.

I tried to put it out of my mind as best as I could, but then later that night, we were sitting at our kitchen table, books all spread out, studying for finals, when her next call interrupted us. I answered, but she hung up again, three times.

โ€œWhat the hell?โ€ Bella said, telling me on the fourth call, โ€œJust ignore it.โ€ But I couldnโ€™t. โ€œEden, is this you?โ€ I answered.

And then she hung up on me again.

โ€œEden, as in your ex-girlfriend Eden?โ€ Bella asked, setting her highlighter down in the binding of her textbook. โ€œWhat doesย sheย want?โ€

I shook my head and stood from the table. I called her back. I was getting so mad while I waited for her to answer and I didnโ€™t even really know why

โ€”because Bella was getting upset or because I was starting to care whether I heard her voice or not.

She answered but still wouldnโ€™t say anything, and Bella was right there listening, so I told her not to call back. But then I was immediately relieved when she called a second later anyway.

โ€œIs she stalking you or something?โ€ Bella hissed, sounding meaner than Iโ€™d ever heard her before. โ€œDoย notย answer that, Joshโ€” sheโ€™s messing with you.โ€

But I did. And when she finally spoke, her voice nearly crushed me. She didnโ€™t sound right at all. She kept saying โ€œI cared.โ€ I didnโ€™t know what she meant, but then she repeated it. โ€œI cared about you. I always cared about you.โ€

Sheโ€™d never said that to me before, and hearing it now, this way, it scared me.

โ€œDid you know?โ€ she asked. โ€œDid you know I cared?โ€

I didnโ€™t know what to say, so I told her the truth. โ€œSometimes.โ€

She went off about all these random things sheโ€™d lied to me about and what a horrible person she was and how much she hated herself and how I should hate her too. She was being so cryptic and erratic and I was really hoping it was just that sheโ€™d been drinking or something, but when I asked her that, she laughed and said no, and I could tell she was starting to cry.

Something was wrong. I didnโ€™t know what, but I knew she wasnโ€™t messing around. I tried to keep her on the phone, but I could feel her getting

farther and farther away with every word I said to her. I asked her what she needed, how I could help.

โ€œYou canโ€™t,โ€ she cried.

I started getting more than scared because she was winding down, or maybe winding up; either way, I was losing her, quickly. She was saying things like โ€œIโ€™m sorryโ€ and โ€œI shouldnโ€™t have called,โ€ and I tried to tell her it was okay but it was like she couldnโ€™t even hear me anymore.

โ€œI just miss you so much sometimes, and I wanted you to know that I cared. I really did,โ€ she said so quietly I had to cover my other ear just so I could hear her. โ€œAnd there wasnโ€™t anyone else. Ever. I hope youโ€™ll believe me.โ€

โ€œWait, Eden,โ€ I yelled, because I knewโ€”she was done. โ€œDonโ€™t hang up,โ€ I said, even though it was too late.

Bella was watching me as I paced our tiny apartment, frantically trying to call Eden back, leaving message after message. Weโ€™d been together for over a yearโ€”I was planning on taking her home with me over winter break to meet my parentsโ€”but sheโ€™d never seen me like this.

โ€œCalm down,โ€ she kept saying. โ€œYouโ€™re really overreacting right now.โ€ But I couldnโ€™t calm down. And I wasnโ€™t overreacting.

โ€œYou donโ€™t still love her,โ€ she said at first, suppressing a laugh. She didnโ€™t say it like a question, though; she was telling me.ย Of course, youโ€™re not still in love with a girl in high school who was never really your girlfriend in the first place. I was trying to tell myself that same thing. I could go months without having her even cross my mind. I was over her. But if that were really true, then how was it that she could call out of the blue after years, and I just crumble at the sound of her voice?

โ€œYouโ€™re not,โ€ she repeated when I didnโ€™t answer. โ€œJosh?โ€

โ€œWhat, God?โ€ I snapped at her, another thing sheโ€™d never seen me do before.

โ€œHey, donโ€™t yell at me,โ€ she said, standing from the table. She walked over and stood directly in the path of my pacing, studying me. โ€œWhy are you freaking out over this?โ€

โ€œBella, just give me some space. You donโ€™t understand. Something is seriously wrong, okay?โ€

โ€œWell, help me understand, then.โ€ So practical, she waited, standing there in front of me, like I couldย explainย Eden to her. Like this was one of our

Advanced Calculus problems we could figure out if we just put our minds together. But I could never explain Eden to anyone, not even myself.

โ€œOkay,โ€ Bella said, crossing her arms as I stood there, silent. โ€œI canโ€™t believe I have to ask you this, but is there something going on with you and her?โ€

โ€œBella, come onโ€ was the best defense I could muster. Because of course there was something going on with us, there always had been. We never ended. We barely began.

โ€œItโ€™s not a trick question, Josh, just tell me the truth,โ€ she demanded.

The truth was too complicated, though, to be able to tell Bella, who, I was just realizing at that moment, didnโ€™t understand thatย Iย was complicated too.

But the truth about us was also simple. Eden was angry and I was sad, and we shouldnโ€™t have worked but we did. We worked like we werenโ€™t too damaged to work. Maybe only sometimes, when other things werenโ€™t getting in the way. Like all that sadness, all that anger. And other people and bad timing and petty teenager shit. Of course, there were also her lies. The secrets I always knew she was keeping from me.

But in spite of all that, I called her back anyway. I left my girlfriend in our new apartment in the middle of the nightโ€”in the middle of a fightโ€” anyway. I remember thinking, even at the moment, I shouldnโ€™t be willing to throw everything away for her. I shouldnโ€™t be able to not listen when my girlfriend cries actual tears, pleading with me to stay. To feel her pulling my arm and to keep going anyway. To hear her, and believe her, when she gives me the first and last ultimatum of our relationship: โ€œDonโ€™t you dare go to her, not if you want to come back here.โ€ And to not even be able to say Iโ€™m sorry and mean it. To close the door on her and get in my car anyway.

All because she called me. All because I was scared. Scared because it had suddenly occurred to me that maybe I was now the one who was angry and sheโ€™d turned sadโ€”tooย sad, maybe.

I left her a voice mail while I stood here at the gas station, in this spot, freezing, in the middle of the night. I told her I was coming and then I prayed to all the gods in all the universes that by the time the tank was full, sheโ€™d have called me back and told me to turn around. I wanted her to be lying. I wanted her to call me back and tell me she was fine. She didnโ€™t need me. She didnโ€™t care. She never did.

I wanted to believe that her phone call was not her saying goodbyeโ€”in a permanent way. Because, of the many things I was not sure about when it came to her, I was sure about that. She was capable of it. I donโ€™t know why I knew that, but I just did. And even though Iโ€™d gone without her for so long, I didnโ€™t know if I could go on without her in the world.

โ€œPlease, Eden,โ€ I whispered, the words coming out in a white cloud of cold. โ€œJust fucking call.โ€

 

 

The gas lever pops, and Iโ€™m suddenly thrust back into the daylight, into the heat, the sun beating down on my neck and shoulders. I look down at my arms, goose bumps rising on my flesh, a shiver running down my spine.

I transfer the pump back into the cradle and watch as the numbers on the screen flash and reset to zero. I take a breath and try to shake off the cold I didnโ€™t realize was still lingering in my bones from that night.

I get in the car and pull out my phone to text Bella back:

I donโ€™t think meeting up would be a good idea for me. But I hope youโ€™re doing well, Bella. Iโ€™m sorry.

EDEN

The applications were garbage, I knew that. I submitted identical materials to every school, complete with a stupid boilerplate cookie-cutter essay my guidance counselor practically wrote for me, checking all the boxes, she said, of what these schools are looking for. I remember thinking, fleetingly,ย What about what Iโ€™m looking for?

All except for the one application I didnโ€™t think would matter.

For that one, I wrote something that probably shouldโ€™ve been locked in a journal somewhere away from the world. It was part apology to myself, part love letter to Josh, part victim impact statement to anyone who would listen

. . . all in the form of my essay to the admissions office at Tucker Hill University. It was overly precious and overly honest and dripping with metaphor and too many shiny words, but I was proud of it. All about second chances and lost time and regrets and feeling hopeful about the future. And I believed, I wrote with such confidence, that my future was there.

I meant it when I wrote it. It was a shot in the dark, a wish that was unlikely to come true. And the improbability of it actually happening made me feel brave enough to try.

It was the very end of January, and I was flying high off the knowledge that Kevin had been arrested and people seemed to believe me and I still thought that counted for something. I thought heโ€™d soon be locked up and out of my lifeโ€”out ofย allย our livesโ€” for good. I felt free. Josh and I had been talking again, before I left school, before Steve, before things got so much harder. And so I cranked out that essay in the eleventh hour. I had no idea that months later, still nothing wouldโ€™ve happened to move anything forward with the trial or that Iโ€™d be feeling less free, less hopeful, with every day that passed.

I had no idea how any of this legal stuff worked, so when DA Silverman and our court-appointed advocate, Lane, explained that it wasnโ€™t going to just be a trial that consisted of me, alone, against him, that it was the state against him and I was just one piece of something bigger, I felt so relieved. Almost powerful. Protected even. Because it was three against oneโ€”me and Amanda and Genniferโ€”finally the odds felt fair. Strength in numbers. I imagined the three of us walking into some fancy courtroom like a gang or something from a movie poster: the ex-girlfriend, the little sister, and the girl next door, all tough and strong, arms locked in solidarity.

It was a nice dream.

But that feeling didnโ€™t last. Because, as DA Silverman and Lane made abundantly clear when they explained the whole evidence collecting, hearing, and trial process: under no circumstances were we allowed to talk to each other about anything related to the case, Kevin, or what happened to any of us. Because we could be accused of . . . Iโ€™m not sure what, lying, I guess, creating some mastermind narrative. Didnโ€™t they realize Kevin was the real mastermind behind it all in the first place?

I barely remember the person I was when I wrote that essay. I thought about it twenty-four-seven, for weeks, until the cold, blissful realization washed over me: I could stop hoping. One look at my transcripts would ensure no one would ever read it.

Which is why Iโ€™m having trouble processing the email Iโ€™m staring at on my phone. It says Iโ€™ve been taken off the wait list and am being offered admission. I read the words ten times, but I still donโ€™t understand them. This has to be some kind of mix-up.

I frantically search for their previous email.

Iโ€™d barely read it the first time. My eyes scanned for the word โ€œunfortunately,โ€ and then I immediately closed itโ€”never even looked at it again. But it wasnโ€™t a rejection. They told me I was waitlisted. I go back to todayโ€™s email. Yes, it clearly states:ย We are pleased to offer you admission for the fall semester.

โ€œOh my God,โ€ I whisper.

โ€œWhat?โ€ my brother, Caelin, says as he shuffles into the kitchen, where Iโ€™m standing frozen, with the microwave door still open, my burrito getting cold, still in my polo shirt and visor from the Bean, the scent of coffee clinging to my hair and my skin.

โ€œIโ€”I got in,โ€ I stammer, looking up at him. โ€œTo Tucker Hill University.โ€

โ€œHoly shit, Eeds.โ€ He smiles as I hand him my phone, and I realize how long itโ€™s been since Iโ€™ve seen him smile. โ€œSeriously, this is amazing. I didnโ€™t even know you applied there. Tucker Hill is a really decent school.โ€

โ€œI know. Which is why I thought Iโ€™d never get in in a million years.โ€

โ€œCongratulations,โ€ he says, and he holds his arms out like he might lean in to hug me, but then he stops short.

โ€œWell, but itโ€™s not like I can really go, can I? I mean, itโ€™s expensive and far awayโ€”โ€

โ€œEden, you have to go,โ€ he interrupts. โ€œItโ€™s really not that far away; itโ€™s not even out of state. Itโ€™s gotta be four or five hours, max.โ€

โ€œOkay, but itย isย expensive.โ€

โ€œOh, fuck money,โ€ he says, dismissively waving his hand through the air. โ€œThereโ€™s financial aid and scholarships, grants . . . loans.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s so soon, though. I donโ€™t have enough time to get ready, and with everything else going on.โ€ The trial is supposed to start in the fall, which we havenโ€™t discussed, the two of us. What itโ€™ll be like for him to see his former best friend like that . . . his sister.

โ€œYeah, thatโ€™s all the more reason you should get out of hereโ€” you can come back when you need to,โ€ he says, conveniently not sayingย for the trial. โ€œAnd you have over a month. Thatโ€™s plenty of time.โ€

โ€œMom and Dad wonโ€™t think this is a good idea at all. Me, being on my ownโ€”they donโ€™t even trust me to borrow a car to get to work. And thatโ€™s another thing . . . I donโ€™t have a car.โ€

โ€œStop, stop, okay?โ€ He brings his hands together like heโ€™s praying. โ€œFirst, since when do you give a shit what they think . . . or whatย Iย think, for that matter?โ€ He laughs, and so do I, because, of course, thatโ€™s true. โ€œAnd you can find a car. Hell, Iโ€™ll give you my car!โ€ he shouts. โ€œStop making excuses.โ€

โ€œYou need your car.โ€

โ€œWhat do I need a car for? Iโ€™m taking the semester off,โ€ he reminds me. โ€œYouโ€™re doing this.โ€

Iโ€™m trying to picture how any of it could work, how any of this is not crazy. I let out a laugh and cover my mouth, shaking my head as I look down at my phone again. I suddenly feel giddy and nauseated with the overwhelming sense of possibility blooming in my chest.

โ€œTucker Hill,โ€ Caelin says. โ€œIsnโ€™t that where Josh Miller goes?โ€ I nod slowly.

โ€œSo, does this mean you and him are like a thing again or . . . ?โ€ he asks awkwardly.

โ€œHe has a girlfriend,โ€ I hear myself automatically reply. Itโ€™s the sentence that has been constantly running through my mind for months, even if thatโ€™s not exactly what he asked. โ€œI mean, weโ€™re just friends,โ€ I conclude.

I bring my lukewarm burrito into my bedroom and close the door, open my laptop. I want a cigarette so badly, because Iโ€™m feeling all these emotions bubbling up, fear and excitement and joy and dread, all fighting for top billing.

But I take a breath, slowly in, slowly out, and I open my email, double- checking, as if the message wouldโ€™ve changed from my phone to my computer. It didnโ€™t. I follow the link to the English department grants and scholarships. English, Iโ€™d said my intended major was English. I try to picture myself there, as one of the people in these idyllic pictures online. Maybe I could be that girl there, sitting under a tree with a blanket and a book, reading. Or that kid smiling in the lecture hall. I could be in that group of people walking together, talking, laughingโ€”friends. I close my eyes and try to dream it: big buildings and vast libraries, living in a real city.

And then thereโ€™s the other part. I close my laptop. The Josh part. The whole Josh . . .ย thing, as Mara said the night of the concert.

Iโ€™m picking at the salad on my dinner plate that evening, trying to find the right time to bring it up. Caelin keeps looking over at me, waiting for me to say something. Mom is reading on her phone. Dad, who barely speaks to me these days, is hunched over his chicken, eating in silence, as usual.

โ€œSo,โ€ Caelin announces, โ€œEden got some really good news today.โ€

Mom looks up from her phone and brings her napkin to the corner of her mouth. โ€œGood news? We could use some good news around here.โ€

โ€œUh, yeah. So, it turns out I got into Tucker Hill University for the fall.โ€ โ€œWhat?โ€ Dad says, setting down his fork, looking back and forth between

me and Caelin like weโ€™ve been keeping some sort of secret. โ€œI just found out today,โ€ I add.

โ€œAnd you . . . want . . . to go?โ€ Mom asks, her words coming out slow and uncertain.

โ€œI mean . . . ,โ€ I begin, but just the way she said it makes me feel like I shouldnโ€™t want to go, like I donโ€™t have a right to want it.

Caelin interrupts. โ€œOf course she wants to go.โ€

โ€œRight, of course you do,โ€ Mom says, and I can feel aย butย coming next.

โ€œThis is a good thing,โ€ Caelin says in my defense, bolstering my resolve just a little bit.

โ€œYeah,โ€ I agree. โ€œWhy do I feel like Iโ€™m breaking bad news to you guys?โ€

โ€œNo, itโ€™s great news. Really,โ€ Mom says. โ€œJust somewhat unexpected.โ€ โ€œOkay,โ€ I scoff. โ€œAre you even happy for me at all?โ€

โ€œOf course!โ€ Mom says. โ€œYes, of course we are. Sorry, Iโ€™m just thinking of everything you have going on. You know, it finally seems like things are settling here for you, with yourย appointmentsย and your job and . . . and you have a routine. I just worry that a big change isnโ€™t what you need right now.โ€

โ€œOr itโ€™s exactly what I need. I already called my therapistโ€™s office and I can keep meeting with her over the phone. I can definitely find another part-time job making overpriced coffee. And I can come back for the hearing, if it even happensโ€”I mean, it could get postponed again. Why am I putting my whole life on hold?โ€

Dad sighs loudly, shaking his head.

โ€œWhat?โ€ Caelin asks our dad, and even I hear the challenge in his voice. Dad narrows his eyes at Caelin. โ€œExcuse me?โ€

โ€œI said the word โ€˜therapist,โ€™โ€ I mutter under my breath. โ€œI mentioned the hearingโ€”I know weโ€™re supposed to be acting like none of this is happening.โ€

โ€œEden,โ€ Mom says. โ€œNo one isโ€”โ€

But Dad interrupts her. โ€œSheโ€™s gonna do what she wants to do. Why even ask us?โ€

โ€œWho,ย me?โ€ I say loudly, Caelinโ€™s boldness catching, because Iโ€™m so sick of Dad not talking to me ever since this all came out, likeย Iย did something wrong. โ€œSo, you mean to say you actually want me here? Because you barely say two words to me.โ€

โ€œThis is . . . ,โ€ Dad starts, pushing away from the table, looking at Mom. โ€œSheโ€™s too young, Vanessa. Sheโ€™s too young to go away. This is,โ€ he repeats, โ€œthis is not happening.โ€

โ€œYou wonโ€™t even look at me, seriously?โ€ I shout.

โ€œEden,โ€ my mom says. โ€œCalm down.โ€ โ€œOh my God,โ€ Caelin mumbles.

โ€œWhat do you want me to do here?โ€ I ask, and Iโ€™m not even trying to control the volume of my voice now. โ€œWhat, work at the Bean for the rest of my life, take a community college class every once in a while. I am capable of doing things, you know. This is something I want. I donโ€™t know why youโ€™re being this way.โ€

Dad stands from the table now, heโ€™s walking toward the door, grabbing his car keys.

And I finally say the thing Iโ€™ve been holding back for the last seven months. โ€œYou think this is all my fault, donโ€™t you?โ€

He turns around, actually looks at me for the first time in months.

โ€œWell, I didnโ€™t ask for any of this to be happening. What Kevin did is not my fault, and Iโ€™m sick of you blaming me every single day!โ€ I shout.

โ€œYour father does not blame you.โ€ Mom stands up now too. โ€œConner, say it,โ€ she demands.

Caelin stands up too, looking at my dad, then at me, as he says, โ€œNo, he blames me, Eden.โ€ He pushes his chair in calmly and then goes to his room.

Dad turns back around, opens the door, and leaves.

โ€œFor Godโ€™s sake,โ€ my mom hisses. โ€œEden, Iโ€™ll be right back. Weโ€™ll figure it outโ€”let me just . . .โ€ And then she follows after my dad. Iโ€™m left alone, sitting at the table with four half-eaten plates of food.

โ€œIโ€™m going,โ€ I say to no one.

It takes me all night to work up the courage to text him. Ever since that conversation I had with his dad on their front porch, Iโ€™ve been trying so hard not to dump all my shit on him. Been trying so hard to be there in caseย heย needed me for a change. Iโ€™ve tried to ask him so many times how heโ€™s doing, but he hasnโ€™t opened up to me at all. Iโ€™ve started to worry maybe our time has just come to an end. That weโ€™ve missed too many chances and have finally run out of them.

I lie on my back, staring at the blur of my ceiling fan, letting it lull me into some kind of weird meditative state. I have to drag my eyes away. I roll to my side, sit up, and take a deep breath, pulling up our texts for the millionth time. If I wait any longer, itโ€™s going to be too late and Iโ€™ll have to do this all over again tomorrow.

I know itโ€™s late . . . but can I call?

My phone immediately vibrates in my hand.

JOSH

It rings too many times before she answers, my head already swirling with all kinds of terrible scenarios, too much adrenaline racing through my body.

โ€œHey,โ€ she says quietly. โ€œHi. Whatโ€™s wrong?โ€

She laughs, saying, โ€œOkay, why is โ€˜whatโ€™s wrongโ€™ the first thing you say to me?โ€

I try to analyze her voice. โ€œSorry. Itโ€™s just in all the years Iโ€™ve known you, youโ€™ve only ever called me when somethingโ€™s wrong.โ€

โ€œIs that true?โ€

โ€œOh, I donโ€™t know,โ€ I mumble, not wanting her to feel bad, not wanting to think about that phone call again.

โ€œWell, nothingโ€™s wrong, I justโ€โ€”she inhales deeply and breathes out slowlyโ€”โ€œwanted to talk to you. Is that okay?โ€

โ€œOf course. I told you, call me anytime.โ€

โ€œI know you said that, butโ€”okay, thank you.โ€ She pauses. โ€œUm, is your girlfriend there?โ€

I never did get around to telling her that weโ€™d broken up. There never seemed to be a time when it wouldnโ€™t come out like I donโ€™t have some ulterior motive of trying to get her to be with me.

โ€œWill she get upset that Iโ€™m calling so late?โ€

โ€œWell,ย Iย calledย you, so . . .โ€ I switch the phone to my other ear, like that might help me think better. โ€œWhy, would your boyfriend be upset?โ€ I ask her instead.

โ€œYeah, probably.โ€ She laughs that perfect laugh of hersโ€”her real one. โ€œIf he were still my boyfriend.โ€

โ€œOh,โ€ I breathe.

She laughs again, waiting for me to join her, but I canโ€™t.

โ€œWait, is that true?โ€ I ask before my heart gets too carried away. โ€œYouโ€™re not together anymore?โ€

โ€œYeah,โ€ she answers. โ€œI mean, yes, itโ€™s true. No, weโ€™re not together anymore.โ€

โ€œOh,โ€ I repeat.

โ€œJosh?โ€

โ€œSorry. Um, no, the only one whoโ€™d be upset weโ€™re talking right now is Harley.โ€ Now itโ€™s my turn to wait for her to laugh, but she doesnโ€™t. โ€œYou know, my cat . . . Harley Quinn? Never mind. Iโ€™m, uh, actually home right now.โ€

โ€œHome like at your parentsโ€™?โ€ she asks. โ€œYeah, just for the weekend.โ€

โ€œYou werenโ€™t gonna tell me?โ€ โ€œOh, itโ€™s just a short trip.โ€

โ€œBut . . . were you going to tell me?โ€

โ€œWell, I wasnโ€™t sure Iโ€™d have the time to see you, so . . .โ€ I drift off, hoping sheโ€™ll say something, because how am I supposed to tell her the truth?ย Iโ€™m not sure I trust myself to be around you.

โ€œEden?โ€

โ€œYeah, no, Iโ€™m here,โ€ she says gently. โ€œWhat if . . . ?โ€

โ€œWhat if what?โ€

โ€œWhat if we talked in person instead?โ€ I ask her. โ€œCould I come over?โ€

I hold my breath through the silence on the other end of the line. Sheโ€™s never let me come over before. I donโ€™t know why I even asked. I shouldโ€™ve just invited her here.

โ€œItโ€™s okay if you donโ€™tโ€”โ€ I start, but she interrupts. โ€œCome over.โ€

I changed my T-shirt and brushed my teeth, and less than ten minutes later, Iโ€™m pulling up outside her house. In all the time Iโ€™ve known her, I never once picked her up or dropped her off here, never went inside. Her house is really dark, but as Iโ€™m pocketing my car keys and walking up the driveway, the front porch light turns on.

She opens the door as I approach, stepping outside in bare feet. She smiles and steps down to meet me just as Iโ€™m stepping up, and we kind of

awkwardly hug on the stairs, both of us falling into each other and wobbling.

โ€œHi,โ€ she murmurs as she pulls away and steps aside. โ€œSorry, I went in for that hug a little too ambitiously, I guess.โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t mind ambitious hugs if theyโ€™re from you.โ€

That was literally one of the stupidest things Iโ€™ve ever said in my life, but sheโ€™s wearing shorts againโ€”this time soft pajama-type shorts, and I can see thereโ€™s a matching tank top, which sheโ€™s wearing underneath an oversize hoodie and Iโ€™m having a hard time thinking of anything but that. I follow her inside, trying to conjure up some modicum of chill.

There are shoes lined up in the entryway, so I take the cue and remove mine.

โ€œThanks,โ€ she says quietly as she stands there shifting her weight from foot to foot, scratching her thigh, looking over her shoulder. She seems oddly, tangibly uncomfortable in her own house. Or maybe she can tell that Iโ€™m nervous, and itโ€™s making her nervous too. โ€œMy parents are upstairs,โ€ she adds, not quite whispering but letting me know we need to be relatively quiet.

โ€œOh, okay,โ€ I say, nodding.

โ€œIโ€™m this way.โ€ She leads me into the living room and down a hallway where I can hear muffled TV sounds coming from one of the rooms, a thin line of light under the door. โ€œMy brother,โ€ she explains. I momentarily flash back to the New Yearโ€™s party my senior year. Rumors had been flying about Eden, and I was trying, unsuccessfully, since I was drunkโ€”the first time in my life I ever drankโ€”to explain that those rumors were just lies. Looking back, Iโ€™m sure I only made it worse. So then, when her brother confronted me later that night, I tried to tell him that she wasnโ€™t just some hookup to me, but before I could fully explain that I really loved her, heโ€™d already knocked me to the ground. My first fight. My first black eye. My first hangover.

She closes the door behind us, and I try to take a quick look around without being too obvious. Everythingโ€™s very minimal and sparse, more like a showroom than a real room. โ€œSo, this is it, my bedroom.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s different than I thought it would be, somehow.โ€

She looks around like sheโ€™s seeing it for the first time as well. โ€œI mean, itโ€™s nice,โ€ I backpedal.

โ€œNo,โ€ she says. โ€œI know itโ€™s weird. Thereโ€™s not much of me in here anymore.โ€

Iโ€™m not sure what that means, and I guess it shows on my face because she explains.

โ€œMy mom, like, went on this IKEA spree and just totally got rid of everything that had been here before. Repainted and made everything very .

. . gray. I guess I havenโ€™t really spent much time putting my own touches back in. Except for my lamp,โ€ she says, moving toward her desk to turn on this small stained-glass lamp, which is the only source of color in the entire room. โ€œI found this at a thrift store. Iโ€™m very proud of it. But Iโ€™m rambling. Sorry. I guess Iโ€™m nervous.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s okay, I might be a little nervous too.โ€ I pause. โ€œBeing here for the first time makes me feel like Iโ€™m in high school again.โ€

She releases a short laugh. Then she reaches around me to turn off the light switch at the wall. The overhead light goes out, and her desk lamp casts a kind of yellow glow around the room. โ€œThere, thatโ€™s better,โ€ she says. โ€œNot so bright.โ€

โ€œYeah,โ€ I agree, watching her as she stands in front of me in the dim light now, looking even more . . .ย captivating, is the word that keeps flashing through my mind.

โ€œIโ€™ve never had anyone in here. I mean, Mara, obviously. But Iโ€™ve never had aย boy,โ€ she whispers through cupped hands, โ€œin my room like this. Before.โ€ She inhales deeply and says, โ€œSorry, that was supposed to be cute or funny or something.โ€

โ€œNo, it was,โ€ I tell her, but really, Iโ€™m thinking aboutย Steve. Was he really never here, and what does that mean?

โ€œUm. Do you wanna sit or, oh, do you want something to drink?โ€ โ€œIโ€™m fine,โ€ I tell her. โ€œItโ€™s okay.โ€

She says, โ€œOkay,โ€ but sheโ€™s still twirling her fingers around the drawstrings of her hoodie, which she clearly threw on over her pajamas right before I got here. And something about that sends my mind off in the wrong direction again. I have to look away.

โ€œShould we start over?โ€ I ask. โ€œProper hug?โ€ She nods.

โ€œYeah? Okay. Come here.โ€ I hold my hands out, and she takes them, moves toward me, and clasps her arms around my waist. I let my arms fold around her and rest my chin on top of her hair, which smells amazing as

usual. She presses her face against my chest and holds on so tight. She keeps taking these slow, deliberately deep breaths like sheโ€™s trying to calm down. Part of me wants to ask if sheโ€™s okay, but itโ€™s pretty clear she isnโ€™t, so I try to breathe with her, try to calm myself down too. Gradually, her grip loosens, and we back away from each other.

โ€œSorry, Iโ€™ve just beenโ€”itโ€™s just been a lot lately, but Iโ€™m glad youโ€™re here.

I always like talking to you in person better.โ€

She hadnโ€™t mentioned anything in our textsย being a lot lately, but I guess I havenโ€™t exactly been forthcoming about my stuff either. We sit on her bed, facing each other, the same way weโ€™d sat on that picnic table.

โ€œSo, what did you want to talk about?โ€ Iโ€™m asking, just as sheโ€™s saying, โ€œWhy are you home?โ€ As usual, we talk over each other.

โ€œSorry, you first,โ€ I tell her.

โ€œOkay, so why are you home right now?โ€ she repeats.

โ€œItโ€™s my dad. Heโ€™s six months sober this weekend. Thereโ€™s a ceremony, and then weโ€™re doing a family celebration sort of thing.โ€

โ€œOh. Wow, six months. Thatโ€™s a big deal, right?โ€

I nod. โ€œYeah. I mean, Iโ€™ve seen him get his six-month chip quite a few times before, but . . .โ€

โ€œBut what?โ€

โ€œIโ€™ll probably regret saying this, but something does feel a little different with him this time.โ€

โ€œGood,โ€ she says, with this slow blink, like she really means it. โ€œI donโ€™t know, Iโ€™m being cautiously optimistic, I guess.โ€

โ€œIโ€™m really glad, Josh. You deserve that.โ€ โ€œIย do?โ€ I ask.

โ€œYeah, you deserve to have your dad healthy and . . . and there for you. I mean, I know how much this has hurt you over the years.โ€ She reaches out and takes my hand, inching closer to me, and I catch this sheen falling over her eyes. โ€œI justโ€โ€”she pauses to close her eyes for a momentโ€”โ€œI want it to be different for you this time too.โ€

I reach out and take her other hand now, thinking I may finally understand something important about her that Iโ€™m not sure Iโ€™ve fully realized before. She spent so much of our relationship hiding her emotions becauseย thisย is how she feels thingsโ€”deeply, completely. That and this: she really has always cared.

โ€œEden,โ€ I begin, but I donโ€™t have anything else to say, so I settle on โ€œthank you.โ€

โ€œIโ€™m sorry about the phone call,โ€ she says. โ€œI was just surprised that you didnโ€™t mention youโ€™d be here. Itโ€™s not like youย haveย to tell me every time youโ€™re going to be in town.โ€

โ€œNo, I wanted to tell you.โ€ I move a little closer to her now too. โ€œBut things have felt . . .โ€ I try to find the right word. โ€œStrained. Since last time. Or maybe itโ€™s just me, I donโ€™t know.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s not just you.โ€

Thereโ€™s a silence that I feel itโ€™s my turn to fill.

โ€œIโ€™ve gotta be honest, it was hard to see you with another guy. But more than thatโ€”I just felt like maybe I should try to leave you alone.โ€

โ€œNo,โ€ she says, squeezing my hands in hers. โ€œI would never want you to leave me alone.โ€

โ€œWell, I thought, if youโ€™ve moved on, I should try to do the same, and maybe that would make things easier orโ€”โ€

โ€œIfย Iโ€™veย moved on,โ€ she repeats, her voice turning harder now as she lets go of my hands. โ€œYouโ€™re the one who has a serious girlfriend.โ€

I shake my head as she speaks. โ€œNo, I donโ€™t. Thatโ€™s notโ€”itโ€™s been over for a while.โ€

โ€œWhat?โ€

โ€œItโ€™s over,โ€ I repeat. โ€œSince when?โ€

โ€œSince I came to see you that night. In December. She wasnโ€™t actually okay with it.โ€

โ€œYou lied to me?โ€

โ€œYes,โ€ I admit. She nods slowly, and I watch as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and then looks at her hands in her lap, her hair hanging down over her face. I angle my head to try to see her expression, but she brings her hand up to her forehead like sheโ€™s shielding her eyes from the sun. โ€œEden?โ€ I reach out and raise her chin until I can see her face . . .ย smiling.

โ€œOh, donโ€™t look so broken up about it,โ€ I joke.

She looks up now and covers her mouth. โ€œNo, Iโ€™m sorry. Iโ€™m not smiling,โ€ she says, but sheโ€™s losing her voice as she muffles a laugh.

โ€œNo, youโ€™re laughing!โ€ Which only makes me start laughing too because itโ€™s so absurd. โ€œWhatโ€™s so funny?โ€

โ€œNo, nothingโ€”Iโ€™m sorry!โ€ She bats her hand at my arm. โ€œStop it,โ€ she demands, but then she cracks up all over again.

โ€œYouย stop.โ€ Her laugh is a drug. โ€œYouโ€™re the one laughing at me.โ€

โ€œIโ€™m sorry, I donโ€™t know why Iโ€™m laughing. Iโ€™m sorry,โ€ she repeats. โ€œIโ€™m not laughing at you, I promise.โ€

โ€œNo, donโ€™t worry. Itโ€™s okay,โ€ I tease. โ€œItโ€™s just my heart.โ€

โ€œOh my God,โ€ she sighs, pulling herself together. โ€œIโ€™m the worst.โ€

I nod, pretending to agree, stopping myself from saying,ย No, youโ€™re the best.

When we finally stop laughing, weโ€™ve somehow drawn even closer to each other. โ€œItโ€™s just that Iโ€™ve been obsessing about you and this, like,ย dream girl, and now . . .โ€ She shakes her head for a moment and then looks at me so intensely, her cheeks flushed.

โ€œWhat?โ€ I ask her.

โ€œI do care about your heart, you know.โ€ She reaches out and lets her hand hover over the center of my chest, her fingers barely touching my shirt. โ€œA lot, actually.โ€

I cover her hand with mine, pressing it flat against my chest. Weโ€™re so close now, and I wonder if she can feel my heart pounding through my shirt. She inches toward me and touches my face with her other hand, the way she had the night of the concert, so softly. I turn my head and kiss her palm, and as her hand moves down to my neck, she pulls herself closer to me. She leans in and presses her lips to my cheek for a moment before pulling back to look at me. Her other hand tightens around the fabric of my shirt, and her eyes dip down to focus on my mouth. I watch as she takes this tiny sip of airโ€”God, I donโ€™t know how I couldโ€™ve forgotten this detail. It used to get me every time, the way sheโ€™d always take that little breath right before she kissed me. I close my eyes, and I can feel the warmth of her mouth, our lips nearly touching.

I can barely catch my breathโ€”because this is happeningโ€” but then, as I wait for her to close this impossibly small distance between us, her hand loosens its grip on my shirt and presses against my chest now. I open my eyes to see her backing away.

EDEN

I am two people right now. The first one wants to throw herself into this, into him. Her tunnel vision is focused only on how good it will feel, how right, how pure and honest. But the second girl? She doesnโ€™t see him at all, really. She has X-ray vision. For her, the room is so cluttered with all the things that have happened here, heโ€™s barely even there. She sees beyond the freshly painted walls and the new furniture and the clean linens and everything in perfect monochrome order, all the scars hiding underneath.

One of us pulls him closer, the other one pushes him away, and I hate them both because neither of them feels likeย me.

โ€œIโ€™m sorry,โ€ I breathe.

โ€œNo, I am. Did I just really misread this?โ€

I donโ€™t know what words to say to explain. I barely understand whatโ€™s going through my head right now, but I take his hands and hold them tightly because thatโ€™s all I can do. โ€œYou didnโ€™t misread anything. Itโ€™s just . . . not here. I canโ€™t. Not here,โ€ I repeat, glancing around the room as if the walls are watching us. I feel like they can do that sometimes.

โ€œThatโ€™s okay,โ€ he says, so gently, though he must be even more confused than me.

โ€œIt happened here,โ€ I try to explain. โ€œYou . . . you know what Iโ€™m talking about, right?โ€

I see the wave of recognition pass over his eyes. He squeezes my hands and nods. โ€œYeah,โ€ he whispers. โ€œRight. Of course.โ€

โ€œThatโ€™s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.โ€

โ€œOh,โ€ he breathes, straightening his posture. โ€œOkay.โ€ โ€œNo, notย that. Donโ€™t worry.โ€

โ€œIโ€™m not worried, you know you can talk to me about it.โ€

I close my eyes and shake my head. โ€œNo. I mean, thank you. But no. What I meant is I wanted to talk to you about the . . . theย hereย part of everything.โ€

โ€œThe here part?โ€ he repeats as if he might understand what that means if he says it out loud. โ€œAll right.โ€

โ€œI know Iโ€™m not making any fucking sense and Iโ€™m all over the place.โ€ โ€œItโ€™s okay, Iโ€™m following,โ€ he says with a cautious smile. โ€œMostly.โ€

โ€œIโ€™m not trying to ignore what just happened. Or almost happened. I donโ€™t want to forget about that. Iโ€™mย notย forgetting about it, believe me, but

โ€”โ€ I pull his hands toward me and lean over to kiss the backs of each of them. โ€œCan we just put a pin in that for a minute? Or whatever that saying is. Because I really did want to talk to you about something.โ€

โ€œSure, we can do that. Yeah.โ€

โ€œOkay.โ€ I inhale and exhale, trying to get some of this tension out of me. In with the good, out with the bad, I tell myself, just like my therapist taught me. โ€œYou know Iโ€™ve been trying really hard to make things work here.โ€

He nods.

โ€œBut itโ€™s just not,โ€ I finally admit out loud. โ€œAnd the more I think about it, the more Iโ€™m pretty sure itโ€™s not going to. Like, I try to imagine myself here a year from now and I just donโ€™t even see anything.โ€ I pause to clear the thickness those words leave behind in my throat. โ€œI canโ€™t be here anymore. In this house, in this town. Too much has happened. I donโ€™t fit anymore. I havenโ€™t in a long time.โ€

โ€œMm-hmm,โ€ he murmurs, nodding encouragingly. โ€œI can understand why youโ€™d feel that way.โ€

โ€œSo, Iโ€™ve been thinking about leaving.โ€

โ€œLeaving?โ€ His eyebrows pull together, and he shakes his head slightly. โ€œWhat do you mean? Where would you go?โ€

โ€œWell, what would you think if I applied to your school? Would that be weird for you orโ€”โ€

โ€œTo Tucker?โ€ he interrupts. โ€œAre you kidding? No, that would be . . .โ€ He pauses, searching for a word. โ€œPerfect.โ€

โ€œYeah?โ€ I exhale. โ€œReally, you mean that?โ€

โ€œReally, I mean it. Hundred percentโ€”a thousand percent.โ€

I try to stop myself from smiling like this, but itโ€™s hard not to when heโ€™s smiling at me like that. โ€œOkay, Iโ€™m really glad you said that because I did.โ€

โ€œYou did?โ€ โ€œAnd I got in.โ€

โ€œWait, you got in?โ€ he says, too loudly for almost midnight. โ€œAnd I think I really, really want to go.โ€

โ€œYou got in,โ€ he repeats. โ€œSeriously, Eden?โ€ I nod.

โ€œThatโ€™s amazing!โ€ He throws his arms around me, and I suddenly feel freer already. โ€œIโ€™m so happy,โ€ he whispers into my hair. โ€œIโ€™m so fucking happy for you.โ€

โ€œYou are?โ€ I ask, hating how small and stupid my voice sounds.

As we pull apart, he tucks my hair behind both ears and holds my face in his hands for a moment, still smiling as he looks me in the eye. โ€œDonโ€™t ask me that; you know I am.โ€ He kisses my forehead quickly, a peck, sweet and chaste. He holds my gaze for a moment longer and then scoots away from me, this time with his back against the wall. I sit directly next to him now, my back to the wall, my arm against his arm, my leg against his leg.

Heโ€™s suddenly so quiet.

โ€œWhat are you thinking?โ€ I ask him.

He shakes his head and says, โ€œI donโ€™t know, a lot of things.โ€ โ€œLike what?โ€

โ€œLike Iโ€™m really proud of youโ€”is that weird to say?โ€

โ€œNo,โ€ I tell him. But I watch as he swallows hard and looks around my room, differently than he had before. โ€œWhat else are you thinking?โ€

He turns his head to look at me, and he squints just a bit. โ€œHonestly? Iโ€™m mostly tryingย notย to think about you . . . in this room . . .ย him,โ€ he adds, his speech halting.

โ€œSorry,โ€ I say. Because maybe it wasnโ€™t fair to put those thoughts in his head.

โ€œWhy are you sorry? I didnโ€™t mean that like you shouldnโ€™t have said anything about it; Iโ€™m glad you did. You have nothing to be sorry about.โ€

โ€œLooks like such a nice room, doesnโ€™t it?โ€ I say, and I donโ€™t know if Iโ€™m trying to make light or if Iโ€™m genuinely asking. I wanted him to understand how much I need to leave, but itโ€™s hard to watch him actively seeing my life the way it really is, the way no one else seems to get.

โ€œNo, it doesnโ€™t,โ€ he says immediately. โ€œSorry, I just donโ€™t know how you do it.โ€

โ€œDo what?โ€

โ€œLive in here . . . after everything.โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t. Not really. I mean, I canโ€™t sleep in here very well. Itโ€™s a brand- new bed, but I still end up on the couch most nights. Itโ€™s better than before. All through high school, I literally slept on my floor in a sleeping bag. Iโ€” Iโ€™ve never told anyone that.โ€

He exhales a long stream of air and puts his arm around me. I let myself lean into his side. โ€œThe only time I slept in a real bed was at Maraโ€™s house orโ€”โ€

โ€œOr what?โ€ he asks.

โ€œOr when I was with you,โ€ I finish, stealing a quick glance up at him, and heโ€™s watching me with the most devastated look on his face. โ€œSorry.โ€

โ€œDonโ€™t be.โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t know why Iโ€™m saying all this right now. Iโ€™m really tired.โ€ I sigh. โ€œI know Iโ€™m rambling and making this all weird and negative, arenโ€™t I?โ€

โ€œNo, youโ€™re not. Please donโ€™t say that, okay?โ€

Before I can answer, heโ€™s shifting away from me, and I think for a second that maybe I really have messed this up, but then heโ€™s lying down, his head on my pillow, and heโ€™s holding his arm open to the side. โ€œCome here, Iโ€™ll stay till you fall asleep.โ€

โ€œReally?โ€

โ€œIf thatโ€™s okay, yeah.โ€

I nod and crawl into the space next to him. โ€œComfortable?โ€ he asks.

I sit back up because my hoodie is making me too hot. I only put it on because I was in pajamas and not wearing a bra, but that seems so silly now, so I unzip it, and he helps me pull my arms out of the sleeves. I lie back down, resting my head in that perfect spot Iโ€™ve tried to find on so many other people but has never felt quite like this.

โ€œWant me to turn the light off?โ€ he asks, reaching toward my desk for the stained-glass lamp.

โ€œNo, donโ€™t.โ€ It comes out too fast, and he draws his hand back, almost startled. โ€œI mean, do you mind if we leave it on?โ€

โ€œThatโ€™s fine,โ€ he says softly. โ€œIs that a thing you do? Keeping the light on?โ€

โ€œIโ€™m not, like, scared of the dark,โ€ I try to explain, raising my head to look at him. โ€œI just sort of am in here, thatโ€™s all. Yet another thing Iโ€™ve never told anyone.โ€

He doesnโ€™t speak, just nods. I lay my head back down, let my arm rest across his stomach while his fingers trail up and down my bare skin like a lullaby.

โ€œEden?โ€ he says so quietly I can barely hear him. โ€œCan I ask you something?โ€

โ€œOkay.โ€

His chest rises as he fills his lungs with air, and I can feel his heart beating faster beneath me. โ€œWhen we were together, did I ever . . . ?โ€ He pauses, and I wait. โ€œI mean, I realize our relationship moved really fast and it started out very, umโ€”โ€

โ€œSexual?โ€ I offer, since this is clearly difficult for him.

โ€œI was going to say physical, but yeah.โ€ He pauses again and swallows before continuing. โ€œAnd you were younger than I thought you were.โ€

โ€œBecause I lied to you.โ€

He ignores that, continues as if I hadnโ€™t said anything. โ€œDid I ever do anything that wasnโ€™t okay with you or that made you feel . . . ? I mean, did I ever not listen or pressure you toโ€”โ€

I see where heโ€™s going with this, so I cut him off. โ€œJosh,ย no.โ€

โ€œNo, donโ€™tโ€”โ€ he says, and the way his voice is trembling, I have to look at him. โ€œDonโ€™t just say what you think I want to hear. I really need to know the truth. Itโ€™s killing me,โ€ he adds, his words punching me in the heart.

โ€œI am telling you the truth.โ€

โ€œSometimes I think back and Iโ€™m not sure anymore how well I treated you. Itโ€™s just, I knew something was wrong. Even the first time we were together. I knew, but I didnโ€™t do anyโ€”โ€

โ€œWhat were you supposed to do? You tried to ask me about it, and I basically told you to fuck off.โ€

โ€œBut Iโ€”โ€

โ€œStop. You neverย everย did anything wrong; I promise.โ€ When I reach to touch his face, he takes my hand and holds it there against his cheek, looking into my eyes.

โ€œYou promise,โ€ he repeats. โ€œReally?โ€

โ€œI do.โ€ He lets go of my hand, and I lie back down against him. โ€œPlease, donโ€™t even think that for a second, Josh. If anything, it was the opposite.โ€

โ€œOkay,โ€ he whispers, stroking my hair with one hand and holding my arm with the other. โ€œIโ€™ll let you sleep, Iโ€™m sorry.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s all right.โ€

He doesnโ€™t think I hear it when he whispers, a few minutes later, โ€œThank you.โ€

JOSH

I stare at her ceiling for I donโ€™t know how long. I should feel better, finally having my answer, but her words keep replaying in my head.

โ€œThe opposite,โ€ I hear myself say out loud. โ€œWhatโ€™s the opposite?โ€ โ€œHmm?โ€ she mumbles.

โ€œYou said โ€˜if anything, it was the opposite,โ€™ but what does that mean?โ€

โ€œOh,โ€ she breathes, her voice already heavy with sleep. โ€œI donโ€™t know. You always made me feel . . . safe. Too safe, maybe.โ€ She lets out the tiniest laugh. โ€œKind of ruined me for anyone else.โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t know how to take that,โ€ I whisper, but I cling to that small laugh. โ€œItโ€™s justโ€”you know, no one else is like you.โ€

Within seconds her breathing turns slower, deeper, as she drifts to sleep. โ€œNo one else is like you, either,โ€ I say, even though I know she wonโ€™t

hear me.

The next thing I know, Iโ€™m opening my eyes, and I can tell Iโ€™ve been out for a while. Edenโ€™s still asleep, her leg draped over mine now. I move slowly, reaching into my back pocket for my phone. Itโ€™s almost four oโ€™clock. I shift her leg first, then, as carefully as I can, slip my arm out from behind her neck. I donโ€™t want to wake her, but I donโ€™t want to just leave, either. On her desk, near the lamp, thereโ€™s a stack of sticky notes and a jar of markers and pens.

To be continued . . . Sleep well, J

I cover her with the knit blanket thatโ€™s folded over the back of her chair and place the note on the pillow next to her.

I tiptoe through her house in the dark, barely even breathing. I donโ€™t know who would be worse to run into in the middle of the night: one of her parents, who have no idea who I am and might think Iโ€™m some kind of intruder, or her brother. I make it to the entryway, where I scoop my shoes up and carry them the rest of the way. Itโ€™s not until I close the door behind me that I finally let myself exhale. I lean against the railing and try to balance myself while I slide my sneakers back on.

โ€œHey, Miller.โ€

โ€œJesus fuck!โ€ I nearly fall down the steps when I look up and see her brother sitting there in the dark.

โ€œSorry,โ€ he says. โ€œI was trying toย notย scare you, actually.โ€

โ€œNo, itโ€™s fine,โ€ I say, struggling to get my other shoe on quickly, just in case I need to make a break for it. โ€œUm, I know what this probably looks like, but Iโ€™m not sneaking out or anything like that.โ€

He laughs slowly. โ€œYeah, this is a little awkward, huh?โ€ he mutters as he lights up a cigarette, illuminating his face, and thatโ€™s when I realize heโ€™s got a whole collection of bottles next to him.

โ€œYou all right, man?โ€ I ask him, because he looks rough as fuck. Nothing like the MVP, voted-most-likely-to-be-an-NBA-all-star-by-the-age-of- twenty guy I used to play with in high school; he barely even resembles that guy who beat me up at the New Yearโ€™s party.

He shrugs. โ€œYou want one?โ€ he asks, nearly dropping the bottle of beer heโ€™s trying to hand me. If I ever needed motivation to not drink again, this might just be it.

โ€œNo, Iโ€™m good. Itโ€™s late; I should probably get home.โ€ He nods and opens the bottle for himself instead.

โ€œGood seeing you, though,โ€ I tell him, even though itโ€™s actually sort of horrible seeing him. Like this, anyway.

โ€œMiller?โ€ he says, as I take one step off the porch. โ€œDid you know?โ€

I donโ€™t need to ask him what heโ€™s talking about. โ€œNo, I didnโ€™t know. I wish I had, honestly.โ€

โ€œIs she okay, do you think?โ€

Iโ€™m not sure what to say, but I try to answer anyway. โ€œI think sheโ€™s . . . doing her best. You should ask her yourself,โ€ I add.

He nods but doesnโ€™t say anything. I raise my hand to wave and take a step away from him. โ€œHey, for the record, Josh . . . ,โ€ he calls after me. โ€œIโ€™m sorry for punching you in the face that time.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s all right,โ€ I tell him. I take another step but stop and turn around again. โ€œYou know, I really do care about her. I always have. It was never what you thought.โ€

Caelin nods again and stands, taking a couple of unsteady steps toward me, extending his hand. And as I take it, he reaches around me to pat my back, much like weโ€™d have done after a game back in the day. โ€œIโ€™m glad she has you . . . as a friend, or whatever,โ€ he says.

โ€œYeah, well, Iโ€™m glad I have her too,โ€ I tell him, hoping heโ€™ll remember this conversation in the morning. โ€œTake care, all right?โ€

โ€œYep. Later.โ€

By the time Iโ€™m pulling away from the house, heโ€™s already inside.

EDEN

We stand in my driveway. All of us. Like the farewell scene inย The Wizard of Oz. Except instead of ruby slippers, my magical transport is a borrowed beige Toyota. And, of course, Iโ€™m not going home; Iโ€™m leaving it.

Itโ€™s amazing how fast time passes when youโ€™re trying to get your entire mess of a life in order. I had to quit my job at the Bean, register for classes, find a place to live, get a new job, and cram in as many appointments with my therapist as I could. Iโ€™m beyond exhausted.

But I did it. And now weโ€™re here. Maraโ€™s ugly crying, and, to everyoneโ€™s surprise, so is my dad, and itโ€™s harder to hold it together than I thought it would be, even after taking an extra pill. But I do it.

โ€œEden, are you sure we canโ€™t follow behind you?โ€ my mom asks again. โ€œJust to get you settled in.โ€

โ€œNo, itโ€™s okay. Really, I have plenty of help there. And Iโ€™ll be home again next month for the . . .โ€ I pause, meeting Caelinโ€™s eye before he looks down at his feet. โ€œHearing,โ€ I finish.

โ€œAre you sure you didnโ€™t forget anything?โ€ she asks, looking back toward the house.

โ€œProbably, but I can always get it next time.โ€

โ€œWish we at least knew this Joshua person youโ€™re going to be living with,โ€ my dad mutters.

โ€œIโ€™m not livingย withย him, Dad,โ€ I correct, not wanting to be too harsh, as these are probably the most words heโ€™s said to me, or near me, since the dinner table fight. โ€œWeโ€™ll just be in the same building.โ€

โ€œI know him,โ€ Caelin says. โ€œHeโ€™s a decent guy.โ€

That seems to put my dad at ease, which sparks a tiny flame in my chest. Because why isnโ€™tย meย knowing him, vouching for him, trusting him, good enough? My stomach clenches at that thought, extinguishing the fire before

it makes its way to my brain and I say something Iโ€™ll feel guilty for later. Thatโ€™s not the way I want this to end. Or begin.

We all look at each other, then at Caelinโ€™s car, filled to the brim with boxes and bags and my still-newish mattress wrapped in plastic and strapped to the top with bungee cords.

โ€œWell,โ€ Mom says, pressing her fingers to the corners of her eyes. โ€œI hate this.โ€

โ€œSo do I,โ€ Mara sobs.

I go to each of themโ€”Mom, Dad, and Caelin. I hug them and tell them I love them. Mara, my scarecrow, I save for last. โ€œI think Iโ€™ll miss you most of all,โ€ I whisper in her ear.

โ€œStop,โ€ she laughs, even as she whimpers, โ€œI canโ€™t believe youโ€™re leaving.โ€

โ€œYou better visit me,โ€ I say through her hair in my face and her arms clasped around my neck, her whole body shaking with sobs as I hug her back.

โ€œLet us know when you get there,โ€ my mom calls to me as Iโ€™m pulling out of the driveway.

Iโ€™m almost at the highway when I realize I donโ€™t know where Iโ€™m going. I pull down a side street and park. I see a text from Amanda from fifteen minutes earlier.

All it says is:ย ur really coming back right

I wonder if she was watching us in my driveway. I can feel the panic coming off those words. She means coming back for the hearing. When I asked the DA if I had to, she said they could make me. Though she used the word โ€œcompel.โ€ I guess Mandy doesnโ€™t know that. I canโ€™t deal with her right now. I shake the chills out and copy the address from Joshโ€™s text and paste it into my navigator.

Take a breath. Begin again.

Twenty minutes into the drive, I almost die when I swerve into the left lane while trying to check my directions. The truck driver I nearly collided with honks twice and gives me the finger. But after I make it past the city limits, Iโ€™m feeling pretty good. The road is clear, and Iโ€™m driving fast with the window rolled down, radio on, the playlist Mara made for me blasting all the songs I know by heart. I start thinking maybe this wasnโ€™t such a crazy idea, maybe this could actually be a good thing. The sky is gray, but it seems just right. Like the perfect day to try to change.

I text Josh my ETA at the halfway point, when I stop for gas and a bathroom break. I keep the radio off for the second leg of the trip. I hadnโ€™t actually gotten this far in my plan. I mean, I know classes start in one week and that Monday morning I have new student orientation and a campus tour with a group of incoming freshmen like me. And that my roommateโ€™s name is Parker Kim, a second-year undergrad on the womenโ€™s swim team, who lives in Joshโ€™s building.

I slow down to the exact speed limit, try to prepare myself.

All our talks and texts have been strictly logistics. About the colossal shortage of student housing on campus and how all the apartment listings I sent him to check out for me were apparently in terrible neighborhoods and far from campus. About the vacancy in his friendโ€™s apartmentโ€”her former roommate just moved in with their girlfriend and she needed a new roommate fast, almost as much as I did. โ€œItโ€™s perfect, right?โ€ Josh had said. And I took it at face value, trying not to read too little or too much into him wanting me to be so close.

But for the past six weeks, throughout all the planning and preparing and back-and-forth, that almost-kiss has stayed pinned securely in place, not budging. The closest heโ€™s come to giving me any kind of sign about what heโ€™s thinking was when he sent me a link to a work-study job in the library, accompanied by some confusingly suggestive emojis.

You should apply for this. I remember you used to volunteer in the school library back when you were hiding from me . . .

And your

book club thing

I reread that text so many times, even had Mara analyze it. She was pretty sure he was flirting with me, but Iโ€™m still not convinced. I did, however, apply for the job, and after a five-minute phone interview, I got it. Twelve hours per week. Iโ€™d still have to find something else, but this would be a good start.

GPS says Iโ€™m only two minutes away now. I pull over several blocks from the building, swish some lukewarm bottled water around my mouth, and pop a breath mint. I am rummaging in my purse when my hand makes

contact with one of my now three prescription bottles. One for depression, one for sleeping, and one for when Iโ€™m actively having a panic attack. I consider taking another one, just to take the edge off. But instead, I apply a little lip gloss, pulling my windblown nest of hair back into a slightly less messy bun. Just in case. Of what exactly, I donโ€™t know.

JOSH

I could barely sleep last night. Iโ€™m sitting with Parker on the roof of our building, drinking coffee, even though Iโ€™ve already had way too much caffeine today.

โ€œYour leg bouncing is about to drive me crazy,โ€ Parker tells me. โ€œDo I need to cut you off?โ€ she asks, gesturing to the mug trembling in my hand. I set it down, and the coffee sloshes over the side onto the table. I check my phone. Again.

โ€œShe should be here any minute.โ€

โ€œCan I just ask,โ€ Parker says, peering over the rim of her coffee mug at me, โ€œis this weird nervous thing youโ€™re doing anxiety or excitement?โ€

Iโ€™m not sure what to say because I really canโ€™t distinguish between those two emotions right now.

โ€œBecause Iโ€™m getting some red flag vibes off you,โ€ Parker continues, but Iโ€™m too busy staring at Edenโ€™s last message, and Parkerโ€™s voice drifts to the background of my thoughts.

โ€œJosh!โ€ she shouts, snapping her fingers in my face. โ€œSorry, what?โ€

โ€œSheโ€™s, like,ย cool, right?โ€ she finally asks. โ€œIโ€™m gonna be living with this person, and your weirdness is giving me doubts!โ€

โ€œNo, sheโ€™s great, really. Itโ€™s me. Iโ€™m just not . . .โ€ โ€œCool?โ€

โ€œFunny.โ€ I force a smile. โ€œNo, itโ€™s just that we kinda left things unclear. About what we are. The lines between friendship and something more are just very blurred right now, and I donโ€™t know what to expect.โ€

โ€œWell, what do you want it to be?โ€

I shrug, wishing I could say with certainty that friendship would be enough. โ€œI mean, Iโ€™ll take whatever she gives me.โ€

โ€œGreat, that sounds healthy. No drama there at all.โ€ โ€œOkay, obviously, I want more.โ€

She just keeps staring at me, a smirk stretching across her face. โ€œYouโ€ is all she says.

โ€œMe, what?โ€

โ€œYouย . . .โ€ She stands up and points her finger at me. โ€œBetter not cause drama withย myย roommate. Because then that means thereโ€™s drama withย me.โ€ Now she points at herself. โ€œAnd I donโ€™t do drama.โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t either.โ€

โ€œUh-huh.โ€ She does not sound convinced. My phone dings. โ€œSheโ€™s here.โ€

I jog down the first flight of stairs, Parker calling behind me, โ€œRun, Josh- wah, run!โ€ Quoting the movie we watched in our American History course, where we were randomly paired to work on a presentation together. It took me a full year before I understood that she didnโ€™t actually hate me. She likes to tease and poke and jab.

And as I knock on my door, stick my head inโ€”โ€œD, sheโ€™s here!โ€โ€”I wonder if Iโ€™ve made the best call in setting her up with Parker. Underneath, I know sheโ€™s a nice person, but she can have such a gruff exterior sometimes.

โ€œYeah, Iโ€™m coming,โ€ Dominic yells as I close the door. I stop and wait for Parker to catch up.

โ€œWhat?โ€ she says.

โ€œItโ€™s justโ€”youโ€™re gonna be nice to her, right?โ€ I try to ask as gently as possible.

โ€œIโ€™m always nice, you dick.โ€

โ€œOkay, but sheโ€™s got a lot going on andโ€”โ€

โ€œMost girls do,โ€ she says, cutting me off. โ€œJosh, listen. I can read between the lines. I get it. Iโ€™ll be nice to her.โ€ And for the first time maybe ever, thereโ€™s no hint of sarcasm in her voice, no shadow of a grin on her face. โ€œJust donโ€™t try to control so much.โ€

โ€œAll right,โ€ Dominic says, appearing in the hallway between us, clapping his hands. โ€œIโ€™m ready. Letโ€™s do this.โ€

โ€œOkay,โ€ I sayโ€”to both of them.

I walk down the next flight of stairs, forcing a slower pace, because Parkerโ€™s right, I canโ€™t try to control what happens next. Outside, I see Edenโ€™s brotherโ€™s car parked on the street in front of our building; itโ€™s easy to

spot, overflowing with a mattress strapped to the top of the car. But I donโ€™t see Eden. I bend down to look through the passenger-side window. Her phoneโ€™s sitting there in the cupholder, the lamp from her bedroom sticking out of the top of a bag on the floor.

โ€œRelax,โ€ Parker sings from behind me. โ€œBesides, I think thatโ€™s her over there, isnโ€™t it?โ€

I follow the direction Parker is looking, across the street, at a girl standing at the crosswalk. She has her hair pulled back and is wearing sunglasses, the strap of her bag pulled across her body, and sheโ€™s carrying a tray of drinks from the cafรฉ on the corner. At first I donโ€™t recognize her. I donโ€™t know why exactly. I guess I was expecting her to seem out of place here, expecting to have to help her get acclimated, protect her, even. But she already looks like she belongs, like sheโ€™s always been here. The traffic light changes, and she starts walking toward us, waving when she spots me.

โ€œHi!โ€ she says as she approaches us. โ€œI come bearing frozen cappuccinos.โ€

Parker steps forward and says, โ€œOh, this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, I can tell already.โ€

โ€œYou must be Parker,โ€ Eden says, raising her sunglasses with her free hand.

โ€œAnd you must be Eden.โ€ Parker moves in with open arms but stops. โ€œAre you a hugger?โ€

โ€œUm, sure,โ€ Eden says, her eyes flashing to mine just for a moment. โ€œYeah.โ€

โ€œIโ€™ve heard so much about you,โ€ Parker says, giving Eden a hugโ€” something Iโ€™ve never seen Parker do with anyone before. โ€œWelcome to the building, to Tuck Hill, youโ€™re gonna like it here, I promise.โ€

โ€œThank you,โ€ Eden says. โ€œIโ€™m glad to be here.โ€

โ€œHello again, dear,โ€ Dominic adds, not even hinting at any of his many misgivings he hasnโ€™t been shy about sharing with me, as he pulls Eden into a brief one-armed hug. โ€œIโ€™ll gladly take one of those off your hands.โ€

โ€œGood to see you again,โ€ she tells him as she hands him one of the drinks sheโ€™s carrying, giving one to Parker as well.

And then her eyes meet mine. She smiles so brightly, I literally cannot find any words to say except โ€œHey, you.โ€

We step toward each other on the sidewalk, and as I put my arms around her, Parker takes the drink tray from Eden. And now I feel both her hands

pressed against my back, pulling me in. I allow myself to savor it for a moment, but because I would stay like this all day if we could, I let go first.

EDEN

I follow Parker up the stairs into my new life. Sheโ€™s talking without any trouble the whole two flights, while Iโ€™m struggling to catch my breath. I guess it must be her swimming lungs. Or maybe Iโ€™ve been holding my breath so long, I donโ€™t know what itโ€™s like to breathe easily anymore.

โ€œLaundry room is in the basement. Josh and D stay on the floor above us,โ€ sheโ€™s saying as she leads me down a long narrow hallway. โ€œOh, and after this, remind one of us to show you our spot up on the roof.โ€

โ€œOkay,โ€ I manage to get out.

At the very end of the hall, she says, โ€œHere we are, 2C. Home sweet home.โ€

Part of me also wonders if my racing heart is me not being used to stairs or my anxiety meds wearing off or if it might just have something to do with Josh and the rush of finally being able to hug him, touch him, in the daylight, in public, without fear of who might see us and what they might think or if Iโ€™m doing anything wrong or pretending itโ€™s something itโ€™s not.

She pushes the door open and holds her arm out, gesturing for me to walk in first. Itโ€™s a large, bright, open room. With windows on two walls. A well- worn formerly vibrant red couch sits in the middle. A small table with mismatched chairs in the corner. A tiny kitchen with old white appliances and a narrow bar that separates the space.

โ€œI know itโ€™s not much,โ€ Parker says as I look around. โ€œItโ€™s small, and we share a bathroom, but itโ€™s still way better than campus housing.โ€

โ€œNo, this is . . .โ€ Itโ€™s neat and clean and nothing like home. As I take a step, the old hardwood floors creak under my feet. โ€œI love it.โ€

โ€œYour roomโ€™s this way,โ€ she says, smiling as she leads me to a wooden door on the opposite side of the apartment. โ€œMy old roommate left a few

things. Just a dresser, bookcase, desk, and chair. We can get rid of them if you want, but I thought Iโ€™d leave it and see if you need any of them first.โ€

Myย room.

The wooden floors continue, and as I cross the threshold, it feels like the room is drawing me in. Itโ€™s smaller than my bedroom back home. But thereโ€™s a large window with a tree outside it, and the old, chipped furniture is warm and inviting. I run my hand along the top of the desk and feel the grooves of pen marks crisscrossed along the surface.

โ€œWhat do you think?โ€ Joshโ€™s voice says behind me.

When I turn back around, Parker is gone and Josh is standing in the doorway with two of my bags at his feet, cradling my little stained-glass lamp in one arm like itโ€™s a baby.

Our fingers touch as I take it from him, the brass body of the lamp warm from his hands. I bring my lamp over to the deskโ€”ย myย deskโ€”plug it in at the wall socket, and turn the little key-shaped knob to switch it on.

โ€œPerfect,โ€ I say, turning back around to face him. He leans against the doorframe and smiles the way he always does. That perfectly imperfect smile of his. But this time it sparks something in me, like that key-shaped switch. Like Iโ€™m seeing him in full color for the very first time. My feet are frozen in place. But in my mind, Iโ€™m walking over to him. Because all I want to do is pull him inside the room,ย myย room, close the door, take his hands in mine, and put them on me. I want to kiss him everywhere, feel his mouth on my skin. I want toโ€”

โ€œYou okay?โ€ he asks, picking up the bags and walking toward me like heโ€™s definitely not thinking any of the things I am right now.

I swallow, watching his arms working so easily, so smoothly, as he sets the bags down next to the closet door. โ€œYeah. Iโ€™m just . . .โ€ I bring the backs of my hands to my cheeks. Theyโ€™re flaming. Iโ€™ve always been attracted to him, but this is differentโ€”this churning inside me is like a gnawing hunger but deeper. I usually have so many firewalls up when I start thinking about him, the sudden vividness of this fantasy catches me off guard. โ€œJust hot. Warm,โ€ I correct.

I donโ€™t know what is happening to me. Is this just how I feel about him when Iโ€™m not filtering my emotions and censoring my every thought?

He walks past me, his arm just grazing mine, as he goes to the window. โ€œLet me see if I can get this open. All these old windows stick really bad in the summer.โ€ He unlocks the metal latch at the top and gives the wooden

frame a sharp jab before it squeals open, ushering in a fresh breeze, which hits my skin, cooling me down just enough to stop me from rushing over to him and acting out the things that wonโ€™t stop playing in my head.

โ€œThanks,โ€ I tell him, reaching out as he passes me. My fingers catch the sleeve of his shirt, my hand grasping his forearm as he stops. I want to pull him in, want him to reach for me too, but he stands there and covers my hand with his for only a moment before letting go.

โ€œNo problem,โ€ he says, all nonchalant, and goes to the doorway as if I were really only thanking him for opening the window.

I make my way downstairs, feeling slightly dizzy as my senses attune to him, just steps behind me. All day long weโ€™re in such close contact, passing in the hallway, squeezing by each other on the stairs. Every single time I want to reach out to touch him. But he doesnโ€™t seem to be having the same problem at all, and I donโ€™t know what to make of that.

The day is only getting hotter and more humid when I find myself alone outside. I take one last sip of my now melted frozen cappuccino and decide I can at least try to undo the bungee cords holding the mattress and box spring in place.

Standing up on the inside of the car door, stretching on my tiptoes, I reach under the mattress, trying to feel the spot where the two hooks connect. I canโ€™t see it, but I can feel it right at the edge of my fingertips.

โ€œDonโ€™t be a hero, Eden!โ€ Parker calls out, suddenly behind me. โ€œLet the guys get that one. Itโ€™s not anti-feminist, I promise. Or if it is, whatever, I wonโ€™t tell anyone.โ€

โ€œI got it,โ€ I say, even though I can feel my grip slipping.

โ€œHere,โ€ Josh says as he comes up behind me. I feel his leg next to mine, his hand resting on my back for a moment as he reaches his other arm around me, his body pressed up against mine now. โ€œYou almost had it,โ€ he says with his hand moving along my arm to the place where my fingers almost reach the hook. He pulls the cords closer and says, his mouth painfully close to me, โ€œHold this side.โ€ He slips the hook into my hand and then reaches farther, pressing tighter against me, to unclasp the two.

My heart stutters at the feeling of his body on me like this. He has to be feeling it too.

As he steps down, I lose my balance. โ€œOh, ya good?โ€ he says, normal as anything, as he places his hands on my waist to stabilize me. If I turn

around, Iโ€™m afraid I wonโ€™t be able to look him in the eye without kissing him.

And because I donโ€™t think I should do that here, in the middle of the street, I just mutter, โ€œYeah, all good.โ€ I keep my back to him as I slip under his arms. I go stand at a safe distance on the sidewalk with Parker while we watch the two of them maneuver my mattress off the car.

I run up the steps to hold the front door open for them, and as Josh passes, he says, โ€œThanks.โ€

I let myself look up for only a split second, and I can tell he has all these questions in his eyes as ifย Iโ€™mย the one being weird.

As the door swings closed behind them, Parker snorts a laugh.

โ€œWell, then.โ€ She breathes out an exaggerated sigh, almost a whistle. โ€œYou could cut that with a knife.โ€

โ€œWhat?โ€ I ask, even though, of course, I know. She tilts her head and smiles.

I press my hands to my cheeks again, feeling the blood simmering under the surface of my skin. โ€œUm. So, food?โ€ I say, instead of acknowledging what is apparently obvious to everyone around us. โ€œIโ€™m gonna order us some food. Whatโ€™s good around here?โ€

Thirty minutes later, weโ€™re all on the roof with a large pizza and a two-liter of soda. Dominic brought up paper plates and plastic cups and hands them to each of us.

Parker says, โ€œYouโ€™re destroying the planet with theseโ€”you know that, right?โ€

Dominic doesnโ€™t skip a beat. โ€œNo, the energy companies and big-ass corporations are destroying the planet. I am being thoughtful and making our hard-earned dinner a little more civilized.โ€

Josh scoots over on the wicker love seat, making room for me to sit down next to him. โ€œYouโ€™ll get used to their bickering,โ€ he says, smiling as he meets my eyes. It feels like the first time heโ€™s even looked at me all day.

โ€œNo, itโ€™s nice,โ€ I say. And it is. My house has felt so dead these past months, with no one talking to each other. No one joking around. No one laughing. โ€œThis whole place is nice,โ€ I add, taking in this little patch of space on the roof, filled with mismatched outdoor furniture, a patio table and chairs, potted plants.

With the sun finally retreating behind the taller buildings in the distance, a comfortable quiet washes over us as we sit with our slices of pizza. Until Dominic sees me trying to blot my oily fingers on a clean spot on my grease-stained paper plate.

โ€œOh shit, forgot . . .โ€ He pulls a wad of napkins heโ€™d had bunched up in his pocket and hands me one. โ€Here you go.โ€

โ€œMore paper products?โ€ Parker shouts through her last bite. โ€œWell, you can just use your pants as a napkin if you prefer!โ€

Parker holds both hands up in the air and then brings them down against her thighs, smearing them all over her jeans. Dominic stands abruptly, commanding everyoneโ€™s attention, holds up one finger like heโ€™s about to launch into some kind of serious monologue, but then his only response is โ€œEw.โ€

I canโ€™t help but laugh, even though Iโ€™m not entirely sure how much theyโ€™re joking with each other. Next to me Josh exhales a short snicker but restrains himself.

Parker stands up with a satisfied grin on her face. โ€œAll right, kids. Iโ€™m gonna try to get in a swim before it gets too late.โ€

โ€œAnd I have a hot date I need to get ready for,โ€ Dominic says. โ€œAnd by hot date, I mean a video call in my room.โ€ My confusion must show on my face because he continues. โ€œMe and Lukeโ€”you know him, I think, Lucas Ramirez from school?โ€

โ€œOh yeah,โ€ I say. โ€œHe was a year ahead of me.โ€

โ€œWeโ€™re doing the long-distance thing for now. Trying to convince him to come out here like you did, butโ€”โ€ He stops talking suddenly, and Josh sort of squirms next to me. โ€œWell, I mean, not that itโ€™s the same thing. Iโ€™m not saying you came here just to be withโ€”โ€

โ€œOh-kay,โ€ Josh interrupts. โ€œDonโ€™t wanna be late, do you?โ€

Parker puts both of her hands on Dominicโ€™s back, steering him toward the door. โ€œWeโ€™re leaving, but you two enjoy this totally unromantic sunset. Later, roomie.โ€

โ€œWow,โ€ Josh breathes as they clamor for the door, their laughter echoing after it closes. โ€œIโ€™m sorry about them. Theyโ€™re being weird and immature.โ€

โ€œTheyโ€™re fine.โ€ What I really want to say is heโ€™s the one whoโ€™s being weird and immature. โ€œI like them.โ€

I set my paper plate on top of the empty pizza box and lean back into the cushions, feeling all the tension in my muscles coming to the surface. But

the view is beautiful as the light hits the buildings that make up the small city of the university and then a landscape of rolling green hills just beyond. So much nicer than the flat monotony of back home.

The breeze flows over us and rattles the leaves of the nearby trees, cooling my hot skin and sweat of the day. This would be the perfect moment for him to kiss me, talk to me, do literally anything to me.

JOSH

Iโ€™ve been waiting to be alone with her all day, trying so hard to play it cool and not force anything or make it awkward, but now weโ€™re finally here and Iโ€™m not sure what to do.

โ€œWell,โ€ Eden says. โ€œShe wasnโ€™t wrong about the sunset.โ€

I turn to look at her, how sheโ€™s watching the sky, the way itโ€™s casting this golden creamsicle light over her, but the only thing I can think of as a response is โ€œYeah.โ€

She sighs and leans back, bringing her legs up onto the seat and crossing them beneath her. Turning her head from side to side, she sits up straight, then curves her back and starts kneading her shoulders with her hands. โ€œGod, Iโ€™m really out of shape,โ€ she says with a small laugh.

Thereโ€™s nothing I can think to say about her shape that will not incriminate me in some way, so I just sit here, trying not to look at her.

โ€œI guess Iโ€™m not used to all the lifting and carrying,โ€ she continues, rolling her shoulders forward and back.

โ€œOh, right,โ€ I manage. โ€œJosh?โ€

When I look up, sheโ€™s stopped moving around and is now staring at me. โ€œAre you okay?โ€

โ€œMe?โ€ I ask. โ€œYes, why?โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t know. Youโ€™ve been really quiet all day.โ€ She pauses. โ€œDid I do something? Are you not happy Iโ€™m here?โ€

โ€œNo.โ€ So my playing it cool has completely backfired. โ€œOh my God, no.

Iโ€™m happy youโ€™re here; Iโ€™m just trying to give you space.โ€ โ€œWhy, do you want me to giveย youย space?โ€

โ€œNo,โ€ I almost shout. โ€œItโ€™s not that at all. You just got here, and I donโ€™t want you to feel like thereโ€™s any big rush to figure out what weโ€™re doing.โ€

โ€œOh.โ€ She nods, seeming to think about this for a few seconds. โ€œYeah, I didnโ€™t get that at all.โ€

โ€œSorry,โ€ I mumble. โ€œI probably shouldโ€™ve just come out and said that, huh?โ€

โ€œArenโ€™t you supposed to be the good communicator in this relationship?โ€ she says with a short laugh, but then quickly adds, โ€œI mean, notย relationship-ย relationshipโ€”you know what I mean.โ€ She reaches around to the back of her neck again, squeezing the muscles while turning her head.

โ€œGuess Iโ€™m slipping.โ€ I feel slightly more relaxed after getting that out in the open . . . and seeing her fumble through the word relationship. โ€œDo you need a hand?โ€

โ€œYes, please.โ€ She pivots on the seat so her back is facing me. โ€œI thought youโ€™d never ask. Itโ€™s like, right hereโ€โ€”she runs her hand from her neck to her shoulderโ€”โ€œwhere it hurts.โ€

Her skin is warm as my hands dip under the collar of her T-shirt, and I have to exercise such restraint to not lean down and kiss that spot. I feel her whole body exhale and start to sway and melt under my hands. She makes these small moans every time I press down. Iโ€™m glad Iโ€™m sitting behind her so she canโ€™t see how much her noises are affecting me. If I didnโ€™t know her better, part of me would wonder if she was doing it on purpose to turn me on, but she doesnโ€™t think like that. She doesnโ€™t even know what sheโ€™s doing to me. She never did.

โ€œAll right,โ€ I say, stopping abruptly because I want this too much right now.

โ€œOh, donโ€™t stop,โ€ she groans, glancing over her shoulder at me. โ€œThat felt so good.โ€

โ€œYeah, it was feeling a little too good to me too,โ€ I mumble.

โ€œWhat?โ€ she asks, and I donโ€™t know if she didnโ€™t hear me or if she just doesnโ€™t know what I mean.

I clear my throat, trying to decide if I should tell her or not. โ€œN-nothing.โ€ โ€œNo, what? Tell me.โ€ She twists around so that sheโ€™s facing me now. โ€œEden, youโ€”โ€ I start, but I canโ€™t help laughing. โ€œYou were . . .โ€

โ€œWhat?โ€ she repeats.

โ€œYou were making . . . sex noises.โ€

Her mouth opens and she gasps, and I watch as her face flushes right before my eyes. But I can tell sheโ€™s trying not to laugh too. โ€œOh my God, Josh!โ€

โ€œWhat, you were!โ€

โ€œI was not!โ€ she shrieks, swatting at me before covering her face with her hands.

โ€œYou were tooโ€”I would know.โ€

Her laughter fades as she keeps gazing back and forth between me and the last remnants of color left over from the sunset.

โ€œSorry,โ€ I tell her, trying to keep the lighthearted mood going a little longer. โ€œI could only take so much.โ€

She sits back again and looks out at the darkening sky, shaking her head and letting out a little burst of laughter every so often. โ€œSex noises,โ€ she scoffs. And then she turns toward me again. โ€œUm, okay. So, speaking of . . . that,โ€ she begins. โ€œIs it time to take the pin out, you think?โ€

โ€œItโ€™s honestly your call.โ€ Iโ€™m trying to keep the ball in her court, but itโ€™s so hard to know when Iโ€™m giving her too much space or not enough. โ€œFor me, itโ€™ll hold. I mean, if you want to wait or need more time, we can talk about it when weโ€™re not totally exhausted.โ€

โ€œRight.โ€ She sighs and then immediately yawns. โ€œIt has been a big day.โ€ โ€œYeah,โ€ I agree. โ€œI guess we should probably go in, huh? Iโ€™m sure you

have a lot of unpacking and stuff.โ€

She nods as she stands, then holds her hand out to help me up. I take it, and we sort of loosely hold hands as we walk across the roof deck.

We reach my floor first.

โ€œSo, this is me,โ€ I tell her. โ€œWant me to walk you down to yours?โ€ โ€œNo, itโ€™s all right.โ€

We stand in front of my door, and she moves in to hug me first, reaching up to wrap her arms around my neck. โ€œIโ€™m really glad youโ€™re here,โ€ I tell her one more time.

โ€œSo am I,โ€ she whispers, her mouth close to my ear. โ€œIโ€™ve missed you.โ€ She gives the side of my neck the smallest, faintest kiss before pulling away, leaving me with these shock waves radiating from my heart.

โ€œOkay,โ€ I say for absolutely no reason, probably blushing and grinning like an idiot. โ€œWell, you know where to find me if you need me.โ€

She catches my hand as she moves away, giving it a tiny pulse before she lets me drift out of her grasp. โ€œYou too,โ€ she adds, and thereโ€™s something in her tone, in her smileโ€”is she flirting with me?ย God, donโ€™t tempt me.

โ€œGood night,โ€ I call after her. She turns around when she reaches the end of the hall at the staircase and waves.

Inside, I can hear Dominic talking with Luke behind his bedroom door. I can still feel the press of her lips against my neck. I look at the time on my phone. Itโ€™s only eight thirty. What the fuck am I doing here? Why didnโ€™t I just tell her that I canโ€™t stop thinking about her, that the only thing I want to know in the world is what sheโ€™s thinking about us?ย For me, itโ€™ll holdโ€”is that what I actually said? I mean, it will. Itย has. For months, years.

I realize Iโ€™m pacing. I force my feet to stop. I go to the door, but my hand refuses to turn the knob. I should wait. I can wait. No, I canโ€™t. I open the door and jog down the hallway, down the stairs, all the way to her door. I raise my hand to knock, but I donโ€™t follow through. I start to head back the way I came but stop again. Go back. And now Iโ€™m essentially pacing again, but in her hallway this time.

Sheโ€™s right there, I tell myself.

I go back to her door. Iโ€™m doing this.

I raise my hand and knock, too loud and fast.

Thereโ€™s some shuffling on the other side of the door, and when she opens it, she looks surprised to see me standing there. Her hair is down now, sort of messy, and it just makes her look even more beautiful to me somehow.

โ€œHi,โ€ she says.

I take a breath, bypass a greeting, and blurt out, โ€œEden, would you please go on a date with me tomorrow night?โ€

โ€œA date?โ€ she asks.

โ€œUh-huh. A date. With me. Tomorrow. Please.โ€

She looks down at her feet and smiles, and it takes everything to keep my hands in my pockets and not reach out to move her hair out of her face.

โ€œOkay,โ€ she agrees, finally lifting her head to look at me again. โ€œOkay?โ€ I repeat.

โ€œOkay,โ€ she says again, and lets out this small laugh.

โ€œOkay.โ€ I start to back away and nearly trip over my own feet like Iโ€™m a twelve-year-old and this is the first time Iโ€™ve ever asked a girl out.

โ€œGood night,โ€ she says. โ€œAgain.โ€ โ€œGood night again.โ€

She closes the door, and Iโ€™m halfway down the hall, feeling completely reenergized after this utterly exhausting day of trying to watch my every move and word and thought. But I could run a marathon right now. I pick up my pace, preparing to take the stairs two at a time, burn off some of this excitement, when I hear a door click and snap behind me.

โ€œJosh, wait!โ€

I turn to see her skipping after me. When she reaches me, she stops quickly and takes a few fast, shallow breaths and stands so close, pausing for a moment before she reaches for my hands. โ€œI just . . . um,โ€ she starts but doesnโ€™t finish. Instead, she lets her hands trail up the length of my arms, to my shoulders to my neck to my face, where I can feel her fingers trembling slightly against my cheek, her thumb grazing my bottom lip.

She opens her mouth and it looks like sheโ€™s going to say something else, but then she takes that tiny breath I love so much and tilts her head up to me. Her eyes search mine for my answer. I donโ€™t think I could speak if I tried, but I nod because whatever the question, whatever she wants, my answer is always going to be yes.

Her lips are so soft as they part mine, her mouth warm, and as my tongue tastes hers, she kisses me harder. We breathe each other in, heavier and deeper and sheโ€™s making those sounds from the roof again, and I canโ€™t even believe how good it feels to be kissing her. Toย onlyย be kissing her.

My hands want her face and hair and arms and hips all at the same time. She holds on to my waist and pushes against me as I pull her closer, until weโ€™re backing up into the wall, where my elbow lands with a thud. โ€œOh,โ€ Eden breathes into my mouth as she places her hand between my elbow and the wall. And I have no idea why such a simple gesture should make my heart start pounding uncontrollably like this, but it does, and I want her to bring me back to her room so badly it hurts.

Someone opens their door, and we pull apart just in time to see the older man who lives in 2E poke his head out and mumble, โ€œGet a goddamn roomโ€ before shutting the door again.

We look back at each other, and as much as I want to keep kissing her here, like this, for at least another few hours, we both bust out laughing.

โ€œSorry!โ€ Eden calls in the direction of the closed door. โ€œNot sorry,โ€ she whispers to me.

I shake my head. โ€œDefinitely not.โ€

She brings both hands up to my shoulders and pulls me down just enough for her to kiss me one more time, softly, slowly. Resting her head against my chest, she sighs, and I can feel the warmth of her breath through my shirt. She looks up at me, placing her hand over my heart. โ€œTo be continued?โ€ she asks.

I nod, but I canโ€™t speak, canโ€™t move. Even as she backs away and takes her hand from me, I replace it with mine, exactly where hers was, not wanting the feeling of her touching me to be gone. She drifts down the hall, turning around once to smile. She covers her mouth as she lets out the briefest giggle and jogs back to her door. I stand there for at least a full minute, just in case she comes back. But as I make my way up the stairs, slowly, one at a time, all I can think is: this is how it always shouldโ€™ve been, how it shouldโ€™ve started between us.

EDEN

I spent all day sending Mara pics of every outfit combination I have in my current wardrobe, which is not that much. She kept saying I should wear the one dress I brought with me, but a dress felt like too much pressure for our very first real date. Thereโ€™s enough pressure after waiting for this for almost three years, I donโ€™t need to add any more.

So, I opt for the jean shorts I wore the night of the concert. Theyโ€™re newish and I know I caught him checking out my legs in them that night. A simple T-shirt with tiny yellow flowers. Pretty but not sexy. Sandals. I shave my legs and armpits. Because, just in case. I try to follow this video Mara sent me on cute styles for shoulder-length hair. I manage something with a twist and bobby pins that looks decent enoughโ€”from the front anyway. Lip gloss, mascara, bracelet, necklace, earrings.

He picks me up at eight oโ€™clock on the dot, just like he said he would, and he looks and smells so good, I almost donโ€™t want to go anywhere with him except back inside. But then he leans down and kisses me on the cheek, which makes me laugh for some reason. And when we get outside onto the sidewalk, he takes my hand, except itโ€™s so tender and unexpected and honest that it makes me almost want to cry.

We hold hands as we take our time walking, smiling, and glancing over at each other for the entire three blocks it takes to get to the restaurant.

Nonnaโ€™s Little Italy is the name of the place. Itโ€™s small and dark and cozy, and I could smell the herbs and baking cheese and garlic and oil from the street. If comfort food could be an entire environment, this would be it. The woman who seats us does so with not many words, but she smiles warmly at us both when she hands us our menus. A second, younger man, comes by to leave a basket of freshly baked bread wrapped in the same kind of cloth napkin our silverware is tucked inside.

After we place our orders, Josh says, โ€œSo?โ€ neatly pulling back the towel from the bread, like heโ€™s trying not to rip wrapping paper on a gift. โ€œHowโ€™s the date going for you so far? And donโ€™t let the fact that Iโ€™ve been trying to plan this basically as long as weโ€™ve known each other influence your answer in any way at all.โ€

โ€œWell, for starters, you showed up on time. Looking very handsome, I might add.โ€ I pause because, did I just sayย handsomeย out loud? I feel like I should be embarrassed, showing my hand so easily, but then . . . weโ€™ve waited too long for games. Thatโ€™s something old Eden would do. So, I force myself to add, โ€œThe kiss on the cheek was also a nice touch.โ€

โ€œOh, Iโ€™m glad,โ€ he says, blushing. โ€œI wasnโ€™t sure that went over like Iโ€™d hoped.โ€

โ€œNo, it did,โ€ I assure him. โ€œAnd this place. You might as well have read my mind. Nonnaโ€™s Little Italy might be my new favorite restaurant, and I havenโ€™t even tried the bread yet.โ€

He pushes the basket toward me, and I tear off a piece, still almost too hot to touch. But the butter melts into it perfectly. He waits for me to take a bite.

โ€œAnd now that youโ€™ve tried the bread?โ€ he asks.

I take my time chewing and swallowing and open my mouth like Iโ€™m going to answer him but then take another bite, which makes him laugh, which makes me all warm and inexplicably soft inside. โ€œBest date Iโ€™ve ever been on,โ€ I answer.

โ€œWow. Thatโ€™s better than I thought,โ€ he says.

โ€œWell, full disclosure. This is also kind of theย onlyย date Iโ€™ve ever been on.โ€

โ€œSteve didnโ€™t take you on dates?โ€

I had sort of forgotten Josh knew about Steve. In my mind, I was thinking more about the plethora of random guys Iโ€™d hooked up with after Joshโ€”the ones I met at parties or other sordid drunk and high encounters. Faceless, mostly. Nameless. People I never saw again, let alone went out on dates with. โ€œNot really,โ€ I finally answer. โ€œBut not for lack of trying on his part,โ€ I add, in Steveโ€™s defense.

Josh looks down at his plate, and when he looks back up at me, heโ€™s sort of grimacing. โ€œOkay, thatโ€™s gotta be like first date rule number one, right? Donโ€™t mention the other personโ€™s ex. Jesus, maybe this is my first date too,โ€ he tries to joke, taking a sip of water.

โ€œNo, itโ€™s okay.โ€ But now that itโ€™s out there, I feel obligated to say something. โ€œSteve was a pretty good person. We just shouldโ€™ve only been friends, thatโ€™s all.โ€

Josh is nodding, and right as heโ€™s about to say something, our food comes. We start eating in silence, and I worry Iโ€™ve somehow messed this up, but then Josh finally speaks. โ€œSo, does that mean youโ€™re still friends with him?โ€

โ€œYou mean like you and I are still friends?โ€ I ask. โ€œSort of,โ€ he admits.

โ€œNo. Weโ€™re friends. But weโ€™re not friends like you and I areย friends. If you know what I mean?โ€

He smiles, both bright and bold, yet a little shy, all at the same time. โ€œI think I know what you mean, yeah.โ€

โ€œGood.โ€ I twirl a bite of my pasta around my fork and stuff it in my mouth so I stop talking.

โ€œAnd just so you know,โ€ he says, โ€œIโ€™m notย friendsย with anyone else right now either.โ€

โ€œNoted.โ€ And even I have to laugh at how nerdy and awkward weโ€™re being. โ€œThank you for the information,โ€ I add.

โ€œYouโ€™re very welcome.โ€

Full of pasta and sauce and bread and cheese, we leave Nonnaโ€™s, but when we get outside, Josh starts walking in the opposite direction from which we came.

โ€œNot this way?โ€ I ask.

โ€œThe dateโ€™s not over yet,โ€ he says. โ€œThereโ€™s more?โ€

โ€œYeah, thereโ€™s sort of a whole theme.โ€

โ€œI get aย themedย date?โ€ I ask, genuinely impressed, flattered even. โ€œWhat is it, the theme?โ€

โ€œItโ€™s more of a loose theme or . . . or a theme within a theme,โ€ he says, motioning with his hands as he tries to explain.

We walk about half a block, past some apartment buildings that look a lot like ours, with storefronts at the ground level that are closed already. Old trees line the streets here, their roots pushing up the cement of the sidewalk into tiny mountains that make the ground uneven. Josh reaches for my hand

again and I let him. But he keeps holding on even after we pass the broken parts of the sidewalk.

โ€œWeโ€™ve never done this,โ€ he points out, interlacing his fingers with mine. โ€œYou always used to pull away when Iโ€™d try to hold your hand.โ€

I nod. โ€œI like it now. Itโ€™s nice.โ€ But itโ€™s more than nice. And I more than like it. I just donโ€™t know exactly how to say that.

He smiles at the ground, and I squeeze his hand once. He squeezes back. Like some kind of private Morse code between the two of us. We turn on a dark corner and the wind suddenly picks up, blowing our clothes and hair. I have the distinct thought that I wouldnโ€™t want to be walking here alone at night without him.

โ€œWeโ€™re close,โ€ he says as if he can tell what Iโ€™m thinking.

We stop in front of a little shop I think is a coffeehouse at first, because the neon sign in the window saysย GREATER THAN > GROUNDS. As we walk in, a bell dings. Thereโ€™s no one in sight, and when we step up to the counter, I see there are at least twenty different flavors of gelato lined up in the freezer case. The hand-lettered sign at the register says:ย COME FOR THE COFFEE, STAY FOR THE GELATO.

โ€œMm, gelato for dessert?โ€ I ask.

โ€œI took a chance,โ€ he says, half squinting, half side-eyeing me like heโ€™s holding his breath. โ€œYou do like gelato, then?โ€

โ€œWell, yeah. I like ice cream, so . . .โ€

A girl pops up from behind the counter, proclaiming, as she straightens her glasses, โ€œGelato is not ice cream. Ice cream is not gelato. Gelato is a thousand times better than ice cream. Itโ€™s just a fact.โ€

โ€œI agree,โ€ Josh says, but he barely glances at her, this girl who kind of reminds me of myself in a weird way. Maybe itโ€™s just the glasses and the similar hair and height, but I find myself imagining her as an alternate- universe version of myself.

She puts on a fresh pair of plastic gloves and says, โ€œMy name is Chelsea. Iโ€™ll be your barista today.โ€ And then she sighs, like saying her name is the worst part of her job. โ€œLet me know if you want to sample any flavors.โ€

โ€œThanks,โ€ Josh tells her as we peruse the selections.

I canโ€™t help glancing over at her. Sheโ€™s looking at Joshโ€”of course, I understand whyโ€”and when she sees me noticing, she pushes her glasses up, just like I always used to do when I was nervous.

โ€œUm, can I try the pistachio mint?โ€ I ask her.

She shovels a tiny plastic spoonful and hands it to me across the counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Josh is watching me put it in my mouth. โ€œWhat?โ€

โ€œNothing. Itโ€™s just, pistachio mint? What are you, a senior citizen?โ€ โ€œItโ€™s good! Here, try,โ€ I tell him, hovering the spoon in front of his face.

โ€œGross, keep your old-person pistachio mint.โ€ The barista, Chelsea, sighs again, thoroughly unamused. Part of me wonders if sheโ€™s looking at me and looking at Josh and wondering howโ€”ย whyโ€”heโ€™s here with me and not giving her a second glance when weโ€™re so similar.

โ€œCan I try the chocolate peanut butter?โ€ Josh says, either not picking up on the baristaโ€™s annoyance or just not caring. She gives Josh his sample, and we both watch him as he presses the spoon onto his tongue and closes his eyes.

โ€œChocolate peanut butter, really? Thatโ€™s what does it for you?โ€

โ€œWhatโ€™s wrong with chocolate peanut butter? Itโ€™s a classic flavor combination.โ€

โ€œI know Iโ€™m in the minority, but there are just some things that donโ€™t go together.โ€

The barista says, completely monotone, โ€œOh my God, take it back.โ€

Josh looks at the barista, then at me, and for a second I wonder if he sees it too. But then he says, โ€œOkay, Iโ€™m sorry, but this isnโ€™t gonna work out after all.โ€ He turns like heโ€™s going for the door, and I try to laugh because I know heโ€™s joking, but then, out of nowhere, I collide into this wall of panic that rushes into me at the thought of him saying that for real someday.

I reach for him, but he floats through my fingers because theyโ€™re going all tingly. Time seems to expand in the second he takes to stop and turn back around and pull me into his arms.

โ€œJust kidding,โ€ he whispers into my hair. He looks down at me and kisses my lips, quickly. Time resets. Andย Iโ€™m here, I tell myself,ย Iโ€™m okay. I can keep myself here.

I see: Josh.ย I feel: Josh.ย I hear: Josh.ย I smell: Josh.ย I taste: Josh.

He brings his hand to my neck and tilts my face toward him. โ€œYou know Iโ€™m just kidding, right?โ€ he says quietly, sweeping his thumb across my cheek.

โ€œYeah,โ€ I breathe, finding my voice again. Not disappearing. Not tonight.

Not with him.

The barista clears her throat and says loudly, โ€œSo, one pistachio mint and one chocolate peanut butter?โ€

I look at her again, and maybe I donโ€™t see as much of a resemblance anymore. She is just a girl named Chelsea who has her own life and will probably never think about us again after we walk out of here. โ€œYes, please,โ€ I answer, stepping away from Josh and feeling my feet and hands and legs and arms regaining their strength as I walk up to the register.

โ€œI can get it, Eden,โ€ Josh says.

โ€œNo, I insist,โ€ I tell him. โ€œYou got dinner; Iโ€™m getting dessert.โ€ โ€œOkay,โ€ he agrees. โ€œThank you.โ€

Chelsea slides our cups of gelato across the counter and says, โ€œHave a good night,โ€ adding, under her breath, โ€œIโ€™m sure you will.โ€

We take our little paper cups of gelato and tiny flat spoons to go, eating as Josh leads us down the street. โ€œSo, I sorta got the feeling that girl didnโ€™t like us very much,โ€ he says with a laugh.

โ€œWell, in her defense we were being a tad . . .ย cute.โ€

โ€œYou meanย youย were.โ€ He nudges me in the arm, but I sidestep the sweet comment because even though Iโ€™m trying here, Iโ€™m still me, and I still canโ€™t seem to acknowledge even the most innocent compliment.

โ€œSo, Iโ€™d like to guess at the theme of the evening.โ€

โ€œOkay,โ€ he says, scraping the sides of his dish and licking his mini spoon.

โ€œSomething Italian, obviously,โ€ I say, tapping my chin with my finger and pretending to give this my serious and undivided attention. โ€œDelicious Italian foods?โ€

โ€œClo-ose,โ€ he says, drawing the word out. โ€œRemember, though, itโ€™s more of a theme within a theme. We do still have one more stop.โ€

โ€œAre you taking me to Italy next?โ€

โ€œYeah.โ€ He smiles as he tosses his cup into a garbage can. โ€œI wish.โ€

โ€œI have one more bite of my pistachio mint. You sure you donโ€™t wanna try? Itโ€™s really good, I promise. I wouldnโ€™t steer you wrong.โ€

He studies the contents of my cup and then says, โ€œOkay, Iโ€™ll try.โ€

I gather a spoonful and then canโ€™t decide if I should hand it to him or feed it to him. He laughs at my awkwardness and ducks his head to meet the spoon, holding my hand in his as he brings it to his mouth. He watches me while he tastes it. And thereโ€™s something almost unbearably intimate about

this moment, standing on the sidewalk on an empty street, the wind picking up all around us, my hand still in his while we pause, taste, savor.

Slowly, he begins to nod. โ€œHmm.โ€ โ€œHmm . . . good?โ€

โ€œDifferent,โ€ he says, licking his lips. โ€œItโ€™s different than I thought it would be, but I kinda like it. Actually, I really like it.โ€

โ€œSee?โ€

He takes my empty cup and spoon and tosses them into the garbage can a few steps away, and when he comes back, he stands in front of me and touches my cheek again, the way he had in the shop. He presses his lips to mine so softly, not rushed like before, and as I kiss him back, I can taste all the flavors.

โ€œI wanted to make up for that weird little spur-of-the-moment kiss back there and couldnโ€™t wait until the end of the night.โ€ He holds his hand out for me to take again and adds, โ€œSorry.โ€

โ€œDonโ€™t be. I liked them both.โ€ I squeeze his hand again, and he squeezes back as we keep walking in the direction of campus.

We enter a parklike setting right off the street. I read the sign out loud. โ€œTucker Hill Memorial Garden. Is this part of the school?โ€

โ€œIt is, yeah. I used to live over here my first year,โ€ he says, pointing farther down the street. โ€œAnd this is how I would get on campus every day.โ€ โ€œItโ€™s really pretty here,โ€ I tell him. We continue down this little pathway through the garden. There are different types of plants and flowers, with benches parked under trees every so often, small lights that shine along the

way, plaques engraved with peopleโ€™s names adorning everything in sight.

โ€œConfession,โ€ Josh says, giving my hand a squeeze. โ€œI actually used to think about you all the time when I came through here.โ€

โ€œYou did?โ€ I ask, feeling my heart racing at the thought of him here, thinking of me.

He nods. โ€œWhy?โ€

He shrugs. โ€œItโ€™s always quiet here and beautifulโ€”every season has different things in bloom. Itโ€™s also a little sad, but peaceful. I guess I kind of thought this might be your sort of thing.โ€

I let his words sink in as I catch a long sweeping branch of a young willow tree and let it fall through my hand as we walk. When I turn my

head to look back at him, heโ€™s already watching me. I let go of his hand and loop my arm with his instead, wanting him closer.

โ€œWhat are you thinking?โ€ he asks. โ€œAm I talking too much?โ€

โ€œNo, I love when you talk to me.โ€ He pulls me in closer, and our feet kind of stumble into each other. โ€œIt just catches me off guard every time you do that.โ€

โ€œDo what?โ€

โ€œJust . . . get me. So right, so often.โ€

โ€œWell, I canโ€™t take all the credit,โ€ he says, seeming to sidestep my compliment this time. โ€œThereโ€™s one more part up here that deserves most of it.โ€

I canโ€™t imagine what he means by that, but as we continue down the foliage-lined pathway, I see thereโ€™s a light ahead, a clearing that opens up into a larger space. As we get closer, I can hear water running, splashing.

โ€œWow,โ€ I say, letting go of Joshโ€™s arm to get a better look. Itโ€™s a fountain in the shape of an apple, made of stone and metal and sitting on a giant circle of granite, no barrier to prevent anyone from walking right up to it. And so I do. But when I get too close, water spouts begin spraying all around it, like a challenge to try to walk through and remain dry. The exterior of the apple is shiny red like a fire engine, and the water sprays out of the top where the stem curves up and over the side of the apple, a metal leaf dangling in the wind, held there by a wire or chain of some sort.

But as I walk around to get the full view, I see the other side of the apple is carved out, meant to look like there have been giant bites taken out of the fruit, leaving the hourglass shape of the core behind, and the seeds, made of a dark metal, all overflowing with water. Inside the round part of the apple, thereโ€™s a bench with two sculpted seats in the shape of leaves, just like the metal leaf from the stem, shielded from the waterfalls. It reminds me of the pumpkin carriage fromย Cinderella, except grittier, less elegant . . . more dangerous and even sensual, somehow.

Josh stands in place, waiting for me to come back aroundโ€”I guess heโ€™s seen it enough times. โ€œThis is really . . . ,โ€ I begin as I make my way back to him. โ€œIโ€™ve never seen anything like this. Itโ€™s strangely . . . beautiful.โ€

Heโ€™s smiling as he watches me, and then he points to something on the ground in front of him. I come to stand next to him and look down. Thereโ€™s a plaque there that reads:

FONTANA DELLโ€™EDEN / FOUNTAIN OF EDEN.

โ€œOh my God,โ€ I say.

โ€œSee, I canโ€™t take all the credit,โ€ he repeats.

โ€œThe apple thing makes more sense now,โ€ I say, looking at the fountain again.

โ€œIโ€™m glad you like it.โ€

โ€œIโ€™m surprisedย youย like itโ€”itโ€™s so edgy and weird.โ€

โ€œI like edgy and weird,โ€ he says as he moves the strand of hair thatโ€™s fallen out of my half-assed attempt at an updo. โ€œMy favorite person in the world is a little edgy and weird, herself.โ€

โ€œJosh,โ€ I begin, but I donโ€™t really know what to say.

He stares into the water, lights shining up from underneath, casting reflections of movement all around us.

โ€œEvery day, when I would pass by, seeing your name there, I would sort of daydream about you being here. Or me bringing you here.โ€

โ€œYou know I thought about you too, right?โ€ He nods, taking both of my hands.

But I need him to really know. โ€œItโ€™s not that I justย thoughtย about you, though. I . . .โ€ย Achedย is the word Iโ€™m having trouble getting out.

โ€œI know,โ€ he says softly, but I wonder if he really does. โ€œYou know, I always thought if we got a second chance, I wanted to do it right this time,โ€ he continues, drawing his eyebrows together. โ€œDo you know what I mean?โ€

This time I nod.

โ€œBecause I want this with you,โ€ he says, eyes fastened to mine. โ€œI really do.โ€

โ€œI do too,โ€ I tell him. โ€œMore than anything.โ€

He smiles now, and I can see his whole body relax, his grip on my hands loosening. โ€œSo, then . . . weโ€™re doing this for real this time?โ€

JOSH

My words hang there in the space between us, my heart racing while I wait. I keep imagining that Iโ€™m missing her answer in the sound of the falling water. But then she starts nodding.

โ€œYes,โ€ she finally answers.

We stand there holding hands, smiling at each other. I lean down and try to kiss her, but she backs up a couple of steps. Iโ€™m confused. She doesnโ€™t let go of my hands and doesnโ€™t stop smiling either.ย Is she . . . playing with me?ย Sheโ€™s changedโ€”itโ€™s not the first time Iโ€™ve thought it over the last few months, but itโ€™s the first time I know for sure itโ€™s true.

โ€œNo?โ€ I ask her.

She shakes her head.

โ€œNo kiss, not even after my big speech?โ€ I joke with her, trying my best to play along.

โ€œYouโ€™ll get your kiss, donโ€™t worry,โ€ she says, pulling me by the arm as she moves closer to the fountain. โ€œCome with me.โ€

She walks me around to the opposite side of the fountain, our footsteps setting off the series of what must be motion-activated streams of water shooting out from the platform and arching over the walkway.

โ€œSee that little bench inside?โ€ She points to the metal bench of vines and leaves on the other side of the cascading water. โ€œLetโ€™s go,โ€ she says, holding my hand tighter.

โ€œGo?โ€

โ€œYeah, we can make it.โ€

I look around. Thereโ€™s no one here and probably no one nearby on a Sunday night when the semester isnโ€™t even in session yet. โ€œI donโ€™t think weโ€™re supposed toโ€”โ€ But before I even finish my sentence, she drops my

hand and is racing forward under the tunnel of water. โ€œWait, what are you doing?โ€ I shout after her.

She outran it, though. She turns and makes this adorableย whoopย sound from underneath the apple, still dry. โ€œCome on!โ€ she calls, motioning me forward with her hands.

I laugh to myself because Iโ€™m going to have to do this now. โ€œReady?โ€ she yells. โ€œGo!โ€

I start but stop.

โ€œJosh, come on! You have to just do it. Run. Now!โ€

So, I do. I run, either too fast or too slow, and end up getting hit full-on by every single stream of water. By the time I reach her, I am soaked all the way through my clothes.

Sheโ€™s covering her mouth, laughing. โ€œOops,โ€ she mumbles through her hand. โ€œOr maybe you shouldโ€™ve waited.โ€

โ€œOh, thatโ€™s funny?โ€ I wrap her in my arms, and she lets out this gasp- shriek as my cold wet clothes press against her, my hair dripping down onto her face as she looks up at me.

โ€œOkay, okay,โ€ she shouts. Then she pushes my hair back and slides her hands down my neck, letting them rest on my shoulders. And like always, she takes that small breath of air, slowly letting it out as she kisses me, deeper, more fully.

My hands follow down the curve of her back to her waist, fitting perfectly over her hips. She lets me pull her even closer, raising herself onto her toes to reach my mouth. I tighten my arms around her and lift her just enough for our mouths to find each other. Our kiss deepens, and as I feel the full weight of her body against me now, I just want more of her.

โ€œHold on to me,โ€ I whisper, and she folds her arms around the back of my neck. I reach down and place my hands under her thighs and hoist them up around my waist. She inhales sharply and lets out this soft breathy cry.

โ€œOkay,โ€ she says, her lips moving against mine. I can feel the muscles in her arms and legs contract all around me. โ€œIโ€™m not laughing anymore.โ€

โ€œMe neither,โ€ I tell her between kisses, my breathing growing faster, with hers. I feel her lungs expand against my chest as she opens her mouth to take a deep breath. I kiss her neck, damp with the spray of water bouncing off the walls.

โ€œGod,โ€ she exhales.

I look up at her, and her eyes are so bright, even in the dark, and I donโ€™t think I have ever wanted anything or anyone, even her, more than I do right now.

She looks at me like sheโ€™s going to say something else but kisses me instead. I take a few steps to move us to the wall, so I can get a better grip on her, but as her back presses against the dome shape of the apple, she lets out a short scream. Her whole body tenses and jerks, and I realize Iโ€™ve just walked her right into a stream of water, as it now cascades over her.

I pull back and set her down on the ground, and she stands there frozen for a moment, mouth open. โ€œIโ€™m so sorry,โ€ I tell her.

โ€œCold,โ€ she says, drenched head to toe. โ€œThat wasย reallyย cold.โ€ She gasps as she looks at me. โ€œDid you do that on purpose?โ€

โ€œI swear, I would not have purposely interrupted what was just happening.โ€ But now Iโ€™m the one covering my mouth to laugh.

โ€œOh, I see,โ€ she says, taking my hands. โ€œYou were just seducing me so you could have your revenge.โ€

โ€œNoโ€”โ€ I start to say, but then she pulls me forward into her arms, so that weโ€™re both directly under the water. โ€œOh!โ€ I shudder. โ€œHoly shit, that is fucking freezing.โ€

โ€œI know, it is!โ€ She laughs and kisses me once more. โ€œCan you take me home now?โ€

โ€œYes,โ€ I tell her, and I hold out my arm. โ€œWill you stay with me tonight?โ€

Weโ€™re trying to be quiet as we enter our building, but by the time we get to her door, leaving puddles in our wake, our shoes squeaking and squelching, weโ€™re both laughing hysterically.

โ€œOh my God,โ€ Eden groans, as she wipes under her eye and pulls her hand away with a black smear left on it. โ€œWhat do I even look like right now?โ€

โ€œBeautiful,โ€ I answer.

But she just sort of rolls her eyes dismissively and starts taking her hair down. โ€œWill you give me a few minutes?โ€ she asks. โ€œIโ€™m just going to take care of . . . this situation here,โ€ she says, floating her hand in a circle in front of her face.

โ€œYou look beautiful,โ€ I try again.

She doesnโ€™t acknowledge what Iโ€™ve said, but she does kiss me.

โ€œOkay, Iโ€™m gonna run upstairs and take care of thisโ€โ€”I look down at my drenched clothingโ€”โ€œsituation too.โ€

She laughs silently but then says, more seriously, โ€œYouโ€™re coming back though, right?โ€

โ€œOf course.โ€

โ€œIf Iโ€™m not out of the bathroom, just come in and wait in my room, okay?โ€ she whispers. โ€œIโ€™ll leave this unlocked.โ€

Dominic is standing in the kitchen eating cereal when I walk in. โ€œWhat the hell?โ€ he says, turning to look out the window. โ€œIs it raining?โ€

โ€œNope,โ€ I tell him, rushing past without explaining.

I brush my teeth and take the worldโ€™s quickest shower to wash the chlorine smell off my skin. I hang my wet clothes on the back of my door and get into clean ones. T-shirt, boxer briefs, because theyโ€™re comfortable and I also read somewhere that women find them the sexiest, a statistic I didnโ€™t think I cared about or even remembered before, well, this very moment. I go back and forth about jeans versus shortsโ€”Dominicโ€™s voice in my head telling me cargoes should be outlawedโ€”but if weโ€™re just in her room, sleeping, it can be casual. I decide to go with one of my newer pairs of athletic shorts. I hesitate at my nightstand, not sure if I should bring them. Is it presumptuous or just being prepared? I open the drawer and decide to take one, just in case.

In the kitchen, Dominic is watching me rush around. โ€œDo I look all right?โ€

โ€œAll right for . . .ย what?โ€ he asks, this horrified yet baffled expression twisting his face.

โ€œSleeping over,โ€ I admit.

โ€œDo you really want to have this conversation?โ€

โ€œNo, actually.โ€ I grab a bottle of water from our fridge. โ€œThank you.

Gotta go.โ€

โ€œHave fun, stud,โ€ he calls after me. โ€œRemember, practice in the morning

โ€”donโ€™t overexert yourself!โ€

Iโ€™m back at her door within ten minutes. I knock quietly before I open it and tiptoe through their kitchen, past the straight line of light from under the bathroom door.

I let myself into her room. I would sit, but she has a bunch of clothes spread out on her bed and chair. So I stand in the center of her tiny room

instead. Itโ€™s dark except for the dim light coming from the small lamp on her desk, and it reminds me of when I was in her room back home. How oppressive it felt in there.

But this room feels like Eden already. I admire her things spread out all haphazardly. She has her laptop open on her desk with a music app on pause and a copy of this yearโ€™s course catalog and some other books and papers teetering dangerously close to the edge. But thatโ€™s when something else on her desk catches my eye. Three prescription bottles, tucked in behind a tube of lotion and some hair products.

Itโ€™s none of my business, God, how I know that.

But, my brain insists.

Because all my stupid brain can think of is my dad and his problems, all the times he would hide pills and bottlesโ€”all the times weโ€™d have to hide themย fromย him. Sheโ€™s not my dad, though. She told me all that stuff was in the past, and I believe her.

The sound of the shower turning off carries through the quiet of the apartment.

โ€œAll right,โ€ I say out loud, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to look at something else. Her bookcase. Perfect. I go over, but I canโ€™t seem to focus enough to read a single title. I walk back over to her desk and glance at the closed door once more.

I donโ€™t need to knowย whatย they are; I just need to know that theyโ€™re hers. Carefully, I reach for the first one, memorizing their exact positions. Her nameโ€™s on the label. And the second one. And the third. All prescribed to her. By a doctor in our hometown. Nothing wrong with any of this. Itโ€™s absolutely none of my business.

But, again.

Now I do kind of need to know, at least, what theyโ€™reย not. And I still hear the fan going in the bathroom.

God, I hate myself.

I go back to her desk. The labels donโ€™t say what theyโ€™re for, but I also donโ€™t recognize the names, which is a good thing. The only drug names Iโ€™m familiar withโ€”because of my dad, of courseโ€” are the dangerous pain- related controlled substances. And at least these arenโ€™t that. The first one says to take once a day, the second is one tablet at night, and the third says as needed. All have refills. I set them back down in their spots.

There is no reason for me to fixate on this. Itโ€™s not even surprising that she would be on some kind of medication after everything sheโ€™s been through. Fuck,ย Iย should probably be medicated too.

Just then, the fan shuts off, and I hear the bathroom door creak open. Quickly, I park myself in front of her bookcase, bending down to slide one of the books out, as if Iโ€™d been standing here reading the jacket this whole time.

โ€œHey,โ€ she whispers. โ€œYouโ€™re here.โ€

And as I turn around to see her face, the glorious fruit and flower scents following along behind her, I can almost forget about the things that are none of my business. โ€œOf course Iโ€™m here,โ€ I tell her, setting the book down as she starts walking toward me.

But then she stops short, looking at her desk, and my heart starts racing like she might be able to tell Iโ€™ve handled the bottles. โ€œIโ€™m sorry itโ€™s so messy in here.โ€ She turns around and gathers up all the clothes from her bed and tosses them on top of the desk, covering all the stuff I am now pretty certain she didnโ€™t want me to see.

โ€œNo, Iโ€”I donโ€™t mind. I mean, itโ€™s really not messy,โ€ I lie.

She comes to me now and wraps her arms around my waist. โ€œIt is messy, but thatโ€™s only because I was super nervous getting ready for an important date with this guy I really like.โ€

And now I genuinely fucking hate myself. But coming clean wouldnโ€™t make me feel any less guilty and would only make her think I donโ€™t trust her or she canโ€™t trust me. Thereโ€™s no reason to ruin what has been an amazing night because Iโ€™m paranoid that everyone I love is going to turn into an addict.

I clear my throat, breathe her in, and say, โ€œOh?โ€ As she looks up at me, I lean down to kiss her. โ€œThink youโ€™ll see him again?โ€

She smiles and lets out a small laugh as she presses her cheek against my chest, her wet hair leaving a damp spot on my shirt.

โ€œTonight was the most fun Iโ€™ve had in a really long time,โ€ I tell her, a different truth, instead. And itย wasย fun, but it was also equally sexy and romantic and meaningful, but Iโ€™m not sure how to say all that.

โ€œHmm, me too,โ€ she sings. โ€œButโ€”โ€

โ€œBut what?โ€ I ask, starting to get worried. Is she already having second thoughts?

โ€œYou have to tell me the theme.โ€

โ€œOh.โ€ I exhale too forcefully, but she doesnโ€™t seem to notice.

โ€œI mean, Italian restaurant. Italian dessert. Italian fountain. Thatโ€™s the theme within the theme part, right?โ€

โ€œRight.โ€

โ€œSo, whatโ€™s the bigger theme? I still donโ€™t think I got it.โ€

โ€œYou. Being here. Me. Being so beyond happy about you being here. I guess thatโ€™s the real theme I was going for.โ€

โ€œOh.โ€ She pauses. โ€œWell, then, I guess I did get it, after all.โ€

โ€œGood.โ€ I touch her cheeks where theyโ€™re blushing. โ€œYou know, I feel like Iโ€™m getting to see this whole other side of you here,โ€ I tell her, moving my hands through her wet hair.

โ€œReally?โ€ She brings her hands up around my neck and looks at me with this easy smile. โ€œYou didnโ€™t know I could be fun before?โ€

โ€œI did, but Iโ€™m realizing youโ€™re also kind of . . . wild.โ€ โ€œMe?โ€ she gasps. โ€œWhat aboutย you?โ€

โ€œWhat about me? I assure you no one has ever once accused me of being wild. Responsible, dependable, sensible?โ€ I count them on my fingers as I list the words. โ€œYes. Wild? Never.โ€

โ€œDo I need to replay the footage from that whole steamy fountain kissing scene?โ€ she asks, and her fingers are so light as they dance up and down my arms that I feel momentarily dizzy. โ€œBecause that seems to be playing on a loop in my head right now. The part before you walked me into a freezing waterfall, I mean.โ€ She pauses to let her grin disappear before she continues, more serious. โ€œThe part right before that was . . .ย intense.โ€

I lean to kiss her neck just so she doesnโ€™t see my face turning red, but I pull myself together and look at her again, so she knows. โ€œI never wouldโ€™ve done that with anyone else.โ€

โ€œMe neither.โ€

My hands go to her bare arms. Sheโ€™s wearing only a thin tank top and shorts, and as I lean down to kiss the other side of her neck, I canโ€™t help but notice that sheโ€™s not wearing a bra. She touches my face and brings my mouth to hers while her fingers trail up my stomach, under my shirt.

โ€œCan we take this off?โ€ she asks me as her hands start to push my shirt up. Something in me melts a little at the way she said โ€œwe.โ€

So we do. We pull my shirt off over my head together and let it fall to the floor, but before I can start kissing her again, I feel her mouth planting these

soft, warm kisses across my chest and stomach, sending chills through my whole body.

โ€œOh God,โ€ I breathe. โ€œThat feels so good.โ€

She takes my hands from where I lost my train of thought and left them perched lazily in her hair and presses them against her over the front of her shirt. I raise her shirt just enough to touch her skin, and then her hands are there too, moving my hands up under the fabric, over the gentle curve of her stomach.

โ€œThis is okay?โ€ I ask, even though sheโ€™s the one who placed my hands there. โ€œCan we . . . ?โ€ I begin, suddenly unable to finish the sentence. โ€œCan we take this off too?โ€

โ€œMm-hmm,โ€ she murmurs, her voice muffled as she pulls the shirt off over her head. She brings her arms in front of her chest and moves in close to me before I can really look at her. The feeling of her bare skin, her body pressed against mine, has my heart going so fast. Even though Iโ€™ve seen every naked inch of her so many times before, this feels brand-new. Because itโ€™s not only her attitude thatโ€™s changed in all this time apart, but itโ€™s her body tooโ€”every part of her fuller, stronger, softer, from the arch of her back to the shape of her shoulders, her thighs and hips and waistโ€”I need this minute to prepare myself. I take a deep breath as her fingers work under the band of my shorts, hands roaming gently over my carefully selected underwear, gradually edging the athletic shorts down over my hips.

โ€œCan I?โ€ she asks as she pulls away to let space in between us.

I finally look down at her, and she is so much more magnificent than I remember, all I can manage to do is nod. She slides my shorts down my legs and onto the floor, then quickly slides hers off too, and I hold her hands as she steps out of them. And we stand in front of each other, in only underwear, for the first time in years.

โ€œYou are so beautiful,โ€ I tell her, squeezing her hands in mine like weโ€™d been doing all night. โ€œI know youโ€™re gonna keep ignoring me when I say that, but I wish you wouldnโ€™t because I really mean it.โ€

โ€œSorry.โ€ She shakes her head but smiles in that rare shy way she does sometimes, only for a moment. โ€œIโ€™m nervous,โ€ she whispers.

โ€œItโ€™s okay, I am too,โ€ I assure her. Iโ€™ve had sex with five people in my life

โ€”two casual, three relationships, including herโ€”and I feel as nervous as if this were my first time.

โ€œI didnโ€™t think I would be so nervous,โ€ she says.

โ€œWe donโ€™t have to do anything tonight.โ€ She pauses, studying my face.

Itโ€™s almost like sheโ€™s trying to determine if I really mean that or notโ€”she should know I do, but in case she doesnโ€™t, I add, โ€œHave I ever told you what an amazing kisser you are?โ€

She grins. โ€œNo, youโ€™ve never mentioned that.โ€

โ€œWell, you are the best kisser in the worldโ€”hey, youโ€™re laughing, but Iโ€™m completely serious,โ€ I tell her. โ€œAnd I wouldย seriouslyย be more than happy to just lie down with you here and keep kissing you. We really donโ€™t have to do anything else.โ€

โ€œI know. Thank you for that.โ€ She inhales deeply and exhales before continuing. โ€œBut I want to. I mean, if you do.โ€

โ€œOh, I do.โ€ I look down, feeling like I should somehow apologize for not having more control over myself. โ€œObviously, I do. Thereโ€™s no rush, though.โ€

She nods, placing my hands on her hips like she knows how much I love the way they feel. And as she reaches out, running her hands along my face and down my chest and stomach, sheโ€™s not even trying to hide the fact that sheโ€™s looking at my body. Staring. Gazing. I have the urge to make some kind of stupid joke, likeย hey lady,ย my eyes are up here, because standing in front of her like this, under her hands, her eyes on me, itโ€™s intenseโ€”that was the word she used earlierโ€”almost too intense to bear.

โ€œYou are so gorgeous,โ€ she whispers.

โ€œW-what?โ€ I stutter. Thereโ€™s literally nothing she couldโ€™ve said that wouldโ€™ve shocked me more. Sheโ€™s never said anything remotely like that to me before. I almost think sheโ€™s joking. But then she lets her hands float down my back and rest on my hips. And it doesnโ€™t feel like a joke at all.

โ€œDo you even know?โ€ she asks, and her eyes meet mine again like sheโ€™s expecting an answer.

EDEN

There was a time when I was afraid to look at him too closely. Afraid of how beautiful his body was, afraid of the things he could do, the ways he could hurt me with it.

But not now, not anymore. Right now Iโ€™m not afraid of anything. I canโ€™t stop watching his face as I touch him. His eyes are closed like they were earlier, with the bite of gelato melting on his tongue.

โ€œEden . . . ,โ€ he says, breathless, as he pulls my hand away and places it on his chest instead.

โ€œSorry, was that notโ€”โ€

โ€œOh my God, no.โ€ He smooths my hair back and touches my lips. โ€œThat was . . .โ€ He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, and I can feel his heart racing under my hand. โ€œI just need a second. Itโ€™s been a while since Iโ€™ve done this. And . . . I just need to slow down for a second.โ€

โ€œOh,โ€ I say awkwardly, โ€œokay.โ€ I back away from him and try to cover myself with my arms as I sit down on the edge of the bed. But then heโ€™s right there with me a moment later, like itโ€™s a choreographed dance, suddenly kneeling on the floor in front of me so weโ€™re at eye level. He kisses my knees and lets out a long sigh, laying his head on my lap. It feels so strange and sweet and vulnerable, I reach out and run my hands down his back, through his hair, still damp.

He raises his head slowly and kisses my thighs, running his hands up and down my legs, moving forward as I part them, wanting to let him come closer. I lie back on the bed and pull him down on top of me. I can feel my pulse everywhere, all at once. He places his arm behind my backโ€”if he tells me toย hold on toย him again, I might go into cardiac arrestโ€”but he doesnโ€™t; he somehow manages to gracefully scoot us up on the bed so that my head is resting on the pillow.

โ€œThanks,โ€ I whisper.

We start this sort of slow kiss, rocking our bodies together, and it feels so good to be this close to him. Iโ€™m holding my breath as his hand travels down my body until heโ€™s touching me over my underwear. โ€œIs this okay?โ€ he whispers, kissing my neck right under my ear.

I manage to gather enough air in my lungs to say, โ€œYes.โ€

And then his hand, so warm against my stomach, dips down beneath my underwear, and I switch from barely breathing to breathing too fast. My heart races while he takes his time. Moving down my body slowly kissing, kissing everywhere, and when he rakes his teeth along my hip bone, I donโ€™t even know what involuntary sound it is that I make. He gets to my underwear, and I donโ€™t know what more I can possibly take. I have to close my eyes.

โ€œCan I?โ€ he asks, his fingers curling under the elastic band. I nod, and he must be looking at my face because he breathes, โ€œOkay,โ€ and starts sliding my underwear down. I open my eyes again, and heโ€™s there kneeling between my legs, kissing my ankles, then my calves and knees. When he gets to my inner thighs, his mouth trailing closer and closer, I start to lose track of myself. He lowers himself to his stomach and wraps his arms around my legs, hands pressing down on my hips. Every part of me wants this, but the better it feels, the more Iโ€™m slipping away.

Weโ€™ve done this all before, though, I remind myself. Itโ€™s safe with him, safe to let it feel good. Itโ€™s safe to stay in this place.

I reach down to find some part of him to hold on toโ€”his hair, the back of his neck, his arms, his wristsโ€”and when his hands meet mine, itโ€™s like an anchor, our fingers interlacing, pulling me back. Heโ€™s pushing me right up to the edge, but I canโ€™t let myself go. Because Iโ€™m looking up at my ceiling, and it looks too much like too many other unfamiliar ceilings Iโ€™ve been under, and even though itโ€™s him,ย us, itโ€™s different now than it was back then. Iโ€™ve had so much practice keeping Kevin out of my head in these moments, and I mostly succeed. Itโ€™s the others, though, this time. The nameless, faceless ones, dragging me away from here. I close my eyes again, trying to focus on how good this feels, his mouth, his tongue, the

warmth, the rush of it all, butโ€”

I let go of his hands. โ€œJosh . . . ?โ€

โ€œYeah?โ€ He crawls back up to me. โ€œWhat is it, are you okay?โ€ I nod and try my best to smile. โ€œIโ€™m okay, I justโ€”โ€

โ€œThat was too much, too fast, wasnโ€™t it?โ€ he says. โ€œIโ€™m sorry.โ€

โ€œNo, it wasnโ€™t. It felt so good, really; I was just starting to get in my head a little. Itโ€™s, um, been a while since Iโ€™ve done this too.โ€

โ€œOh,โ€ he breathes, looking at me like he hadnโ€™t considered this. โ€œOkay.

Well, just tell me what you need.โ€

โ€œCan you just stay here with me, close to me, I mean?โ€

โ€œYeah, of course.โ€ He lies down next to me, kisses my shoulder, and says, โ€œIโ€™m staying right here. Do you want to stop? We can. I promise I wonโ€™t mind.โ€

I shake my head and take his hand, sliding it down my body again, guiding him to where I want him. โ€œI donโ€™t want to stop,โ€ I tell him. I want to be here for thisโ€”all of it. I want to feel everything. I donโ€™t want to let these fucking ghosts in my head win.

Iโ€™d forgotten the way he pays attention, as if nothing exists but us. I pull him close, so I can feel his weight against me. Thereโ€™s no fear or impatience or self-consciousness in his touch. He holds steady, watching my face, keeping me with him. I feel my breath coming faster, trembling as he tips me over the edge in a way Iโ€™ve never known before, feeling it somehow beyond my body, even. And then heโ€™s kissing my lips, my neck, my chest.

โ€œYou are amazing,โ€ heโ€™s whispering, breathing heavily now like heโ€™d been holding his breath that whole time. โ€œGod, I want you so badโ€”sorry, can I say that?โ€

โ€œYes,โ€ I answer, trying to catch my breath while stopping myself from smiling at his words. I open my eyes, not even realizing Iโ€™d closed them. โ€œBut you have something, right?โ€

He looks over at our clothes on the floor. โ€œI do. You want me to get it now?โ€

I nod.

โ€œIโ€™ll be right back,โ€ he whispers. I watch as he walks over and fishes the condom out of the pocket of his shorts. The way heโ€™s looking at me as he climbs back into bedโ€”like Iโ€™m the best thing heโ€™s ever seenโ€”I could just die. โ€œJust tell me if we need to stop at all, okay?โ€

โ€œI will.โ€

Heโ€™s going slow, being careful. The way heโ€™s watching me so closely, his eyes dark and deep and warm, has me sort of hypnotized. I have a montage running in the background of my mind of all the times heโ€™s looked at me like thisโ€”making me feel weak and strong, all at the same time. He moves

gently, his breath even and paced now, and I can tell heโ€™s trying to restrain himself.

โ€œI love you so much,โ€ he says quietly, his mouth against mine. โ€œYou know that, right?โ€

I nod because I do know. But I canโ€™t speak because I feel the walls of my throat suddenly caving in, heavy with too many competing emotions, and words sitting there waiting, trying to figure out how to get out of me. I clutch his shoulders as we move faster, together, breathing each other in.

Itโ€™s kind. Delicate. This giving and taking.

Iโ€™ve never been so present. Never this connected to anyone, not even him. Iโ€™m holding on to him so tight and I have to bury my face in his neck because, I realize, Iโ€™m crying. Crying because Iโ€™ve never felt this way before. About him, about myself. I donโ€™t even know whatย itย is, but I feel it in my body, my heart, my mind, everywhereโ€”itโ€™s everything.

And then I know, all at once: This feeling is freedom.

Even as he finishes, heโ€™s still being so gentle with me. We pant against each other for a few moments before he tries to raise himself up off my body. But I hold on, keep him close. โ€œNo, stay,โ€ I tell him.

โ€œLook at me, Eden,โ€ he whispers, brushing my hair aside. I turn my face away because I donโ€™t know how to explain. โ€œYouโ€™re crying.โ€

โ€œNo, Iโ€™m not,โ€ I try to say, but I hear my own voice, all wet and raspy.

โ€œYes, you are.โ€ His hands are on my face now, his eyes searching mine. โ€œTalk to me. Did I . . . ?โ€ He pauses. โ€œDid I hurt you?โ€

โ€œNo,โ€ I gasp, and the tears are coming faster now. โ€œNo, Iโ€™m crying because Iโ€™ve just never felt like this. Ever. Iโ€™ve never felt so . . .โ€ย So happy, cared for, respected, even. But then I say what all those things really mean: โ€œSo loved.โ€

โ€œOh,โ€ he exhales, relieved, seeming to understand. โ€œYou are. I mean, I do. I love you,โ€ he says again. โ€œAnd Iโ€”Iโ€™ve never felt this way before either.โ€

I let him wipe the tears from my cheeks, and as he looks down at me, even his eyes turn shiny. He smiles and blinks fast. โ€œJesus, youโ€™re gonna make me cry now.โ€

โ€œSorry.โ€ I sniffle, almost laughing at myself.

He releases a breath of a laugh too. โ€œItโ€™s okay.โ€

We readjust our positions, and when he gets up to throw the condom away, he asks if I want him to leave the lamp onโ€”I donโ€™t, I wonโ€™t need it if

heโ€™s here. He climbs into bed and covers us with the sheet, laying his head on my chest while we hold each other.

โ€œJosh?โ€ I hear myself say into the darkness.

โ€œHmm?โ€ he says, his voice all loose and sleepy. โ€œI love you too.โ€

He raises his head and looks down at me, squinting slightly like heโ€™s confused or didnโ€™t quite hear me, but then he kisses my lips softly and says, โ€œI know how hard that was for you to say.โ€

I shake my head. โ€œNo, it wasnโ€™t.โ€

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