Meet Me in Outer Space

by Melinda Grace

  “So, what did you mean by that?” he asked, breaking the serious amount of silence the room provided. “Are you really sorry you kissed me back?”

  My heart raced. I took a deep breath in through my nose and blew it out my mouth. The room was unnerving.

  “I am sorry. If I led you on in anyway, I’m sorry for that.”

  He scoffed as he put his hands on his hips. “You aren’t leading me on, Edie.” He shook his head, his eyes settling on the wall to the left. He shook his head as if he was talking himself out of saying something.

  “Can we just agree that this is all we are?” I asked, motioning between the two of us.

  Hudson shrugged. “Yeah, sure,” he said, his eyes finding mine.

  “That was not a reassuring yeah, sure.”

  “I’m good, okay? Promettre.” He took the seat across from me.

  “Promise,” I translated.

  “But can you at least admit that if I had texted you the same things you texted me after the party, you would have questions?”

  I rested my head in my hand, my eyes still on his. “Maybe I would. Probably not, though. I don’t know.”

  “Menteuse!” he said with an annoyed laugh.

  “Fine, maybe I would be a little interested,” I acquiesced. “But only because I’d be wondering why you even bothered to text me such a nothing statement.”

  “Then why did you text me such a nothing statement?” he asked, finally deciding to sit in the chair across from me.

  “I don’t know. Because I’m an idiot.” I threw my hands up, letting them drop onto my thighs. This was not going the way I had planned it to go in my head. I was supposed to tell him I was sorry and that we needed to remain friends until I came back from Paris … if he even wanted me when I came back.

  “You’re not an idiot,” Hudson said, leaning on his elbows, his fingers reaching for me across the table.

  I pulled back just as his fingertips skimmed my forearm. “Don’t defend me to myself.”

  He considered me for a moment, his hand still frozen in the spot I’d jerked away from. His head fell forward for a moment before he pulled himself upright. “Fine,” he said, motioning for me to hand him my notebook. “Let’s just get started.”

  He flipped through the first few pages, stopping at the beginning of chapitre trois. His thumb tapped the notebook. I could hear his knee bouncing under the table.

  “What?” I asked. The air in the room had changed. It was heavy and hard to breathe.

  He shook his head as he spoke. “Nothing.” His eyes still on the notebook.

  “Je suis désolée,” I said not knowing why, only knowing that something had changed.

  He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair a few times before pulling it back on. “It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize.” His eyes were on his hands now as his fingers twisted together.

  “Clearly I do,” I said, my eyes frozen on him. He watched his fingers as I watched him. The silence of the room settling in on us, surrounding us, closing in on me.

  The room was getting to me. I began to breathe through my nose—out through my mouth, deep calming breaths. The silence was too heavy, too foreign a feeling. I shut my eyes, willing away the sense that the room was literally closing in on me.

  Hudson’s eyes moved from his hands to my face as I leaned my elbows on the table and rested my face in my hands.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up and pushing away from the table. “You okay?”

  I nodded, my eyes closed, my face toward the table. I breathed deeply. In through my nose and out through my mouth, panic quickly rising inside me. “This room—”

  “You’re not okay,” he said, coming around to my side of the table. He squatted next to me, his hand on my shoulder.

  I breathed deeply once more. In through my nose and out through my mouth.

  “Talk to me,” he said, his hand moving from my shoulder to my back.

  This had happened to me only once before, during a physics lesson on sound waves where we all took turns wearing noise-canceling headphones. We were each supposed to wear them for about five minutes. I’d lasted less than a minute. The silence too foreign, too uncomfortable. The last time we’d been in this room we talked the entire time, so despite the unease, I had been able to sit through it.

  His touch sent goose bumps down my arms. “It’s too quiet in here.” I breathed out the words before taking another deep breath through my nose. “I can’t be in here.”

  “Let’s go, then,” he said, standing abruptly and pulling at my arm. “Get up, we’re leaving.”

  I let him tug my arm, but I didn’t move.

  “Come on.” He dropped my arm and started collecting my things. “There are other places we can study. Wherever you want is fine. Or the library. We can go to Clément’s office or the student center. We can go anywhere, Edie. Want to go to the lab? Your fashion class lab? We can go there—”

  He was rambling. His suggestions stringing together into one long word as he stuffed my things into my tote bag. He hiked it onto his shoulder before attempting to lift me out of the chair by my armpit.

  “Hudson, stop,” I said, not pulling away but stiffening. “I can stand up on my own.”

  “Okay. All right. I’m sorry. I just thought I would help if you needed it. You know, if you were unsteady or something. I just—”

  I pushed off the table and stood, my eyes finding his and halting his rambling. I pressed my hand to his chest and he instinctively placed his over mine.

  “I’m okay,” I said, squeezing my eyes closed. “This room is just making me feel claustrophobic or something.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stopped talking. I should have known it would be too quiet or that you might get upset.”

  “How could you have possibly known that?” I asked, pressing my fingertips softly into his chest, wanting him to stop rambling. His hand pressed harder into mine and mine into him. I could feel his heartbeat against my palm. I closed my eyes as it pulsed. I could hear it; he was the one that needed to calm down. “Just give me a second.”

  “Okay, yeah, right,” he said, pressing my hand to his chest.

  “Thanks,” I whispered, my eyes still closed.

  “En français,” he whispered back. I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Merci,” I said, a smile pushing at the corners of my mouth.

  “De rien.” He breathed out deeply.

  “You’re welcome,” I translated.

  “I think you’re going to be just fine.” He squeezed my hand again.

  I nodded, letting the heat from his chest spread through me, the warmth of his touch pulling me into him. I took a step toward him, opening my eyes into his.

  His eyes searched mine, flicking back and forth between them rapidly.

  “Are you going to be just fine?” he asked nervously.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” I took another step toward him, pressing my body into our joined hands.

  He released my hand, moving his to the nape of my neck. His other hand cupped my face.

  I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I knew I wanted it. It felt right. This moment. This feeling right here and right now.

  “J’aimerais t’embrasser,” I whispered, my eyes locked on his.

  He shook his head, his eyes pleading with me silently.

  “No.” I took a step back and out of his grasp, wrapping my arms around my middle. “You’re right.”

  He shook his head again, his arms still floating as if I were in them. “I—” he started, dropping his arms.

  The silence settled around us once again, but this time I wasn’t going to let it get to me. This time I was going to run.

  20

  That Hoodie Life

  “Stop lying to yourself, Edie. You messed up and now you regret it,” Serena said as she paced the room gathering textbooks.

  I wasn’t lying to myself; I knew I messed up, and of course I re
gretted it. I hated regret.

  “You look like total crap, too, FYI,” she added. She stopped in front of me as I sat on my bed.

  I sighed as I rested my chin in my hands and strummed my fingers against my face.

  “We’ve lived together for a year and a half now, and I’ve seen you in sweatpants and a hoodie more this weekend than ever. It’s unsettling, if I’m being honest,” she said with a fake shiver.

  “Ha ha.” I looked down at my crossed legs. I had been wearing the same heather gray sweatpants since Friday. I picked at them as Serena continued.

  “Seriously, Edie,” she said, pulling at my arm to get me to look at her. “I’ve never seen you this mopey.”

  I looked up, chin still in my hands. Serena wasn’t wrong, I was mopey, but I couldn’t get anything done because I couldn’t concentrate on anything but Hudson. The interaction we’d had in the quiet room.

  “I can’t see you like this,” she said, turning on her heels. “Your hair is a mess. You’re wearing zero makeup, and I’ve already mentioned your clothes.”

  I had so much work to do. I’d gotten a few things done, but I couldn’t even look at my French book without feeling like total crap.

  “I can’t deal with this level of miserable,” she added.

  She couldn’t deal with my miserable? It wasn’t like I was handling my miserable any better.

  “Just call him, please.” She turned back toward me. “Or text him. Or email him. Or send a carrier pigeon. Or, like, I will go to his room and personally hand him a note. Just do something with yourself.”

  I let my head fall back as I stared at the ceiling.

  “Plus, we have a game tomorrow night and we need you,” she said.

  “I’ll be there,” I said, righting my head only to catch Serena with the camera aimed my way. “Don’t you dare!” I said, putting my hands up to shield my face, but I wasn’t quick enough.

  “I need to document your misery,” she said, capping the camera. “For a different project. I’m going to call it ‘A Girl on the Brink of a Life of Solitude: The Edie Kits Story.’”

  “I hate you,” I said, flopping onto my side.

  “You don’t hate me. You love me.” She hiked her tote bag onto her shoulder. “And we need I’d Hit That Superfan Edie with the Style present and accounted for at our game tomorrow night. Don’t let us down, boss.”

  I sighed. “I’ll be there, don’t worry,” I said. Serena threw me a smile over her shoulder as she left the room.

  I looked at my phone as the scene from the quiet room played again in my head. Me telling him that I wanted to kiss him and then him telling me no … but then the way he held my face. How sweet his eyes had been.

  ME: I’m sorry.

  I stared at the words. Send or don’t send? Send or don’t send?

  I pressed send and put it into the universe’s hands.

  The phone vibrated against the bed almost immediately.

  HUDSON: I should be the one apologizing.

  ME: No. I’m the one who said I wanted to keep things strictly in the friend zone, but then I tried to kiss you in what felt like another perfect moment.

  I smiled as I remembered his argument for our first kiss being the perfect kiss.

  ME: I don’t blame you for telling me no and letting me walk away.

  I dropped the phone before I could send anything else.

  It vibrated once, twice, three times. I stared as it lay facedown on my yellow quilt.

  HUDSON: It felt perfect to me too.

  HUDSON: Which was why I said no.

  HUDSON: I can’t have another perfect kiss with you only to have you wake up the next day and realize it was all a mistake.

  Oh …

  The phone vibrated again.

  HUDSON: I could punch myself in the face for letting you walk away unkissed. I don’t know what I was thinking.

  HUDSON: I keep reliving it in my head over and over.

  HUDSON: I guess I’m a glutton for punishment.

  HUDSON: Like I said, I would get into all sorts of trouble over you.

  I couldn’t help but smile. I dropped the phone and sank my face into my pillow, hiding the blush that crept down my neck. I pressed my smile into the pillow before pulling away and picking up my phone.

  ME: So you wanted to kiss me? Despite all the stupid things I said.

  The phone vibrated before I had a chance to set it down. I smiled before I even opened it.

  HUDSON: Yes.

  ME: Despite knowing how I feel?

  HUDSON: Yes.

  There was no way out of this. It would be so easy to fall for Hudson, hook, line, and sinker. It would be so easy to be with him, be happy … but that only led to pain. A pain I didn’t want to feel, let alone put him through.

  ME: Knowing that I leave for Paris on June 1 and might not return until the spring semester?

  I hit send knowing exactly how he would respond.

  HUDSON: Yes.

  I pressed my palm into one cheek and then the other. They were starting to hurt from smiling.

  ME: SMH.

  I expected the phone to vibrate immediately, but it didn’t. I opened the text box and then closed it. Opened it and closed it again as I waited. Maybe he didn’t know what else to say. Maybe he felt like he’d said too much—

  The phone vibrated before I could finish my thought.

  HUDSON: Can I see you tonight?

  HUDSON: I need to see you tonight.

  HUDSON: Will you meet me in outer space? (aka my dorm room)

  I smiled as I texted him back.

  ME: Yes to both.

  21

  The Many Talents of Wesley H.

  I checked Hudson’s text again to make sure I was at the right place before I knocked on the heavy door covered with magazine cutouts of superheroes and villains. Two name tags adorned the top, obviously made by the RA on the first day. WESLEY H. and his roommate, STEPHEN J., but Hudson’s WESLEY was covered by a picture of a chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich, because of course it was, and his last name had been handwritten in marker. There was a picture of puppies in a wheelbarrow below that, along with another of a hamster eating a tiny doughnut. The most interesting was a picture of a half-naked girl holding an Xbox controller.

  “What’s this?” I asked when Hudson opened the door, my finger on the picture of the half-naked girl. In fairness, it was closer to Stephen J.’s side of the door so it probably wasn’t an addition made by Ice Cream Sandwich H., but still.

  “That’s Trisha,” he said without missing a beat. He stepped out of the doorway, ushering me inside. “She’s working her way through law school.”

  “Aren’t all strippers?” I shot back.

  “Actually, they prefer the term exotic dancers,” he said, rocking onto his toes.

  “So how did Trisha, Xbox enthusiast and exotic dancer working her way through law school, end up in a magazine that was then taped on your door?” I said, shifting my weight as my stomach fluttered. I was in Hudson’s room. We were talking about something totally stupid, but I was there and he was there.

  “Now, that’s a great story,” he said, taking a step toward me.

  “I’m sure it is,” I said, watching him. He took another step toward me until we were nearly chest to chest. His eyes were heavy, like he’d been meaning to sleep for days but just hadn’t gotten the chance.

  His room was cleaner than I expected. It was cleaner than most college guys’ rooms. His side of the room was sparse. His desk was spotless; a laptop sat closed in the middle with only a pen to keep it company.

  The only thing on his wall was a giant whiteboard calendar/corkboard, each block filled in with an event, but on the corkboard side, displayed for the world to see, were my three sketches pinned evenly, one next to the other. Well, maybe not the world, but at least anyone who walked into this room.

  “You seem to be just full of good stories, Wesley Hudson,” I said, batting my eyes at him teasingly.
r />   “I really am. It’s just one of my many talents,” he said with a yawn as he ran a hand through his hair.

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got loads of them.” He brought his thumb to his mouth, biting at the skin around his nail.

  “Stories or talents?” I asked, pulling my bottom lip through my teeth. I wanted to kiss him so bad it hurt.

  “Definitely both,” he said, breathy, his eyes on my mouth.

  I closed the gap between us as I spoke. “Prove it.” I looked up at him, fisting his shirt like he’d done to my scarf at the party.

  “Shit,” he whispered as my lips pressed into his. He pushed his hand into my hair, cupping the back of my head, and I melted into him.

  I pulled him closer, one hand holding his shirt and the other snaking up his chest and around his neck.

  “We can’t,” he said against my lips, his breath hot on my mouth.

  “We can.” I nodded as he took a step away, his shirt pulling out of my hand. My fingers instinctively moving to my lips.

  He breathed out deeply, his eyes on the floor as he shook his head. He looked up at me before moving to his bed, patting the spot next to him. “I want to, trust me, I really want to.” He pressed his eyes closed tightly, resting his head against the wall.

  “But you can’t because I ruined it,” I said, deflating.

  He patted the spot next to him again, and this time I moved. I climbed onto his bed and sat next to him, our backs pressed into the wall.

  He slid his hand across the bed and into mine. “I’m sorry.”

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall, too. “Where’s your roommate? Where’s Stephen J.?” I asked, trying not to focus on all the mixed signals I was giving off.

  “Stephen J. is not here.”

  “Clearly,” I said with a laugh.

  “I kicked him out like twenty minutes ago and told him to get lost,” he said with another yawn. “I told him that you were coming over and that I wanted to be alone with you.”

  I turned toward him slightly, my left shoulder against the wall. “For how long?” I asked. I brushed his hair off his forehead, my fingertips grazing his face.