A Guy Like Him

by Amanda Gambill

I broke out into a smile, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief.

  “Really?”

  He picked up his plate, never one to linger in an emotional moment. “Yes, Skylar,” he said simply, walking out of the room.

  As everyone settled in the living room, and Krista continued her wedding detail overview, I hung back to do the dishes. As I waited for the water to warm up, I found myself in my own world, thinking of Dean, thinking of our dates, the ones where we didn’t have to pretend to care about bachelorette parties.

  We’d made out during the previews in the back row of a historic movie theater I’d never heard of before watching a classic movie he’d never seen. We’d roamed an art museum where I pretended to know all about the paintings, making up exaggerated stories for each figure in a very serious tone as he tried not to laugh, telling me I was being distracting as he grabbed me, making me laugh so hard that we were both shushed by a guard. We’d walked around the botanical gardens twice, so caught up in conversation we’d missed everything the first time around. We shopped for things for my new apartment where Dean convinced me to buy an Aeropress, promising he’d teach me how to use it, and I convinced him to buy a decorative wire basket for his blankets, and then we both slipped the other’s favorite snacks in our own baskets, revealing them later with laughter in the car.

  “There you are,” Dad said, making me jump and jerking me out of my distracted thoughts. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Just doing the dishes,” I said, looking at the sink where the water was steaming and almost overflowing. I snapped the faucet off and smiled, hoping he hadn’t noticed how spaced out I’d been and would ask me why.

  “Are you about as tired of this wedding as I am?” He grabbed a dishcloth, standing next to me, and smiled. “Let’s hide out together.”

  I laughed, feeling like maybe we had some common ground, and scooted over to make room for the both of us. We worked diligently in silence for several minutes, me scrubbing, him rinsing and drying. I knew my internship wouldn’t come up again, since he’d already mentally checked the box, feeling like he’d covered the topic fully.

  “Are you ready for the start of the semester?” he asked. “Have your schedule all set?”

  I nodded, keeping my gaze focused on the bubbles in the water as he methodically rinsed off the wine glasses.

  We fell into silence again, and I took a deep breath. I thought about how tonight had gone. How he’d reacted positively to something he hadn’t anticipated. With that in mind, I decided tonight was the only night I’d have the confidence to bring up another subject that would catch him off guard.

  He looked at me, and I knew he could see the tension I carried, that I was hiding something from him. It was then I realized the only thing he and Dean had in common was that they could both tell, almost in an instant, when I wasn’t being myself. The problem was, the version of me they saw was completely different.

  “I kind of wanted to talk to you about something,” I said, gingerly sitting down the sponge. “I was thinking of maybe, um, taking another photography class.”

  He almost dropped a wine glass. Two surprises in one night was a lot, but I knew if I didn’t do this now, I never would.

  “And I was thinking now that I have a job offer, you would be okay with it because it proves that I didn’t slack off when I took the first one, you know?” I said quickly before he could interject. “So maybe you and I could discuss it, instead of you telling me what you think I should do without hearing my side.”

  He stared at me, and I nodded, holding my ground even though I was shaking. I’d never been this direct with him before, and I didn’t know how much longer I’d have this sort of confidence.

  “Okay,” he said after a moment. “I’m listening.”

  Now it was my turn to feel caught off guard, having already braced for him to steamroll me. I cleared my throat.

  “Well, in my first class, I aced every assignment, and I learned so much. I learned to take my time, to appreciate the little details, to be open to new things,” I said, wishing I hadn’t said that last part, knowing it wouldn’t convince my dad. “And it kind of forced me to step out of my comfort zone and put myself in front of people. You know I don’t like presentations, and this was, like, the ultimate presentation practice.”

  He nodded, thinking about this.

  “And Krista got a great new profile picture out of it,” I said, hoping that if even for a second he thought my sister was behind it, he might be, too. “She loved the photos I took for her.”

  He kind of smiled, and I took that as a signal for the final thing I wanted to say, the part I’d practiced in my head over and over again.

  “But most importantly,” I said, avoiding his gaze, “it made me happy. And I want to keep doing it. And I want you to be okay with that. I’m tired of pretending this isn’t something I want. Of hiding it from you, Dad.”

  I looked at him, holding my breath, and I knew, right then, that he understood I wasn’t just talking about photography.

  “Your mother warned me you might be coming to tell me something surprising,” he said evenly, his expression unreadable.

  I nodded, staying silent.

  He sighed, turning on the faucet, picking up a plate I’d washed, back on task, putting me into motion. I picked up the sponge.

  After what felt like 208 seconds, he spoke, “I’m willing to give this photography class a chance. But I need more details than just the idea that you think you like it. That’s not good enough.”

  I nodded again.

  “Do you understand, Skylar?” he said, turning to look at me.

  “Yes, I understand,” I said, knowing that I’d run out of time. That after 10 months of pros and cons, rules, amendments, and pretending it wasn’t what I wanted, it was time to introduce Dean to my family.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Oh god, I’m going to be late,” I said breathlessly, grabbing my phone to silence the alarm I’d thought had been just in my head.

  Dean laughed, coming up to lie beside me as I caught my breath.

  “You really don’t skip school on your birthday?”

  The look I gave him made him laugh again.

  “Can I use your shower? I don’t have time to go to my place.”

  He shrugged. “You don’t have to ask me that every time. Isn’t that why all that stuff is in there anyway? How many bottles does one girl need? I knock one down every time I’m in there.”

  I laughed and walked to his bathroom, peeking my head out around the door, grinning at him still in bed. “Can I have birthday coffee? Since I’m a princess and all?”

  “I thought you felt bad asking me to be your barista when we’re here,” he called after me.

  I laughed, shutting the door and stepping into his shower, accidentally knocking over my travel-sized shampoo, sitting it back down next to my conditioner, body wash, body scrub, and in-shower lotion. Since the semester had started a month ago, Dean’s schedule had shifted back to late nights, and I started staying over more on weekdays. We’d spend longer mornings together, sometimes going on dates, sometimes just losing track of time in bed, before I went to class, and he worked in his studio or visited his dad at Sun Meadows.

  “You know,” I said as I walked out of the bathroom wearing a light sweater and jeans, toweling off my damp hair, “I think we both know you aren’t just my barista when we’re here.”

  “Oh yeah?” he said, dressed now, pouring coffee in the kitchen.

  “Yeah, you’re more than my barista, right?”

  He glanced at me, raising an eyebrow.

  “I mean, maybe you’re my…” I trailed off. “Like, if you wanted to call yourself something else. Maybe I could be into that. Just for clarification purposes.”

  He looked at me, leaning against the counter, that trademark smirk on his face.

  “Clarification purposes,” he repeated.

  I nodded, biting my lip, unable to understand how even af
ter 11 months, he still made me feel this way, somewhere between nervous and excited, my heart always pounding.

  “Yeah, like if someone asked what I was doing for my birthday, I could be like, ‘oh, my barista has secret plans for me tonight after he gets off work.’ But that doesn’t sound right, you know?”

  He laughed and walked over to me, sitting our mugs on the coffee table. “Yeah, ’secret plans for you’ sounds so ominous.”

  I laughed and lightly pushed him. “You’re doing this to me on purpose,” I said, trying to scowl as he laughed. “You know what I mean.”

  “You’re turning twenty-two, and you can’t just say you want me to be your boyfriend?”

  I blushed. “Well, I didn’t, like, specifically—” I fumbled as he laughed again. I took a breath and rolled my eyes at myself. “Yes, I want you to be my boyfriend. And I want to be your girlfriend.”

  He smiled, leaning to kiss me on the lips, his kiss saying all I needed to know, that he wholeheartedly and passionately agreed.

  “Okay,” he said, pulling away, “I hate to be the rational one here, but you’re definitely going to be late for class if we keep this up.”

  I laughed, sitting on the couch to enjoy the coffee with him. I glanced over my shoulder as he walked to his closet.

  “Where are you going? I thought the rule was we had sit and appreciate the coffee together,” I said in a playful mocking voice. As much as I teased him about it, he knew I liked this moment together as much as he did.

  “Yeah, but I wanted to give you something first.”

  “Dean, I said I didn’t want any presents. Except, well … what you did this morning and the coffee.”

  He laughed and came back to sit with me. “Then don’t consider this a present,” he said, handing me a small white box. “Consider it payment from all the times I hummed ‘Jingle Bells,’ and you didn’t call me out on it,” he said with a shrug. “Call it whatever you want.”

  I smiled and opened the box, gasping at the Victorian-style layered necklace inside. The chains were delicate, a beautiful gold crescent moon connected to several tiny crystal stars that sparkled just so. It was like nothing found in a mall or maybe even in a jewelry store, but it was absolutely perfect.

  “Oh my god,” I said, lifting it out of the box and immediately pulling my hair back to put it on. “This is so beautiful. I’ve never seen something like this before. Help me clasp it, I don’t want to wait one more second without wearing it,” I said hurriedly, making him laugh.

  I placed my palm over the charms, pressing them onto my chest, feeling the solid moon and delicate, perfect stars against my beating heart. I closed my eyes, wanting to remember this moment forever.

  “I love it, Dean,” I said, turning to face him.

  He smiled at me, reaching out to brush his fingers against my cheek. I thought of all the times I’d craved this sort of touch, how we used to pull away, this feeling stronger than what a hookup, friends, whatever we called it, could handle. And now, he drew me closer, kissing me deeply, soft and slow. My back-up alarm went off — the one I purposefully set when I stayed over at his place, the one that told me now I really had to leave — and we pulled away, unable to stop smiling at each other.

  I still had that smile on my face when I showed up to my first class with two minutes to spare, after a full day of classes, and at dinner at my favorite restaurant with my parents and Krista and Kyle. Dinner was easy, something we’d done every year since I could remember, and because it was my birthday, my parents seemed to ease up on me. Instead of asking questions about my current life, they spent time reminiscing about previous birthdays and past memories.

  Once we’d said goodbye, and Krista and I were back in our apartment, I was surprised when she asked if I wanted to have a glass of wine and hang out instead of us going our separate ways — me to do homework in my room and her to focus on her wedding. It was the final countdown, 19 days away.

  She nodded to my necklace. “Is that new?”

  I placed my hand over it, feeling protective. “Yeah, why?”

  She handed me a glass and smiled. “It’s really beautiful,” she said sincerely. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. Is it from Dean?”

  I nodded, feeling myself start to blush, as we sat on the couch. I knew she was waiting for me to say more as I studied the poster boards above our couch. Only three sticky notes remained — out-of-towners welcome party, rehearsal dinner, WEDDING.

  She glanced at where I was looking. “You know, I was thinking about this out-of-towners party … how it’s just a bunch of people none of us really know coming together to be welcomed to the family,” she said, reading my mind. “Mom and Dad will be in really good spirits, but I bet really distracted. They’ll probably spend five minutes with us and then be on their way to play perfect host and hostess.”

  She and I looked at each other, and I felt like we were back in the old days when we would stay up late, on the same team, scheming against our parents to get what we wanted.

  “Yeah, but you probably have everything already planned,” I said. “You can’t just add another person.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You really don’t think I didn’t plan for an extra person the moment I saw you sneaking out of here under the ruse of ‘going to the library to study for a final’ in December wearing a skirt?”

  I stared at her. “What?”

  “Or when you ‘were wrapping presents with a friend’ and didn’t come home until after midnight?” she said, laughing at my shocked face. “And then somehow it took you four times longer to plan the exact same SGA bingo event that I planned, not coming home until after midnight then either?”

  I was stunned.

  “Or what about when Kyle saw you at the golf course with some guy with a bunch of tattoos?” She laughed again, kicking her feet up on the coffee table, and I hated and loved her at the same moment.

  “…I was at spin class then,” I said, my face burning.

  “You hate spin class,” she said with another eye roll. “And, oh my gosh, how about in April when Lindy said she saw you at a breakfast place with some guy she said had a bunch of tattoos, except she’s so ditzy she really believed that you were tutoring at 7 a.m. on a Sunday?”

  My mouth was wide open at this point.

  “What the hell? You’ve been letting me freak out for months when you knew I was doing … being with … whatever, with Dean?”

  “You know, at first, I thought I was holding a spot for Michael, but then after seeing you two together at game night…” She shook her head. “Well, I think we both know I was wrong about that.”

  “I can’t believe this. You’ve noticed this stuff the whole time?” I looked at her, wanting to be mad, but unable to muster up any anger. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  She smiled at me, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Because, Skylar, I was waiting for you to come to me. I didn’t want to influence your decision. I wanted you to be confident whenever you decided to tell me that this guy was what you really wanted.”

  I sat down my wine and stood. She looked at me, slightly worried that I was actually mad.

  “Here,” I said, ignoring my nerves as I grabbed my phone and pulled up a photo. “This is Dean. The guy with the tattoos. My boyfriend.”

  The photo was one I’d taken of Dean during one of our morning dates. We’d gotten up extra early to watch the sunrise, grabbing blankets and spare pillows, walking to the spot where we’d first looked at the moon together in his backyard. I’d jumped up, grabbing my phone as he laughed and told me to stop. He was lying on his back, his sleeved arm over his chest, his other arm scattered with tattoos behind his head, his collarbone tattoo peeking out from under his shirt.

  “But I feel inspired. You can’t judge, Amendment 1.6 or whatever,” I’d said with a grin, snapping the photo right before he pulled me down, making me laugh and drop my phone.

  Krista looked at the photo and then at me.
r />   “This is not what I imagined.”

  I bit my lip, feeling a wave of dread wash over me, wondering if this was a mistake.

  “But if you’re happy, I’m happy, Skylar.”

  I knew her well enough to know that she was shocked, that she probably had 23 immediate questions, but she was focused on me in this moment.

  “And I trust you can make your own decisions. Even if I don’t get it, or if I don’t know the whole story, or whatever the situation is. Because being your sister means I’ll always have your back, no matter what,” she said, smiling as I threw my arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. “Now can I please just meet this guy?” she asked with an exaggerated groan as I burst into relieved laughter.

  I promised her that she would soon, but right now, I needed to go, not wanting to be late for whatever Dean had planned. As I sat in my car in the coffee shop parking lot, I glanced at my watch. It was 10:12, and he’d told me to meet him at 10:13 p.m. I’d come to the conclusion that maybe I didn’t hate surprises as much as I thought, unable to suppress the happiness and excitement I felt. It had been months since I’d sat in my car behind the coffee shop alone, thinking about him.

  I smiled, getting out of my car, as he walked up. “Hi.”

  Under the streetlight, he looked so handsome, making my heart skip a beat as if I hadn’t seen him just 12 hours ago.

  “Hey,” he said, smiling at me.

  I stepped away from my car and walked over to him, standing right in front of him, the streetlight over both of us now. I suddenly felt déjà vu, transported back in time to when we had first stood here, flirting about constants and variables, neither one of us ever guessing we’d be where we were today.

  “So I was thinking,” he said, reaching out his hand, and I took it without a second thought. “We’ve been on all these dates, right?”

  I nodded, following him as he stepped backward. “Yeah, forty-three to be exact. Not counting all those Rule 3s we broke.”

  He laughed and put his arm around me as I fell easily into step with him. “Right. So I kept trying to think of something we hadn’t done so it would be special for your birthday. And then I realized,” he said, stopping in front of the coffee shop, “there’s one date we’ve never had.”