How to Quit Your Crush

by Amy Fellner Dominy

  My smile comes slow and unstoppable when I see the flirty tilt to her head, the spark in her deep brown eyes.

  “Honey, then.”

  “There is no honey in a taco.”

  “You sure? Because you tasted sweet.”

  “That is so cheesy.”

  “Cheese. Maybe that’s it.” I lean in, letting my fingers get within inches of hers. “Maybe if I kissed you again? I always kiss my grandma a few times.”

  She snorts a laugh and then covers her mouth as if someone will hear her. She pulls her hands to her lap. I catch her looking around at the other couples. I thought, bringing her here, that she’d stick out like a splinter. But we’re really not any different from anyone else. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we belonged.

  Here.

  With each other.

  I sigh. The hell of it is I do know better.

  When she meets my eyes, I see the same regret I’m feeling. How can she be so different and know exactly what I’m thinking? What I’m feeling? I go back to my tacos because I don’t know what I want to say, but I know the best thing is to say nothing.

  We’re quiet until the air slowly clears and my shoulders ease. She cleans out her tub of potatoes, sliding the plastic fork around the edges to get the last bit of cheese. “I am officially onboard with food-truck food.”

  “I think what you just said was, ‘Anthony you were right and I was wrong.’”

  She smirks and drops her napkin into her tub. “Never.”

  “And,” I add, “you said you’re going to stop wimping out for the rest of our fling.”

  “I would never call myself a wimp.”

  “Wuss? Sissy?”

  “I’m cautiously pragmatic.”

  “I think you’re more adventurous than you let on. You don’t give yourself a chance.”

  “You got all that from me liking tacos and guava juice?”

  I lick a last bit of juice off the side of my hand. “You know you could do the rock hop trail. I’d take you down there myself. In thirty minutes, you’d be at the bottom wondering why you were scared in the first place.”

  “Or I’d be hanging off a ledge of rock with a broken leg and a deadly snake bite.”

  “Both of them, huh?”

  “The snake bite is what caused me to fall.” She frowns and holds up a finger as her eyes brighten. “Or maybe I fell and landed on the snake and that’s when it bit me.”

  “Better story. But one of those fantasy novels. I’d take you more for a reality story. Where the girl safely climbs down to the bottom.”

  “Does she cry Eureka?” She bats her eyelashes.

  “No. She hugs the guy who helped her get there. And then she feels him up.”

  She rolls her eyes. “So that’s what this is about.”

  “Maybe.” I shrug, but it’s not. I love sitting here with her, how easy it is to talk to her, to tease her. But deeper feelings are bubbling up, and I can’t help when my voice lowers, turns serious. “Or maybe I want to prove that you can.”

  She turns the can of juice around in her fingers. “Why do you care?”

  I feel my dad standing next to me, his hands braced against his back, his dreams sighing out, lost in the heat-soaked air. “I guess I want to see Maya Senn, who can do anything, do the one thing she doesn’t think she can.”

  “There’s a lot of things I can’t do,” she says. “No matter what you want to believe, I’m not adventurous, Anthony.” Her gaze drifts off to something I can’t see. “At least not anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think I was more daring when I was little. I always wanted to explore everything.”

  “What happened?”

  “I got lost.” She smiles to take the sting out of the words, but it still makes me want to hold her. “I was more careful after that, but it wasn’t just being afraid of snakes. I told you it was hard on my parents. They’d picked me out of the orphanage thinking I was this sweet, quiet little baby. And then I got home with them and started running off and doing stupid things.”

  “Not stupid,” I say. “Kid things.”

  “Ethan never did those things.”

  “Ethan is a freak of nature.”

  “In some ways. But he’s also been a really good brother.” She smiles to herself.

  “What?” I ask.

  “They called me Roo when I was little. I thought it was because I was always jumping from one thing to another like a Kangaroo. But then my mom told me it was because I attached myself to Ethan. He was eighteen months when I was adopted. I don’t remember this, but Mom says he was very protective. They had a room for my nursery, but Ethan said I was used to sharing a room at the orphanage, that I might be scared if I was alone. So they moved a toddler bed into his room, and I slept there for two years until he started kindergarten.”

  The one lamppost flickers on, though the sky is still hanging on to the last bit of sunlight. “Do you remember what it was like, before you were adopted?”

  She sips from her can of guava. “Not consciously. But there are studies about that…how it can…stick with you.” She runs a finger along the uneven wood of the table, pressing the small broken edges as if she can knit them back together. “I think about it a lot, though. How they could have adopted any of those babies and they chose me.”

  “They lucked out.”

  “I’m the one who lucked out. They’re really good people. At first, they were just my parents. Then I went from feeling lucky to thinking I’d won the lottery.” She shrugs. “I grew up knowing that I didn’t look like my parents on the outside, but that made me want to be more like them on the inside. To really be a Senn.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “You don’t wander off, for starters.” She smiles, but something about that bothers me. She takes another drink of juice. “I have goals. A direction in life. College. My doctorate. A profession.”

  “And someone like Grant Ellison?”

  “And someone like Grant Ellison.” Her gaze lifts to mine, not a sliver of apology in them. “This is me. This is who I am, Anthony. I don’t do rock hop trails. I follow the road that’s already been paved. I like that. It’s safer.”

  I shake my head, a familiar lump filling my throat. “We’re never safe. That’s a lie we tell ourselves when we make plans.”

  “You mean your dad?” Mai shifts forward on her bench. “You never told me what happened.”

  “Prostate cancer. It’s supposed to be an old man’s disease, but turns out it isn’t always.” She reaches for my hand. Squeezes. It feels nice, better than words. I thread my fingers through hers. “He would have liked you. He was big on planning. Had lots of his own he never had time for.”

  “Like what?”

  “He and my mom were going to travel around. She was going to write a novel, and he was going to bike trails he’d marked up and down the coast. He had a whole map laid out.”

  She frowns, and I know her mind is piecing together more than I want her to. “Is that why you’re traveling up and down the coast? Tracing his path?”

  What the hell. Might as well tell her the rest. “More than that. I’m taking him with me. His ashes.” I’ve been talking to her hands, but now I look up to read her expression. I’m not sure what she’s thinking, but she doesn’t pull back. “He’s been sitting in an urn in our house for almost three years. He should be out in the world, the places he wanted to go.”

  She nods like there’s nothing strange about that. “Where are you going exactly?”

  “Not sure yet. I’ll head up north Friday night, set up a camp, and be ready for coffee at sunrise.”

  “I guess you don’t mean Starbucks.”

  “Nope. Instant coffee made with water cooked over a camp stove. It doesn’t taste as good, but coffee at sunrise w
as one of Dad’s favorite things.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “But why leave at night? Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Not really. It’s…well…” I turn away, a sharp heat gathering behind my eyes.

  “You okay?” she asks softly.

  I take a slow breath in and out. “Saturday is the anniversary of his death. I want to set up somewhere the night before so I can start the day the way he would. The way we all did when we were together.” I swallow the thickness of tears, glad for the heavy shadows. “You asked why I care about you doing the rock hop? I couldn’t do anything about my dad. I couldn’t show him the places he never got to see. But I can show you this. Take you down that trail. Nothing should be off-limits, Mai. Not for you.”

  She smiles, like I’m over the top, but I’m not. Mai is special. There’s nothing she can’t do with that brain, her ambition. The fact that she cares about things. But if she’s afraid to go places, if she’s always telling herself she can’t—and her parents are telling her to play it safe—what is she missing out on?

  I want to show Mai that she can do anything. I want to give her that. Maybe because it’s the only thing I can give her. “I think there’s more to you than even you know.”

  She lowers her head, but her hands tremble as if my words are running through her.

  “Think about it. It’s a plan. You like plans.”

  “Ha.” She looks up then, a wry smile easing the tension. “What about you? I think you like plans more than you admit. Mr. ‘I’m bumming around all summer.’”

  “I am. I’m just doing it with an urn.”

  “Because you have a plan.”

  “I have a lot of plans, smart-ass.”

  “Really?” she challenges. “But not college?”

  “That kills you, doesn’t it?”

  “Kind of,” she admits. “I understand you wanting to wander for a while. Traveling. Seeing things. But then what? Even tents require repairs, and cars need gas. Even if a traditional four-year program isn’t for you, education opens so many doors.”

  “Yeah,” I say, looking around. “But there are no doors when you’re outside. No hoops to jump through. No barriers to climb. I’m always going to work, but I don’t have to figure it all out now.”

  “You just said you had plans,” she reminds me.

  I let a smile take over. “I plan to wake up every morning and not have to go to a job I hate. I plan to wear what feels good and only call people ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’ because they’ve earned my respect and not because someone else gave them the title. And I plan to eat tacos out of a truck and watch the sunrise, and I plan to remember, forever, that time I hiked the rock hop trail with the girl who went on to change the world.”

  Our eyes hold, shadows deepening the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips. Shadows I want to kiss. I lean in and rub a finger at the corner of her mouth. “You’ve got a little bit of salsa here.”

  Her tongue slips out, licking over her lip…my thumb. The world narrows to that one spot. Her voice is throaty. “Not salsa. Marmalade.”

  I slide out of my seat and around to hers. I kiss the spot again, sliding my lips over hers, opening my mouth to catch her sigh.

  Her chest rises and falls as fast as mine. “That was not a peck,” she murmurs.

  “Sure, it was.” I bury my fingers in her soft hair. “If I did this, it would be a kiss.”

  I tilt my head, slowly moving closer to give her time to push me away. To say no. Instead, she sighs when our mouths meet. Her lips part under mine, and has anything ever been so sweet? I kiss her like it’s the first time, like it’s been too much time, like we’ll never have enough time. My whole body tightens, wanting more.

  I pull away, because it’s either that or pull her closer.

  “Anthony,” she breathes. I watch her eyes clear, fill with worry. “It’s a good thing we’re not kissing,” she says. “Because that was not helpful.”

  I swallow, my hands shaky as I let her go. “I’ll take you back to the library.”

  On the drive there, I feel Mai’s thoughts growing as heavy as mine. In the passing streetlights, her face is a flickering image. Appearing. Disappearing. I blink, wanting to clear my vision. Wanting her here. Wishing I didn’t.

  I pull into a parking spot, and we’re quiet for a long minute. “Sorry,” I finally say. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “No,” she says as she opens the door. “And I shouldn’t have let you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mai

  We’re laying water bars today. Turns out that’s code for lugging flat slabs of rock up the trail. Amber explained that the rocks are laid like steps so when it rains, water can run off the trail and down the side of the mountain. It’s a nice idea in theory.

  But in practice?

  The trail has to be cleared and smoothed with shovels and picks. That’s my job along with Ben and Mallory. Then the stones have to be placed. Amber, Anthony, and Grant are doing that part. Even though I’m not lugging, it is by far the hardest day of work yet. In a way, I’m glad. My brain power has gone to my muscles. Less energy for thinking.

  Anthony started the morning with a long-sleeve work shirt, but he pulled that off a while ago, and now he’s working in a white tee that’s covered in dirt and plastered to his chest with sweat. He’s still wearing jeans. Of course. “Don’t own hiking pants,” he told Amber. Those are practically painted on his thighs as he sets a rock in place. Not that I’m looking.

  I’m not looking.

  I dig back into the trail, using a pick to pry out a stubborn rock. Finally, it loosens and comes up in a shower of dirt. I take a quick breath, stretch my back, and twist my neck side to side and—

  There’s Anthony. He’s stopped for a drink, his profile to me as he faces away from the sun. His throat works as he swallows, the sun glinting off reddish strands in his hair. Every day, he picks the hardest job—not asking, just stepping in and doing it. Maybe he’s trying to impress Amber. She seems very impressed. They’re always talking to each other when I look.

  Not that I’m looking.

  I’m not looking.

  He just keeps getting in the way of my gaze.

  He’s kept his distance today. I know it’s for my benefit. He’s being careful not to give us away, and here I am, doing the staring. I’m still all twisted inside from last night. When I’m with Anthony, it’s like everything is bigger. Fuller. Instead of emotions flowing from a faucet, they gush from a fire hose. It’s unsettling.

  It’s why I still feel so unsettled.

  The sun isn’t helping. I’m baking out here. I question any scientist who says the glowing ball of hell is more than a mile away. It feels like it’s right. There.

  I feel it burning through my clothes, my hat. Is Anthony wearing sunscreen? Probably not. Sunscreen would require planning and sensible behavior. He’ll burn. He’ll freckle. He’ll peel. Peeling skin is disgusting. It reminds me of snakes. I hope he turns into a peeling, molting mess. That would be helpful.

  Again, he manages to get right in the way of my eyes. What is he doing? He’s crouched down, his fingers sifting through dirt. Why?

  And why am I watching him?

  But it’s too late. I can’t look away. His glove is off, and he’s running fingers over the dirt. His fingers are caked with it as he picks up something, holds it to the sun.

  “You okay?”

  I jump. How did Grant get behind me?

  “I saw you stretching. Did you pull something?”

  “No. Nothing like that.” He’s watching me, a concerned look on his handsome face with his appropriate hat and his appropriately trimmed hair. I should want Grant. Grant is safe. Grant is not a mistake.

  With Grant, there’s no need to keep anything a secret.

  Every day, Mom or Dad asks abo
ut Grant. Have you thought any more about inviting him to the fundraiser? You should invite him to the fundraiser. Have you invited him to the fundraiser?

  I have no good answer other than no, I haven’t invited him. I’m too involved in a secretive fling with a guy who hates doors. I don’t want the complication. I want…I want… My attention wanders back to Anthony as he slips whatever he found in his front pocket. Just like the other day.

  “Mai?”

  I jump again—Darn it!—guilt raising my internal temperature another thousand degrees. “Sorry. I was just thinking. Ethan will be home this weekend. I know he’d love to see you. We’ll have to plan something.”

  “Next weekend? I’m open.”

  I think about the dinner I should be inviting him to. “I’ll check.”

  “Grant,” Amber interrupts. “Can I borrow you a second?”

  “Work calls.” He starts to back up and then turns with a smile. “We’ll talk plans later.”

  I watch him walk up the trail as I grab my pick and head down in the opposite direction—and nearly run into a scowling Anthony. He’s standing next to the wheelbarrow, a boulder in his hand that he looks ready to crumble like a Saltine.

  “You’ll talk plans?”

  The guilt bubbles a little higher, filling my throat. Sweat drips down my temples, and the heat in my head builds. “He’s a family friend, Anthony. You know that. So yes, there are plans.”

  “Friendly plans? Or more than friendly?” He seems as immovable as the rock he’s standing on.

  I glance around and keep my voice low. “You’re acting like a jealous boyfriend. You don’t get to do that.”

  “We’re together right now, Mai. Whatever this is. And I don’t share.”

  His words shiver across my over-heated skin. I should be mad—I’m not some kind of a possession. I don’t belong to him. But his voice isn’t angry or possessive. It’s a little uncertain. A little hurt. And if I’m honest, I’d be hurt, too, if I heard him making plans with Amber. I slip off my sunglasses so he can see my eyes as I look into his. “I’m not asking you to.”

  The air crackles around us as the moment stretches out. Then he nods, his jaw relaxing. “Okay, then.”