by Lina Langley
I smile as he opens the door. At least things are back to being friends… or, well, friendly, I guess. He looks over his shoulder before he leaves. “Alex?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” he says. “For coming to get me. I don’t care that it didn’t work out, I appreciate the gesture regardless. You’re one of the good ones.”
“I, uh, thank you,” I call after him as he closes the door behind him. I can’t help but smile when I hear him starting up his bike. I’m not sure where he’s going—work, maybe, but I don’t know his hours by heart.
At least he didn’t take that as poorly as I thought he would. Still, things with Cyrus are still up in the air. I need to talk to him. I need to make sure everything is alright.
CONTINUE
I wait until the morning before I call him, but I don’t get a wink of sleep. After a few rings, he sends me to voicemail. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.
He doesn’t answer. He sends me to voicemail almost immediately. Shit. He never does that unless he’s recording and I know he’s not recording right now. He never records on Sundays. I don’t want to pop over to his house when he’s not expecting me, but I will if that’s the only way I’m going to be able to talk to him.
I decide to text him. Hey, Cy. Can we talk?
He texts back almost immediately. I need some space, babe. I’ll reach out to you in a few days.
I look at the text for far too long. Everything around me feels like it’s stopped being important. The only thing I can think about right now is how everything around me feels dull, like it has lots all color.
Okay. I’ll miss you.
I look at my phone screen. Three dots are coming up on our thread after the last message I sent, which tells me he’s going to write something back. But he doesn’t. There’s no response, the three dots go away, and I’m left staring at my phone, knowing he’s not going to answer me at all.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without Cyrus. He’s always just been a phone call away when I needed him, which I suppose is part of the problem. I’ve always taken him for granted and I think I might have changed our relationship for good.
I close my eyes and lean back on the headboard of my bed. I can’t stay here.
I can’t stop Cyrus from pursuing his dreams and I certainly can’t be around if all I’m going to do is hurt his feelings. Hurt my feelings. Fuck, confuse. Confuse is enough.
I’m going to go off to seminary and I’m going to try to become a priest, just like I always wanted. Before things got so complicated. Before they turned into this, whatever the fuck this is. I walk over to my laptop, which is on my dresser, grab it, sit on my bed and put it on my legs before I open it.
I go on the seminary’s website, the green and blue logo prominent everywhere I go. There’s no way I can escape this now. I log into the site and click on the admissions button.
This is it. All I have to do is put in a deposit and I’m in. I sigh as I look at what they need from me.
“This is what you’ve always wanted,” I tell myself. “Just pull the trigger.”
I look at my phone, which hasn’t rung or beeped. There are no notifications lights blinking on it. Cyrus isn’t going to reach out to me and I just need to come to terms with that.
I finish inputting my credit card number and the website starts to celebrate.
Congratulations, Alejandro Del Bosque! We look forward to seeing you in September for orientation.
There’s more after that, but I don’t read any of it. I slam my laptop shut, put it on my bed and lie down next to it.
This is good, I tell myself as I stare at the popcorn ceiling. This is what you’ve always wanted.
Maybe if I say it enough times, it’ll start sounding like the truth.
CONTINUE
Chapter FIVE
It takes me a little while to remember what happened the night before when I wake up. I’m in Lawrence’s guest room, and all the walls are naked wood. The sun is coming from above. The room is nice and warm, but it’s not stifling. I sigh as I sit up, stretching out as I yawn.
It only takes me a second to remember how uncomfortable I am. Lawrence didn’t have to bring me back here, and he probably only did it because looking after me is literally his job. Then he told me about his ex-boyfriend and… fuck. I need to go home and get away from Lawrence.
There’s no way I can stay here and pretend nothing has changed between us. Or, well, nothing has changed for me. I suppose it’s very possible everything has changed between us, since my feelings for Lawrence have definitely changed.
I slept in my underwear. I start collecting my clothes from around the room when Lawrence knocks on the door. “Hey,” he says. “Do you want breakfast?”
I swallow. I want to make sure I don’t sound like an idiot when I answer. “I, uh, it’s fine.”
“I only have to throw two more eggs in the pan,” he says. “You eat eggs, right?”
Fuck, now I think I would be rude to say no. He did pick me up from the drunk tank and let me stay at his house. “Um, yeah,” I say, telling myself that I’ll get out of her the moment breakfast is done. “That sounds good.”
Fuck, fuck, why did I just say that? I could sneak out of the guest bedroom’s window, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to get far on my own. Plus, that would be the height of rudeness. Oh, shit. “I’ll be out in a minute,” I say when I don’t hear his footsteps receding.
“Okay,” he says. “There’s coffee on the pot. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No,” I say to the door. “I was already awake. Don’t worry.”
“Good,” he replies. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I finally stop being able to hear him.
I lick my lips. Okay, all I have to do is have breakfast, then get out of here. He’s not going to be offended if that’s all I do. I need to get out of here and then I never have to speak to Lawrence again. He’s going to stop being paid to advise me in a few weeks anyway, so he probably doesn’t want to see me either.
I put my clothes on, which smell like the drunk tank, and then walk out into Lawrence’s fairytale living room. The entire place looks like a pastel-colored painting from the 1800s and I’m sure I would enjoy it a lot more if I wasn’t struggling to be around him right now.
He’s whistling something in the kitchen. I think it’s Bach. I don’t know much about classical music, but there’s something really comforting about how into it he is. I smile as I approach him. “Good morning,” I say, trying my best to sound like I’m not panicking. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
He looks me up and down, a little smile on his face. “Good morning, Alejandro,” he says, his smile turning into a grin. “I trust you slept well?”
I nod. “Your bed is, uh, very comfortable.”
He laughs quietly. “That’s not my bed,” he replies. “My bed is legitimately very comfortable.”
I cock my head, my eyes narrowing. I want to ask him if that means I’m ever going to know how comfortable his bed is. “Coffee?”
“On the pot,” he says, handing me a tall mug with the words ‘World’s Best Dad’ on them. I look at it for far too long. He laughs, but there’s no humor in his voice. “My wife. When we were trying.”
I nod, unsure whether I should say I’m sorry. I walk over to the coffee pot and pour myself the world’s biggest cup of coffee.
He laughs. “Tired?”
“Something like that,” I say. He’s working on methodically on the eggs, slowly putting pinches of salt and pepper on them. He isn’t whistling anymore, but the smile is still on his face.
“Get a couple of plates for me, will you?” he points at a cupboard on my leg. I do as I’m told, taking two large yellow plates out and putting them on the countertop next to him. “Thank you.”
He serves us breakfast. I carry it to the dining room, a long wooden table that looks like it could fit about ten people. I think he’s going to sit at the he
ad of the table, but he doesn’t. He sits next to me and smiles, grabbing his plate and putting down his coffee in front of him.
I look down at my breakfast, which smells amazing. “You… thanks,” I say. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”
He laughs quietly. “It’s my pleasure,” he says. “You really don’t have to act the part of the polite guest. It’s seriously no problem.”
I shrug my shoulders and dig in. The food is amazing, the eggs perfectly fluffy and seasoned. “Oh my God, this is so good.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he says. “It’s been a while since I cooked for anyone. I thought I might have lost my touch.”
“You haven’t,” I say while chewing. It’s like eating amazing food has made me forget all my manners. “Don’t you cook for yourself?”
“Rarely,” he replies. “In fact, I can’t remember the last time I did.”
I shake my head. “If I could cook like this, I would never leave my kitchen,” I say. I look down at my plate and realized I’ve practically finished it. “Shi—darn, I totally wolfed that down, I’m sorry—”
He laughs. “It’s fine,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. He’s sitting up, his spine perfectly straight. He looks like he’s in a GQ photoshoot. “It just means it was good. Also, Alejandro?”
I raise my eyebrows.
“You can swear around me,” he says. “It’s absolutely fine.”
I smile as I shake my head, taking another sip of my coffee. It’s bitter with an aftertaste of caramel. “This coffee is amazing,” I say. “And swearing around you is weird.”
“Okay,” he says. “I take your point.”
He finishes his breakfast in silence. Right now, things feel okay between us. I think the awkwardness might only be in my head. When he finishes, he clears his throat and turns to me. His expression darkens before he speaks. “I owe you an apology.”
“No, you don’t—”
“No, I do,” he says. “I think I sprang something on you and it wasn’t… it wasn’t about you. It was about me and that was unfair.”
I swallow, my mouth dry. My eyes are meeting his. They look lighter than they ever have right now, more grey than blue. “It’s okay to talk about you,” I say. “I don’t—I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing your job every time we see each other.”
He furrows his brow, a line appearing on his forehead. “Is that how you think I feel?”
“Don’t, okay?” I hear myself say, the annoyance obvious in my voice. “Don’t do that.”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He exhales slowly through his nose, opening his eyes again. “Okay,” he says.
I wait for him to say something else.
“I don’t, for the record. I don’t feel like I’m doing my job every time I’m around you.”
“But you are.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. His voice is a whisper when he speaks again. “Not at all. I… crossed a line, and I’m sorry about that. You shouldn’t be here. I should have taken you home when you called me.”
I shake my head. “No,” I say. “It was nice of you to bring me here.”
He laughs quietly. “No, it wasn’t,” he says. “I did for me. Not for you.”
We look at each other for a very long time. I can hear birds singing outside, leaves rustling with the wind, the humming of the air-conditioner. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” I say quietly.
I mean it. If I’m not here because of his job, then maybe it’s okay that I’m here after all. I want to reach out and squeeze his hand, but he already looks upset and I don’t want to upset him anymore than I already have.
If he just wants me to be here, that’s okay. I’m about to tell him that, but from the way his face looks, I hesitate to say anything.
He stares at my face for a second, then he closes his eyes. “Get your stuff ready,” he says. “I’m going to drive you home.”
CONTINUE
He doesn’t live far away from my house, but the drive feels eternal anyway. Neither one of us really says anything, not until he gets to my apartment complex. He doesn’t pull into the parking lot, he just parks on the street and puts his hazard lights on.
I look at him, frowning. “What are you doing?”
He looks me up and down. “Dropping you off.”
“Right,” I say. I reach for the handle of the door to get out, but something feels wrong about this. I don’t want to leave things like this. I just have no idea how to fix them. “I… thanks again, Lawrence. For everything.”
He’s looking straight ahead, his hands still on the wheel. His jaw is clenched. “It’s fine,” he says. “It’s not a problem.”
I take a deep breath. Fuck, I know I shouldn’t ask this, but it’s going to drive me crazy if I don’t. “What can I do?”
He turns his head to look at me, his face expressionless. “What can you do regarding what?”
I can’t look at his face when I answer. I focus on the buttons of his shirt, the way they bunch up the fabric on his chest. “What can I do to make things better between us?”
He doesn’t answer for what feels like a very long. Then he puts a crooked finger under my chin and tilts my head up so I’m looking straight at him. His skin is electrifying on mine and I think I’m holding my breath. “You don’t have to fix this,” he says. “None of this is your responsibility.”
“Lawrence—”
“I need you to understand how serious I am about this,” he says, his eyes small and narrow. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to fix this. You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.”
I know that’s what he’s saying, but I don’t know if I should believe him. I feel like I was the one that made this happen. If I hadn’t called him, then everything would be okay between us.
He hasn’t removed his finger from my chin. He’s still holding me up and I’m staring at those wide blue eyes of his, sunlight shining on half his face. He’s very close to me, so close that I can see little bits of hair on his forehead, stubble he hasn’t taken care of yet today, the ridges and lines on his lips. I close my eyes, fully intending to move away from him, but it’s like my body has made a decision for me and I can’t stop myself from closing the space between us.
I think about how bad this is for a millisecond, then lose myself in his lips. They’re firm and soft, and even though I’m not actively kissing him and he’s not kissing me back, this little bit of contact is enough to send electricity down my spine.
It takes me a second to realize just how big a mistake I’ve made, my eyes wide, and I start to pull away from him. But I can’t before his mouth is on mine again, this time actually kissing me, deeply, passionately, until I’m breathless and all I can hear is my heartbeat.
I pull away from him, panting, and open my eyes. He’s staring at me, his mouth half-open, his lips wet. “Fuck,” he says, more to himself than to me. “Fuck, I—”
“I’m sorry, I—”
He closes his eyes. “It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to be sorry. There’s… there’s no need for you to be sorry.”
I have no reason to think he doesn’t mean what he’s saying, but I know that he’s wrong. There’s every reason for me to be sorry, including crossing a huge boundary. I wanted to fix things. I think all I’ve managed to do is make them worse.
“Alejandro, I…”
I don’t know if I can stay and have this conversation with him. My hand is already on the handle of the door and I’m ready to bolt, get back in my apartment and never reach out to him again. That’s what I’ve just done, I realize. I feel like I’m going to throw up. When he doesn’t say anything else, I open the door and start getting out of the car.
“Wait,” he says.
I can’t. I don’t know how to come back from this. I suppose I could stay here and we could talk or I could just pretend I didn’t hear him.
Fuck it. I was the one who made it weird between us and I’m th
e one who has to fix it. That was what I had indented to do before I managed to make everything worse. I swallow and look at him, the door still open. “What?”
It sounds harsher than I want it to, to the point where he puts his head back on the headrest. “I owe you an apology.”
“No, you don’t,” I say, so quickly my words are starting to merge into each other. “You didn’t do anything but sit there and be nice to me. I didn’t have to misinterpret it and make it weird.”
He closes his eyes and exhales, his breath deep and shuddering. “You didn’t,” he says. “You didn’t misinterpret it. That’s why I wish you would stop apologizing.”
I watch him, saying nothing.
“You… you wouldn’t have thought that was appropriate if I hadn’t led you to believe that it was,” he says. “That’s on me.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say. “Seriously. All you did was sit there.”
He laughs, a little quietly. “I know you believe that,” he says. “And I want to believe it, but unfortunately, that isn’t the truth.”
“Lawrence—”
He swallows, holding his hand up before he speaks. “We shouldn’t see each other anymore,” he says. “I mean, uh, you shouldn’t come around my office.”
“I wasn’t… so you can’t help me anymore?” I ask, and instantly feel like shit for asking him. “Not that that’s the most important thing. I just—you’ve always helped me so much.”
“I know,” he says. “And now I can’t. And that’s because of me, not because of you, Alejandro. It’s because I crossed a boundary, I made you think this was okay, and I… we need some space from each other.”
I close my eyes. “Until I leave, right? And you never have to see me again?”
“Alejandro—”
“Stop,” I say, tears welling up in my eyes. I don’t want to cry about this, but I don’t think I can stop myself when I close my eyes. “You’re saying this is your fault and it isn’t. I was the one who was trying to—”