Chapter 25
25
Natalia
senior year
“Is everything okay?”
I look to my left, Alex’s concerned eyes coaxing an answer from me, before realizing how this must look. Me, rushing to him after Hayden kissed me, only to find that Hayden was actually correct—Alex was getting high in the parking lot—before I pleaded with him to leave the dance early. Maybe I was being too dramatic; maybe it was nothing, barely a kiss. But…I don’t know. I feel so flustered and confused and scared.
I realize Alex is still waiting for me to answer, so I smile, giving a small nod in response with my fingers twisting on my lap. “I’m sorry we had to leave so early.”
He smiles. “It’s fine,” he answers. “I still had fun.”
I smile a little wider this time, tilting my face toward him while thinking how glad I am he didn’t make a scene, demanding that we stay or that I find a ride home on my own. I reach out to graze my hand against his arm, not realizing how intimate the act may seem while wanting him to know that he surprisingly made a pretty decent prom date.
He takes my hand into his, gently stroking his thumb over my knuckles as he looks at me. A warm smile spreads across his face, almost in a luring gaze, as his eyes flit to my mouth.
A sudden realization hits me: Hayden kissed me. He kissed me . Why? We’re friends, lab partners. That’s supposed to be the extent of our friendship. So what are all of these swirling thoughts making everything so confusing and scary?
With my thoughts consumed with what happened between me and Hayden, Alex leans closer, bringing his face closer to mine. His hand, the one that isn’t gripping my hand, moves up to cup the back of my head before he closes the space between us.
It was Alex who I should have kissed…right? I mean, he’s the one that brought me to prom. He’s the one who spent the night making sure I stayed warm with his suit jacket draped over my shoulders and thought long enough to make sure my corsage matched the lavender tones of my dress. But when I can’t push away the gentleness of Hayden’s hands or the playful smile that lit up his face, I realize how wrong this kiss feels.
What happens next feels like two tidal waves crashing into each other. Like the currents fighting at the same time without realizing what they’re fighting. I start to retract my hand from Alex’s grip at the same time he pulls it toward him, crushing it against his crotch. I feel the fingertips of his hands threading through my hair push into my head harder, the hard points of pressure causing discomfort and pain.
“Alex,” I croak.
He must have taken it as some mixed sign of pleasure because when I say his name, he moves more aggressively, his tongue pushing into my mouth. My free hand moves to his chest, failing at any attempt to push him away. When his hand frees mine, I think, He’s finally stopping. But then his hand moves to my knees, grazing his fingers along the hem of my dress and lifting it so it bunches along my thighs before he grips my knee.
“Alex, please,” I cry. My hands start to claw at his chest, wanting him to stop but scared to tell him to because I don’t want to upset him, while the words start to pile up in my throat. Just tell him no! Tell him to stop!
“Alex. NO!”
He stops just then, looking at me confusedly with a hint of annoyance evident in the way his brow furrows and his jaw clenches. “What do you mean, no?”
“I–I don’t…I?—”
His hand moves to cup my chin, and my entire body grows stiff. “Nat, I just thought since we had such a good time, we could make tonight even more memorable.”
I look away, lowering my gaze and turning away from him.
“I promise I’ll be gentle,” he whispers, a half laugh leaving his lips before he leans forward to kiss me again.
But this time, he kisses me more aggressively, suffocating the air around me. A thundering fear starts to roar through me. All I feel are his hands moving across my skin and over my dress. Down to my nape, shoving my lips closer to him. Gripping my thigh, squeezing the soft flesh, pinching it to sear this memory into my mind forever.
“You don’t have to be such a tease,” he whispers in a low, authoritative voice. My skin begins to crawl, wanting nothing more than to wipe away his hot breath brushing against my lips. His finger tucks under the strap of my dress and in my attempt to pull away from him, the fabric snaps at the seam, leaving my shoulder completely bare.
In a panic, my hand reaches for the door, fumbling with the handle before it clicks open. A gush of fresh air enters the car, making Alex realize that I’m escaping his grips. His hand reaches for my waist, his fingers slipping against the silky material of my dress before I turn to leave with barely enough time and thought to reach for my purse before closing the door behind me.
I don’t look back. Not even when I hear him call after me. Instead, my feet drag against the pavement as sob after sob heaves from my chest. I start to hobble, lowering myself to the ground just as I hear Alex’s BMW drive off behind me. The shaky breaths and cries I can’t seem to stop keep coming, wave after wave, as I cover my mouth to silence the cries.
When my tears stop long enough for me to stand from the cold walkway, I walk into my house. I wave a half good night to my parents watching TV in the living room, careful to keep my voice calm and steady before I trudge upstairs to my room. I somehow gather the strength to change out of my dress, my beautiful dress now tainted with the memory of tonight, and climb underneath the covers and fall into another fit of silent sobs and heart-shattering betrayal.
present
October 22nd.
It’s a date I’ve remembered and looked forward to for the past five years. Five years ago on this day, Matteo took me to dinner at Momofuku and after a ten-course meal that ended in a mouthwatering rum cake, he asked me to be his girlfriend.
This is the first time in five years I’ll be spending that day alone, without Matteo. Minus the anniversary he completely forgot two years ago and went to a Knicks game with his friends instead.
I didn’t know how I was going to handle it. I didn’t know if I was going to stay in my pajamas all day with my face covered in cheese puffs or if I was going to go to every bar in Manhattan to drown my sorrows in cosmopolitans and obnoxious jukebox music well into the night. But calling Hayden and having him be by my side sounded like a safer option.
When Saturday morning rolls around, I go to the nearest bakery and stock up on cupcakes, donut holes, and a whole cheesecake with the excuse that it’s Carmen’s favorite, tucking away a large slice for her to enjoy when she gets home from work the following morning. I spent the latter part of the previous day distracted by the looming heartache that I was sure to surface when day broke, but it never happened. While I haven’t necessarily been the embodiment of what a happy single woman should be, I’m not necessarily as mournful as I thought I would be.
So I bury myself in preparation for my movie night with Hayden, hoping that staying distracted will keep those thoughts away. I flick through all the streaming services Carmen and I share and narrow down our choices to every sappy, chick flick holiday movie I can find. As I move about my apartment, flitting around while fluffing pillows that have already been fluffed and wiping surfaces that are already squeaky clean, I can’t help but think that maybe the reason I have yet to feel the pang in my heart I so highly expected is all because of Hayden.
Ever since the wedding, he’s been more attentive, texting randomly throughout the day as if to remind me that I’m on his mind. I even spent my lunch hour at his restaurant more than once this week, bringing José along so that we could indulge, just a little bit, on the now-familiar French dishes that Hayden spoils me with. A small smile lifts the corners of my mouth as I think about the number of times I had a lemon tart this week, a box of extras always held in my hands on my way back to the office after a food coma inducing lunch.
It’s so nice to feel like I’m being taken care of instead of neglected. To feel like I matter enough for someone to consider me.
Once I’ve neatly organized all our dessert choices and an extra-large cheese pizza on my kitchen counter, my intercom buzzes loudly. I press the button to buzz Hayden in and open the door to him dressed in the most casual attire a single man in his midtwenties could wear: gray sweatpants, a stark white hoodie, and a Cincinnati Reds baseball cap, all topped with black-rimmed glasses. He looks dressed for a night in.
My own attire matches Hayden’s level of leisure as I chose comfort over aesthetics today, not caring much what I look like. That meant I gravitated toward my usual lazy weekend outfit: an oversized sweater, spandex shorts that are hidden under the tent of said oversized sweater, and warm, fuzzy socks pulled up the length of my calves. All of it, quite literally, topped off with a messy bun and a makeup-free face.
“You look dressed for the occasion,” I comment, opening the door wider for him to enter.
“You said movie night,” he answers, swiveling on his feet to face me as he steps into my living room before extending a small white to-go container toward me. “I came prepared.”
“Since when do you wear glasses?” I ask as I take the container in my hands while eyeing him curiously.
He laughs. “Since forever. I just wear contacts.”
“How did I not know that about you?” I open the box to peek inside, only to find the most delicious smelling moist cake with cocoa powder dusted on top .
He shrugs before gesturing to the box. “We ran out of lemon tarts, but I had a few slices of tiramisu left.”
“Thank you,” I say softly, clutching the box to my chest.
He nods before turning to face my kitchen counter. He peruses what I left out as his hands brace the counter.
“Are we celebrating something?”
I shrug a shoulder. “No.”
“So a diabetic coma is just some…” He pauses, his hands waving over the array of goods. “Lifelong achievement you’ve been striving for?”
I giggle. “Something like that.”
I bound toward my couch with Hayden’s offering in my hand as Hayden plucks the bowl of popcorn from the counter before joining me.
“I feel like you’re lying,” I say, flicking my finger against the rim of his glasses. “Are these even real?”
He dodges my hand. “Why the hell would I wear fake glasses?”
I reach toward his face, removing his glasses and settling them over the bridge of my nose. I regret it when my vision distorts, making me nauseous almost instantly. “Ugh.” I grimace, handing him his glasses back. “Never mind, you definitely aren’t lying.”
He rolls his eyes before settling his glasses back on his face. “So can you explain to me why we’re watching holiday movies in October?”
I shrug. “Because I like them,” I answer, trying to sound as apathetic as possible so he doesn’t pry deeper before adding, “and I’m in the mood for something happy.”
He gives me a wary look with one brow curved higher than the other. When I respond to his silent curiosity with an unsuspecting smile, his lips purse together into a firm line before he nods as if opting not to ask further. “What did you decide on?”
“I thought we could start strong with a Halloween movie since it’s October, but a non-scary one, and then move on to a Christmas one.” My hand grips the remote as I gently place the box on the coffee table and plop on the couch.
“What!” he argues incredulously, standing above me in front of the couch. “How can you do a non-scary Halloween movie?”
“Ever heard of Casper the Friendly Ghost?” I pat the cushions, motioning for him to sit.
He rolls his eyes, throwing a loose popcorn kernel at me before he sinks into his side of the couch. “Fine,” he surrenders. “But I get to choose the Christmas movie.”
“As long as it’s a chick-flicky, Hallmark Channel type one.”
“All right,” he announces, setting the popcorn bowl on my coffee table. “I’m out of here.”
I lunge for his arm, grasping onto his wrist as I tug him back toward the couch. “Okay! Okay, you pick.”
I cling to his arm as he tries to shake me off. He laughs as my grip on his arm tightens, making me look like a little koala bear on a tree branch.
“Okay, Marquez!” he exclaims. “I’ll stay.”
I let out a small squeal as I link my arm through his and lean into him.
“Wow, you really are a brat,” he says as we both face the TV.
“No, I’m not,” I pout.
He reaches up to my face, pinching my cheek between his index finger and thumb. I reach up to flick the lip of his hat, making it tumble off his head. He smirks at my antics, his lips twisting into a small smile.
“It’s okay,” he says, his hands moving to pinch my cheek again before I slap it away. “You’re still cute.”
Halfway into Home Alone 2: Lost in New York , I shift to face Hayden.
“I don’t understand the appeal for humor based on other people’s pain.” My voice filters over the sounds of Marv Murchins’s high-pitched screams.
“Here,” Hayden says, running his hand through his mussed-up hat hair. “You pick.” He lazily extends the remote in my direction. As I tentatively take it from him, he stretches his hands above his head, raising the bottom hem of his sweatshirt and exposing a sliver of a happy trail down the center of his stomach.
“I thought I wasn’t allowed to pick.”
“It’s fine,” he answers through a yawn.
I sit up, tucking my feet under my butt as I face the TV to make my selection. As I’m scrolling through my options, my mind made up on watching Love Actually before Hayden protests, Hayden clears his throat.
“I talked to my dad.”
“You what?” I know I look dumbfounded, my mouth slacked open and my eyes wide with confusion, but I can’t believe what he just told me. He finally talked to his dad.
“Uh…yeah.” He picks at a loose thread coming off his sweatpants and flicks at it, avoiding my eyes. “Pat called him because of my promotion, and he called to tell me he’s proud of me. And he mentioned he wanted me home for Thanksgiving.”
“Hayden,” I whisper, a smile cutting into the shock on my face. “That’s amazing.”
When he finally looks up at me, he smiles. His eyes curve and brighten, and his whole face softens, filling him with pride and hope. “Yeah,” he whispers through a breathy laugh.
I lift off the couch and rest on my knees, wrapping my arms around his neck and clutching to his shoulders as his warm arms welcome me. I feel his nose nuzzle into my neck, sending a trail of goose bumps down my back .
I take in Hayden as he is right now. Not the seventeen-year-old boy who knew a past version of me most weren’t aware of but the one who’s had to fight for every bit of his worth. As the weight of everything melts off him while in my arms, I realize just how badly this strained relationship with his dad was wearing him down. And without that added weight, I see him shift into someone more confident and prouder. Someone who doesn’t need to doubt himself but can bask in every bit of his success.
As our embrace tows into a comfort wrapped in warmth and softness and his hand runs up and down my back, my mind replays another tidbit of information Hayden just told me.
“Wait a minute,” I say, pulling away from him. “Did you say promotion?”
“Oh yeah,” he says as his arms slowly slide down my side. “Pat’s promoting me to head chef.”
“Oh my god! Hayden!” I exclaim, slapping his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
He shrugs, his smile growing wider as the corners of his mouth pull apart, exposing his teeth.
“We have to celebrate,” I say, determined to mark this new milestone in Hayden’s career.
I bound off the couch, skipping to the kitchen to grab the only chocolate cupcake I purchased. After rummaging through one of the drawers for a candle, I finally find one, a single number three candle that I used for Carmen’s thirty-sixth birthday back in May. I light it before carefully walking it over to Hayden, my cupped hand cautiously blocking the breeze. I gently perch at the edge of the couch next to him, lowering my hand and revealing the flickering flame.
“It was the only candle I had,” I explain. He shakes his head through a playful eye roll before sitting up from his seat and facing me. “To celebrate your promotion and becoming a real adult, despite what I thought of you in high school.” I throw an overly exaggerated wink along with a wide grin as I watch Hayden break out into a light laugh. “Here,” I urge, lifting the cupcake to his face. “Make a wish.”
“You know, it’s not my birthday,” he answers as he looks at me over the warm glow of the candle.
“Just make a wish, party pooper.”
He closes his eyes for a fraction of a second and opens them before lightly blowing out the candle.
“I have some bad news,” I say, removing the candle and sucking off the frosting coating the bottom half. “You’re going to have to share because it’s the only chocolate one I’ve got.”
“Well then, ladies first.”
My already wide grin spreads wider before I peel back the liner and clamp my eager teeth onto the moist cake and creamy frosting, making sure to get an even ratio of both.
“Save some for me, Marquez,” he calls when I let out a loud moan.
“I don’t hear you,” I muffle through a full mouth in a sing-songy voice, sprinkling crumbs of chocolate cake onto my lap.
He reaches across me at the same time I lean back. My hand holds the chocolate ball of heaven hostage as I extend my arm back toward the opposite end of the couch. His body presses against me as I chew to prevent an outpouring of chocolate crumbs. When he looks down at me, now lying flat against the couch cushions, I feel a warm flush spread through my cheeks while unable to control the tightening in my stomach as I convulse through my laughter.
“Marquez,” he scolds. “You’re going to have to share.”
I silently shake my head, my cheeks hurting and hindering my ability to swallow. His large hand grips my bare thigh, my legs feeling like they’re on fire from the heat lining his palm. He gives a tight squeeze, causing me to yelp.
“Hayden!” I scream. “I’m ticklish! ”
“Yeah,” he agrees, his laughter, just as warm as his touch, vibrating against me. “That’s kind of the point.”
When I don’t surrender, he gives another firm squeeze, making me squeal even louder.
“Marqu—”
I cut him off, shoving the remaining half of the cupcake into his mouth at the same time he turns his face away to avoid the blow.
“Oh!” he howls.
While I thought my attack would force him off of me, he does the opposite. He smashes his face into mine, smearing chocolate all over my cheek while I struggle under his weight. Before I know it, I’m covered in crumbs and frosting.
“Hayden!” I scream.
He pulls away, caging me underneath him with his hands braced on the couch to my sides. I reach up to his hair hanging off his forehead, removing a large chunk of frosting from the dark strands.
“You’ve made a big mess,” I finally say.
“I believe you started that.”
He doesn’t get off of me. Instead, his body sinks into mine a little deeper as I realize the position we’re in. My legs parted, straddling his hips, while his hard chest brushes against mine. His hips rock the slightest bit, something that I don’t think he means to do, causing me to gasp. His gaze travels down my face, trailing the residue of chocolate cake before landing on my lips, then down to my neck. It suddenly feels hot, too hot, and I feel the heat travel up my back and to my face.
“So what did you wish for?” I ask breathlessly. It’s then Hayden finally climbs off me to reach for a Kleenex while handing me one.
He looks at me as if considering telling me, making me wonder if I already know what his wish is. Until he finally says, “If I tell you, it won’t come true.” He takes a long, slow sweep of his tissue across his chin to his cheek, making the act look more seductive than intended.
I look away and roll my eyes. The heat and air that felt too tight finally dissipates back into the lighter mood that filled the room before I innocently, so I thought, smashed cake and frosting into Hayden’s face.
“That’s not even remotely true.”
“Still,” he responds. “I’m not going to tell you.”
“Fine. It wouldn’t do you any good to tell me anyway,” I tell him, dusting off the mess that made its way into my sweater and the couch.
“Why’s that?”
“It’s not like I can make it come true,” I tell him, trying to ignore the low raspiness of his voice and the darkness filling his eyes.