Comedic Timing

Chapter VIII

VIII

I wake up terrifyingly hungover.

It’s almost noon. Images from last night slowly reemerge in my pounding skull: the fury of seeing Natasha and David together, my strangely vulnerable conversation with Margot, and, oh god, what I said to David .

I groan and roll over to my side to check my phone. Only a missed call from my father. I swipe through social media. Christian posted a photo of him and David together. I try to find any indication of what David is thinking in his smile. He looks like he had a good time. Of course he did. Despite the crazy gay girl who confessed her feelings for him.

I discover and remember, both at once, that I posted a photo of myself in my costume. Sofia liked it and commented with a star-eyed emoji. I’m comforted by the familiarity of her presence, even in this innocuous way. I respond back with a painting emoji.

I work up the strength to drag myself to the kitchen. I swallow an insane amount of water. Jhanaki is in the living room crocheting and watching something.

“You’re crocheting,” I point out.

“I am,” she responds, not looking away from the ball of yarn in her lap. “How was last night, Bob Ross?”

I shake my head. “Hungover.”

“Sounds like it was a fun night.”

“It was for a little bit. And then it wasn’t. I wanted to be, like, Sean Paul drunk. But I got Tove Lo drunk.”

“Uh-oh. David?”

I nod.

“What happened?”

I sink to the floor. Standing is beyond me right now. “It was complicated. He was hanging out with another woman at the party. And she was superhot. Like, she was my type . She wasn’t his date, but I didn’t know that so I confronted him. I don’t know, it was very confusing.”

“You should have stolen her away and made out with her in the bathroom. That would’ve been iconic.”

“It would’ve been sloppy. Sloppier than it already was. I told him that I have feelings for him.”

Jhanaki shoots up from her seat, crochet falling to the wayside, and clutches the back of the couch. “What did he say?”

“He said we have tension .”

Jhanaki blows a raspberry. “No shit.”

“Anyway, I’m going back to bed so I can sleep more and pretend last night didn’t happen.”

“Drink water!” she says, pointing at me.

“Don’t worry, I am!” I reply, pointing back.

I grab a pack of saltines from the cupboard, ready to escape reality for deep sleep, when there’s a knock.

I turn to Jhanaki, who shrugs. I open the door, and to my horror, it’s David, looking worried and sweet, holding two cups of coffee.

I stand there, frozen and slack-jawed.

“Can I come in?”

I exchange a look with Jhanaki, who’s staring at me with her eyes open wide, like she’s watching a season finale.

“Sure,” I say, opening the door wider.

“Hi, Jhanaki,” he says at her back as she patters off into her room.

“Hi, David!” she replies while closing her door.

We sit at the kitchen counter.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks me.

“Really hungover.” I sip my cappuccino. “Thank you for this, the coffee.”

He slips his bag off his shoulder and sets it on the ground. “Well, I want to talk about last night.”

“Okay, yeah. We should probably do that.”

He takes a deep breath. “I feel terrible. About how that went down. I... I’m sorry. Just so you know, I’m not sleeping with Natasha. We used to hook up, but we don’t now.”

I nod with relief, pleased that David felt the need to explain. Here was tacit acknowledgment that my interpretation of the situation was warranted, even if my reaction was not. I think back to what he told me about Margot and their incompatibility. I remember what Margot shared about running into David’s exes and old hookups. I’m certain how I reacted was reminiscent of their dynamic. I’m discomfited by the thought of reminding him of Margot, yet I don’t want to apologize.

David rubs his chest for a few moments, lost in thought, before speaking again. “But it made sense, the more I thought about it. How it must have looked. You and I have been spending all this time together and... cuddling? That’s what we’re doing, right? I like it a lot. If I’d known how you felt, really felt...”

I drink my cappuccino, still recovering from my embarrassment.

He pushes his coffee aside and rubs his thumbnail across his upper lip. “I said it last night at the party—I was looking to hang out with you . I feel a connection with you. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Especially because of the first time we met and how I put my foot in my mouth. I didn’t want to say anything to you or talk about how I was feeling because I didn’t want to look stupid in front of you. Again. That’s fair, right? That’s human, right?”

I sigh. We look at each other.

“It makes me sad that I hurt you last night, Naina. And I guess I’m also sad that you had feelings for me and didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t know what to say!” I say a little too loudly, feeling my headache intensify. “I didn’t know what I was feeling. But I didn’t think I needed to say anything. I thought it was obvious that getting close to you was a big deal for me. I even told you in Christian’s car that I liked you.”

The words tumble out before I can evaluate them. It’s as if I’m peeling back layers I didn’t know existed, revealing a tenderness I hadn’t anticipated. Exposing myself like this—to both David and myself—is both liberating and unsettling.

David furrows his brows and fiddles with his fingers, his gaze fixed on his hands, an expression of combined shame and contemplation settling over his face.

I look at my own hands. “You can’t blame me for not saying or clarifying anything when I haven’t felt anything like this before, and I feel wrong about it and—”

“Why’s it wrong?” he asks.

“It just feels wrong,” I insist. “But that’s not for you to deal with. That’s for me to deal with.”

“That’s not true!” he says, thwacking the counter before composing himself. “I care about you and want to know what you’re feeling and thinking. I want you to feel safe enough to tell me. I’m sorry if I didn’t make you feel safe.”

His apology hits me with unexpected force, this clear intention to make me feel protected. No one has ever expressed that kind of desire for me before.

We sit in silence, examining each other. I continue to sip my coffee, tasting nothing, resolute in hiding the whirlwind of emotions churning inside me. I’ve already shown too much.

“I feel the same way,” he says, taking a deep breath.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean I really like you. I like you. I’m so attracted to you. I think you’re wonderful, and beautiful, and so smart. And ever since I met you, I’ve felt more excited than I have in a long time. I want to keep being around you and feeling that way.”

I feel my face shifting, betraying me, unable to mask the feelings emerging beneath my anger.

He looks down, blushing but smirking. “I also, for the record, find you incredibly sexy, and sleeping in the same bed as you without doing anything has been the most insane and prolonged edging I’ve ever engaged in. I am desperate to be touching you at all times, if I’m being honest.” He pauses. “But I think we can—we should—take things slow. You just got out of a relationship, and I know it’s also weird—or maybe not weird but different?—because I’m a man. I guess my point is, I think we should just see how things go. Because I don’t want to screw this up.”

I close my eyes to make sense of what he’s just said.

“First of all, it is very kind of you to say those things about me while I still have last night’s wig glue stuck to my forehead. Second of all, if I’m being honest, I have been politely ignoring your morning wood, but I’m pleased to know I should take it personally.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “All right, that’s enough.”

I keep going. “I want to keep being around you, too. And I also want to do this right. And that takes time,” I tell him.

David gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Of course, you want to do everything right . We can try. Be intentional.”

I squeeze his hand back. He kisses my knuckles, and I hold in a gasp. The feeling of his lips on my skin sends a flood of warmth through my body. I am engulfed in astonishment.

He clears his throat. “I have to go to the gym now, and you should probably go back to bed. I’m going to text you later. To make plans. To be around each other.” He smiles, his eyebrows scrunched. I stand up to walk him out.

“Thank you for the coffee,” I say, stalling. “And for coming by to talk.”

“Thanks for letting me.” He lingers by the door, leaning against the frame, his mouth growing into a grin.

What I know how to do with David is stretch our evenings out, prolonging the inevitable: him in my bed, the comforting safety of his embrace, his chest pressed into mine. The intimacy of our sleepy murmurs, his fingers gently stroking my hair. Once, I woke up with my mouth pushed against the soft inner curve of his bicep, and the impulse to kiss him was almost overwhelming. Now, with everything said between us, I wonder how we proceed.

David scans my face, no longer smiling but inching closer until his mouth is on mine in a sudden, urgent kiss. Heat unfurls through me, the softness and fullness of his lips turning into something real, into something I could never forget. He cradles my chin, I reach for the back of his neck, and I dread the moment it will end. As his tongue gently explores my mouth, the abrupt beep of his watch cuts through the moment. It’s noon.

“Okay, I should go,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Slow.” He nods as if reminding himself.

I’m shy, still reeling from the kiss. “Have a nice day. Tell Christian I said hi.”

“I will.”

In the aftermath, we’ve both lost the ability to say anything real. A surge of emotion nearly compels me to pull him back in, but I keep my arms glued to my sides, aware that the moment is fragile.

He leaves. I close the door.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself as Jhanaki comes out of her bedroom.

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but it got really quiet there at the end,” she says, her voice low.

I look at her, my fingers on my lips.

“Oh shit ,” she says.