Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I spend a lot of early mornings at Bookafe or Raelynn’s when I wake up unable to sleep. I reread Psalm 62 so many times, I basically have it memorized. My journal fills up with rambling thoughts and lamenting prayers as I try to untangle all of my frustration at Samira’s situation.
The cutting pain dulls over time, aided by getting back into routines and a full schedule. I also channel the ache into action, organizing people to call legislators and devoting even more hours to my pre-law school studying. The need to feel like I’m contributing to the cause of justice feels all-encompassing. I reach out to Elena and volunteer to help craft email campaigns each week for constituents to send to Congress about a variety of issues.
I don’t tell Shaista about Samira’s son, because the last thing she needs is borrowed trauma heaped upon her own. But I do hug her extra tightly each Tuesday evening.
I’m grateful for the routine of weekly Arrow meetings in addition to church to keep me focused on my faith in the midst of discouragement. I arrive early to the first meeting in February on welcome team duty, trying to come up with a lighthearted name tag question.
Peeling labels off and handing them to a group of giggling girls, I glance up and see Aaron heading my way. As apprehensive as I was that first day seeing Aaron in class, it’s turned out to be a good thing having class together, I think. He’s at least acted less and less awkward each time I’ve mentioned Mateo in front of him. I’m grateful that we had the forced opportunity to patch things up so we can leave Townsend as friends.
“How’s it going, Lana? You all finished with our paper due tomorrow?” Aaron asks, but answers his own question before I can. “Who am I kidding? Of course you’re done already,” he concludes with a grin.
“Let me guess, burning the midnight oil tonight?” I tease.
“Guilty as charged,” he says. “What’s the weekly question?”
“What’s your favorite Taylor Swift song?” I reply with a smile.
“Ohhh, you would, Lana,” Aaron laughs. “We need to get someone else in charge of the name tag questions!”
“Hey! Rude!” I laugh back. “Just answer the question. You know you have one.”
“Okay, okay, ‘Blank Space’,” he responds, and I write under his name. He looks at my name tag. “What does YOYOK mean?”
“‘You’re On Your Own Kid’, from her Midnights album,” I inform him.
“Well, I guess I know what I’ll listen to while burning the midnight oil tonight,” Aaron says with a wink. He slaps his name tag to his chest and rejoins the other OGs.
As soon as Aaron steps away, Mateo steps up with Shawn and Linh trailing closely behind. “Hey Lana,” Mateo says, a slight strain in his voice. I notice his eyes dart toward Aaron’s back walking into the meeting room.
I quickly lean in to give him a tight hug, mentally channeling reassurance through my embrace. I’m grateful to feel him hug me back, arms encircling me tightly. When he releases me, I smile at Linh and hug her in greeting as well. “So glad you could come again!”
There’s lots of laughter and teasing between Shawn and Linh as they try to choose their favorite songs (“Look What You Made Me Do” for Shawn and “The Man” for Linh), but Mateo is uncharacteristically quiet. There’s a pit of worry in my stomach as I turn to him, Sharpie poised to write his answer.
“‘Timeless’,” he finally answers with a soft smile. I exhale my anxiety as I write his answer, butterflies settling when he leans in to give me a quick peck on the cheek. He whispers in my ear, “But you’re never on your own, you know.”
As Valentine’s Day approaches, I convince Mateo to let me plan our date. I’ve been so wrapped up in doing anything I can to feel like I’m making a difference following Samira’s tragedy that most pockets of my free time have been spent studying or working with Elena, rather than hanging out with Mateo. I want to be the one surprising him with something special for once.
Although Amaya is liberally granting passes to miss chapter meeting on Valentine’s Day, I don’t feel like fighting the crowds to get restaurant reservations, only to feel rushed to vacate the table in time for the next round of couples.
I also have a little surprise up my sleeve that depends upon daytime hours, so I tell Mateo to plan on me picking him up for an afternoon date at 2:00 p.m.
After a Teegan-directed wardrobe change into a wine-red dress with black tights and boots, I drive to Mateo’s house and ring the doorbell at 1:53 p.m. He answers with a grin, looking spectacularly handsome in light jeans and a black button-up shirt rolled up on his forearms. Mateo sharply inhales as he takes in my appearance. He takes my hand to twirl me full-circle, then pulls me close for a brief kiss. “You look absolutely stunning, Lana,” he says in a low voice.
I give him a “bouquet” of packets of his favorite pre-workout drink powder arranged in brown paper I got from Grow Wild. “I thought you’d appreciate these more than flowers,” I say with a smile. He laughs and kisses me again. “It’s perfect,” he responds.
We get in my car, and as I pull away from the curb, Mateo reaches over to take my hand. “Okay, I don’t know how you do this,” I laugh a minute later, releasing his hand to grasp the steering wheel. “I guess my brain isn’t capable of paying attention to driving and holding your hand at the same time.”
“What can I say? I’m a man of many talents,” Mateo jokes.
Truer words were never spoken.
I can tell Mateo is confused when I park in a campus lot and direct him to follow me into one of the buildings. Approaching a service desk, I exchange my student ID for a key labeled number six, and lead Mateo down a long hallway of doors. I’m infinitely amused by his bewildered expression.
When we reach room six, I unlock it and swing the door open with a flourish, revealing a small, soundproof room with a piano. Realization dawns in his eyes, and he turns to me. “Does this mean what I think it means? You’re going to play for me?”
Nodding with a grin, I tell him, “There’s no way I was going to play for you in front of an audience at the AOPi house. Lucky for you, the music building has practice rooms available to students, otherwise you’d never hear it!”
Mateo kisses my fingers before releasing my hand, and I pull my “Perfect” sheet music out of my purse and arrange it on the piano, taking a seat on the bench. Mateo leans against the wall watching me, and I suddenly feel self-conscious. After multiple mistakes just a few lines into the music, I cover my face and groan. “I can’t play with you standing right there watching me! It’s making me flustered!”
He chuckles and moves behind me where I can’t see him. “Better?”
I shake out my hands and place them back on the keys. With a deep breath, I start again, still making an occasional misstep but mostly keeping my composure as I focus on the notes. Soon, I’m lost in the flow of the music, like every other time I’ve practiced this piece.
My concentration is disrupted halfway through the song when Mateo slowly takes a seat on the bench next to me, but I will myself to keep going. As I approach the end of the second chorus, I feel Mateo’s gaze on me as his fingers lightly brush the hair on my back. His voice begins to softly sing along, “When I saw you in that dress, looking so beautiful. I don’t deserve this, darling, you look perfect tonight.”
I’m not sure how, but I manage to make it through the rest of the song without totally flopping. As I lift my hands from the keyboard, I turn to gauge Mateo’s reaction. The same intense tenderness fills his eyes as when I played at Thanksgiving, but this time his face is mere inches away from mine.
“Merry Christmas and Happy Valentine’s Day,” I whisper with a soft smile. Mateo cups my face and gently presses his lips against my smile.
Resting his forehead against mine, he whispers back, “Thank you.”
He leans back into our kiss, the gentleness gone as my fingers latch on to his neck and his hands find my waist, pulling me closer to him. I lose myself in his soft lips, his strong fingers against my back, his cinnamint toothpaste taste on my tongue.
My elbow bangs against the piano keys, the sound jarring us apart from each other. I take a deep breath as Mateo runs his hand through his hair, tousling it out of place. Sighing, I reach up to tame it back down and tell him it’s time for phase two of our date.
“That’s probably good, because phase one is about to get me in trouble. Your lips are off-limits for the rest of the day,” he responds with a wry grin, making me blush. His teasing smile spreads across his face as he lightly pinches the blush on my cheeks.
After returning the key, I send a secret text message and drive us to Center Square to find a parking spot. I lead Mateo into Bookafe, where we skip the line and walk back to our table, where a cortado, a flat white, and a giant snickerdoodle cookie are waiting along with a “Reserved” sign.
“Ta da!” I gesture with jazz hands. Mateo smiles as he holds the chair out for me.
“No orange chocolate chip muffin?” he asks.
I shake my head as he sits down. “Nope. Snickerdoodles are your favorite here. You’re not the only one who can pay attention. ”
Mateo looks at me with gratitude, passion, tenderness, and intensity all rolled into one expression, as only he can do. He tucks my hair behind my ear as he tells me, “I’m starting to regret my decision to place your lips off-limits now.”
I lean forward to give him a lingering kiss on the cheek. “You never said anything about your cheek,” I tease.
We spend the next two hours talking about anything and everything, catching each other up on our families and classes, sharing funny stories about kids from The Hangout, and resisting the urge to kiss each other every minute. He fills me in on Isabel’s night class adventures, and I tell him all about the Esports group Dean is getting going at school.
When it’s time for me to head home for chapter, Mateo demands my keys. “I’m gonna need you to let me drive so that I can hold your hand as long as possible,” he winks at me.
I walk him up to the door of his house, like the proper ending to a date, and he reaches inside to pull out a gift. “I know I told you that you could plan our date today, but there’s no way I wasn’t getting you a present,” he tells me.
Unwrapping the paper, our smiles stare back at me, the photo we took together by Hart Lake printed onto wood. “I love it,” I whisper, looking up at Mateo.
“Just making sure you’ll never forget our first kiss,” he replies with a lopsided smile, dimple daring me to reach up and touch his cheek. I can’t resist.
“Like I could ever forget. Think we could temporarily get rid of that off-limits rule?” I ask.
Mateo slowly exhales as his eyes dip to my lips. “Ten seconds probably wouldn’t hurt.” His mouth follows his eyes, catching my lips in the perfect goodbye kiss. I giggle against his lips when my peripheral vision registers him ticking off the seconds on his fingers. At the count of ten, he reluctantly breaks off.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Lana.”