Chapter Twenty-Two
Alex
Nico kissed me.
He came out to me, he told me he likes me, and then he kissed me.
With something that sounds embarrassingly like a lovesick sigh, I flop down on my back in bed, my whole body buzzing with some odd energy that I’ve never felt before. I reach up and touch my lips, laughing at the stupid smile I can’t seem to wipe off my face.
I can still feel the warmth of his mouth on mine, the way he was so tentative and yet not as he pulled me to him and pressed our lips together, how he fit so perfectly in my arms. I can still feel it all, and it makes my smile even bigger, giddy with anticipation and joy.
I laugh again and let my hand drop down to my stomach as I close my eyes. His cocky grin taunts me, and I see him as he was just before he left to get changed. How he glanced over his shoulder and teased me for checking out his ass, his green eyes sparkling.
I want more of that. For him, and for me.
Rolling over onto my stomach, I grab my cell phone from the nightstand. He just left to go to work a few minutes ago, and he’s probably still driving into town, but I open up my messaging app anyway and start typing a quick message.
Alex (8:14 a.m.): how long is ur lunch break? at 12, yeah?
I click send, and since I’m fairly sure he won’t respond right away, I set the phone back down and lie there for a few more minutes, smiling into my pillow like an idiot.
I’m still grinning ten or fifteen minutes later when I finally drag myself back out of bed, throw on some clothes—just a plain gray T-shirt and an old, comfy pair of jeans—and then settle at my desk to check my email.
It probably takes me a good half hour to get caught up with the few school-related things that I put off over the weekend—filling out some housing forms and returning some emails.
When I’m finished, I sit back in my chair and eye my email inbox again.
A few lines down is the message chain I have going with Dr. Ellis, and now also with Dr. Millan, the visiting professor Dr. Ellis added to the conversation.
It’s grown to over twenty-five emails back and forth, and Dr. Ellis’s latest email asked to set up a meeting for the three of us when I get to Palo Alto in September.
He wants to meet me. And he says he’ll have an undergraduate research position available in the fall. It’s unreal and exciting, and I can’t wait.
But then, for the first time that morning, my stomach sinks.
Nico won’t be there. As things are right now, I’ll be heading to California without him.
That reminder hits me hard, and I frown and spin around in my chair, my eyes immediately landing on my phone. It’s still sitting on the nightstand, face up, and there’s a text message notification visible on the screen.
I push up to my feet and step over to the nightstand to grab my phone, expecting to see some brief response from him. But instead, the words Message not delivered stare back up at me from the screen.
Message not delivered.
Confused, I tap on the notification and start to retype my message from earlier. But I stop after typing just the first word, and my stomach sinks even further.
God, I’d completely forgotten.
It won’t matter if I try again; the message won’t go through. His mom canceled his phone line. I think he said it would have been shut off on Saturday.
I let out a long breath and sit down on the edge of my bed, still staring at the last few messages we sent to each other. I scroll through the texts, the knot in my stomach tightening.
I don’t know how I forgot that he’s basically homeless right now.
If my mom wasn’t letting him stay here, he’d have nowhere to go.
And he’s got no money; he told me that the other day when he showed me those messages from his mom.
He has to hand everything he does have over to her on Friday if he wants to keep his car, which he sort of needs to get to town for work.
The joy and light from the morning dim back into a heaviness sitting square on my shoulders, and I stuff my phone into my pocket as I turn to look at my open laptop sitting on my desk.
I’m supposed to leave for California soon—just a little over three months from now. But how can I? How can I possibly leave him behind?
There’s a quiet knock at the door, and my mom’s voice follows. “Hey, sweetie. Are you up?”
I cough to clear my throat. “Yeah, yeah, just a sec.” With one last glance at my phone, I push myself back up to my feet. Then I slip my phone into the pocket of my jeans and open up the door.
My mom’s there on the other side, her arms crossed over her chest and her usual kind smile on her face. “Sorry, I know it’s early, but I thought I heard you up. Do you think you can help me with—” She stops and frowns, tilting her head slightly. “What’s wrong?”
My jaw tightens, but I don’t say anything right away. I just hold her gaze for a few seconds and then drop my eyes to the ground, trying to figure out what and how much to tell her. If anything.
I shift and lean a little more against the door, running a hand through my hair. “Um, well, it’s just . . .”
My heart aches with both longing and worry as I see Nico’s beautiful eyes again, and I swallow back the lump in my throat.
I can’t even tell her the good stuff; I can’t tell her Nico kissed me, told me he likes me, told me he wants something more with me.
Though we didn’t talk about it, I got the sense he hasn’t come out to anyone else.
And he definitely didn’t give me permission to tell my mom.
So, even though I’m sure she’ll be happy for both of us, I can’t say anything about that.
I guess I can tell her about all the rest, though.
Biting at my lower lip, I lift my eyes. She’s watching me, both of her eyebrows raised in anticipation and concern. It’s pretty easy to see she wants to say something more but that she’s waiting for me first.
“I, um . . .” I remember our conversation on graduation night—my mom said she had a friend in San Jose who might have a job for Nico.
She was ready to help me—us—figure it out, if only I could convince Nico to give it a shot.
But that’s the problem. I haven’t even brought it up again.
There hasn’t been any opportunity. Not with everything that’s happened.
I close my eyes and drop my chin to my chest.
It would be too much to even ask of him right now. Wouldn’t it?
“What’s bothering you, sweetie? It’s . . . something with Nico?”
This time, I laugh without humor and shake my head. Of course she would immediately figure out where my mind is. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m just, um—” The words still stick in my throat, and so I motion toward the stairs. “What did you need help with? Maybe, um, we can talk while we work?”
Her eyes narrow slightly, but then she nods. “Okay, sure.” She turns to start down the stairs, and I follow. “The rental company will be here in about twenty minutes to pick up the chairs and tables. I need help moving them from the backyard out into the driveway.”
“Sounds good.”
She leads the way down the stairs, through the now-empty house, and out into the backyard, and together, silently, we get started.
We fold up the tables and chairs she rented for the weekend and then move them in through the house, through the garage, and into the driveway.
We’re maybe a third of the way done when I finally get up the courage to speak.
“So, um, I don’t think I told you about the most recent email I got from Dr. Ellis.” I pause, a folded plastic chair under each arm, as Mom walks ahead of me through the slider door into the house.
“Oh, no, you didn’t. Good news?”
“Yeah, pretty good, actually.” We angle around the coffee table and to the open door to the garage. “He said he has an undergraduate research position available starting in the fall. He didn’t specifically say it was mine, but I think that was the implication.”
Mom steps into the garage and stops, resting her two chairs on the ground as she turns back to face me.
“That’s incredible, sweetie, but that’s—”
“—not what’s bothering me, yeah,” I cut in, dropping my eyes again. “I was trying to get there. Um . . .”
Why it’s so hard for me to talk about, I’m not sure. My mom is so good at helping to find solutions to just about every problem, and I’m sure this won’t be any different. When I glance back up at her, her expression is soft and knowing, and I have to look away.
“I’m really, really excited about it. But . . .”
“But . . . Nico?”
I nod, and for whatever reason, I still can’t look at her.
So instead, I continue the rest of the way to the driveway and set down the two chairs I brought out.
It’s warm already, and the air is thick with humidity.
Off to the west, dark clouds are rolling in, and I frown as I study the sky. It’s going to rain later.
A bead of sweat drips down my temple, and I reach up to wipe it away as my mom moves alongside me and stacks her chairs on top of mine.
“Come on,” she says, her hand touching my shoulder. “We’ve got more to do, and they’ll be here soon.”
I follow silently, and we get another dozen or so chairs moved as I start talking.
Carefully—because I’m still not entirely sure how much I can tell her without violating Nico’s privacy—I start back about a week ago.
I explain the text messages he showed me from his mom, how his cell phone is shut off and he’ll have to get a new number, how his mom is making him buy his car from her.
And I can tell she wants to cut in, but I keep going because I need to get it all out now.
I tell her how I know I should talk to him about coming to California with me, but how that seems almost insensitive of me or something, given his current financial situation. And just as I set down another couple of chairs, my voice breaks.
“I-I don’t know if I can leave without him, Mom.”
Her arms wrap around my waist almost immediately, and I return the hug, lowering my head to her shoulder as my body shudders.
“Oh, sweetie, I know it seems hopeless, but I’m sure if you just talk to him—”
“It’s not that easy,” I cut in, shaking my head against her.
I let out a sharp breath, and all the rest of what I need to say comes pouring out.
“I can’t pressure him like that. If I tell him the truth, if I tell him how much my heart breaks when I even think about leaving him behind, that’s only going to put more pressure on him when he’s already struggling so much to just get by!
I can’t . . . I can’t do that. It’s not fair to him. ”
She laughs quietly, though it’s warm and understanding, and her arms tighten around my waist. “Alex, sweetie, you know what’s not fair to him?” she asks slowly.
I groan. “Don’t say it’s not fair to him to not give him the choice. You know it’s not that simple. He’s got . . . he’s got nothing, and he can’t just . . .” I pull back, and my eyes meet hers. “You know how hard it is for him. His anxiety . . .”
“I know,” she says with a gentle nod. She reaches up and wipes a tear from my cheek, but I shrink back, pulling away and shoving my hands into my pockets.
I shouldn’t be so embarrassed to be crying in front of her, but I am. It probably doesn’t help that I’ve done nothing to hide how I really feel about Nico, and I realize she just has to know the truth by now, if she didn’t already.
She stays where she is, but I can feel her eyes on me as I turn around and hastily swipe at my cheeks. Then she steps up behind me, and her hand settles on my back.
“I know how hard this is, sweetie. And I understand your reasoning. You’re right that he’s facing so many challenges—more than all the financial stuff that’s come up this week.
” Her hand drops away, and she steps in front of me, lifts both hands to cup my cheeks, and tilts my chin up slightly so I’m looking at her.
“But you have to give him the opportunity to make the decision for himself. And if you don’t tell him .
. .” She pauses as her smile softens. “If you don’t tell him how you feel and what you want, how can he know it’s even a possibility? ”
I close my eyes and drop my chin back down, sniffling. She’s right, of course. “But the cost of living there . . .” I argue lamely.
“Alex.” Her hands slide down to my shoulders, and she squeezes gently. “It’s a lot, I know. But you know what I’m going to say.”
I nod. “There are always solutions, even to the really hard problems.”
“Exactly. But you have to talk to him. Tell him how you feel, tell him what you want. And then, if he’s up for it, you two can figure out whatever the solution is, together.
You have to give him the choice, and because he maybe doesn’t know or maybe doesn’t believe it’s even possible, you have to convince him that he does have a choice.
That he is capable and he can do it, if that’s what he wants. ”
My heart stutters in my chest as I nod again. “You’re right.”
“I usually am.”
I roll my eyes.
She laughs, patting my shoulder. “Come on, we’ve got a few more trips, and they’ll be here any minute.”
With a deep breath, I follow her back through the door to the garage to get the rest of the chairs.