Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Nico
Saturday morning, my alarm goes off at six thirty. Alex is snoring away next to me, one arm flung over my stomach and his face buried in his pillow. It’s fucking adorable. I know we don’t actually need to get up yet, so I just lie there for a few minutes, watching him sleep.
He’s peaceful, lying there next to me, and I let myself reach out gently and run my fingers through his hair, brushing back the short strands.
A deep sense of gratitude builds up in my chest, almost like an ache, right in the center.
And with it, there’s something else—a contentment that I’ve only really started feeling in the last few weeks.
It’s him.
He’s the reason.
My reason.
My reason for not letting all the shit with my mom and Patrick drown me.
My reason for being here, now, in California, about to get ready for a job interview.
My reason for having hope. For feeling loved.
He’s the reason I suddenly know I’m going to get this job—because he’s given me a confidence I’ve never, ever had before.
I can do this. For myself. And for him. So we can have our life together.
With a soft smile, I lean in and kiss the top of his head, and then I pull myself away and carefully scoot out from under his arm. Quietly, to avoid waking him, I cross the room, pick up my backpack, and then go sit on the sectional in the corner, pulling my knees up under me.
I brought my sketchbook, but only because I finally showed it to Alex a couple of weeks ago, on the day Patrick was arraigned and pleaded guilty to two counts of third-degree assault.
My mom was at the courtroom that day. She came in just before Patrick’s arraignment, took a seat in the far back corner, opposite where I was sitting with Alex and his mom, and left immediately when the proceedings were finished.
She never spoke to me, never reached out to me, never offered up an apology or explanation or even asked me if I was okay.
Afterward, back at Alex’s house, we lay together in bed, and I cried into his chest while he held me.
And then, when I had no more tears left to cry, I asked Alex to grab my backpack for me.
I pulled out my sketchbook, curled back up in his arms, and drew for a while in silence, Alex watching.
I drew a rose bush. I didn’t have to explain to him why. He knew.
I quietly unzip my backpack, take out my sketchbook and pencil, and set it on my lap.
Then I let myself draw. I’m not sure what I’m drawing, even as I start to move the pencil across the paper.
It feels different, too, because maybe for the first time ever, I’m not sketching out of some need to manage my unsettled anxiety.
A few minutes later, the drawing is taking shape, and I can see what began as just a feeling in my heart. It’s his hand covering mine, his touch gentle, his thumb caressing along my skin with such love and care. It’s him telling me I’ve got you. It’s his reassurance and support.
I smile as I continue, slowly adding detail and texture and shading.
And when I finish after another half hour or so, I take a moment to study it.
It’s really not that impressive—the drawing itself.
It’s simple at best. But that’s not the point anyway.
The point is what I feel when I look at it and how it made me feel when I drew it.
I glance up across the room. Alex is awake now, though I don’t know how long he’s been lying there in bed, his face turned my direction, his expression soft as he watches me with half-lidded eyes.
I hold his gaze for a few seconds, then set my sketchbook and pencil on the couch next to me, stand up, and cross back over toward the bed.
As I near, he lifts the comforter, inviting me to climb back into bed with him, and I do, eagerly.
“Good morning,” he murmurs against my lips. Then we kiss. And it’s slow and loving and this incredible mix of sensual and sexy.
When we part, I snuggle up into his arms, and he holds me, quietly rubbing my back. It’s perfect. I love it.
“Are you okay?” he asks after another few minutes. When I tilt my head back and look at him, he clarifies, “You were drawing. Don’t you usually do that when you’re not okay?”
“Oh, right.” I shake my head, then I close the distance between us and kiss him—that same slow, tender kiss. My hand settles on his chest. “I’m okay, actually. Usually, yeah, I sketch when I’m anxious. But now, I just, um, wanted to draw.”
His eyes shine as he looks at me, and his hand stops low on my back.
“That’s great,” he says softly.
We kiss again, and then I snuggle up against him more, my head in the crook of his shoulder.
“I mean, I am nervous,” I say, “and I’m sure I’ll be more anxious later, but I’m also ready, I think.”
He hums, his cheek resting against the top of my head. Then, after a moment, he says, “You are ready. You’re going to be great. I just love this for you, and I’m so proud of you.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I duck my head even more. “Thank you.”
He huffs a small laugh and runs his hand up and down my back, his fingertips grazing teasingly along my skin. “This is an interesting choice of attire for a job interview, though. I thought you would’ve chosen something just slightly more formal.”
I roll my eyes and then push him away and sit up, resisting the urge to stick my tongue out at him too.
He’s grinning, and then he laughs again, like he knows what I’m thinking. “We should get up, yeah?”
I grin back. “Yeah.”
By eight o’clock, we’re both up, and I’m dressed in the nicest clothes I have—dark slacks and a light-gray dress shirt that thankfully didn’t get wrinkled while folded up in my backpack.
I borrowed a pair of black loafers from Alex, and I’ve spent too many annoying minutes in the bathroom trying to get my hair to behave itself.
Alex has asked me at least twice already if I want to have a bite to eat before we leave.
My answer’s been no both times. Even though I don’t feel overly anxious yet, as I told him earlier, my stomach isn’t really settled.
At all. And I’m pretty sure if I have anything to eat right now, it’ll come right back up.
I exit the bathroom, giving up on getting my hair to do what I want. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, maybe sending a text or something. He looks up at me with a small smile, shoves his phone into his pocket, and pats the bed next to him.
“Almost time to leave. You know where you’re going?” he asks as I sit.
With a short nod, I lean against him, pull out my phone, and open up my maps app. It’s already zoomed in on our location. “Her office is inside Urban Arts,” I explain, pointing to the screen. “It’s a small art gallery just a block over. She wants me to meet her there at eight thirty.”
Alex nods and rests his hand on my lower back. “Perfect. Any idea how long the meeting will last?”
“No fucking clue.”
He laughs, takes my phone out of my hand, and tosses it on the bed behind us.
Then he pulls me in for a hug. And even though I thought I wasn’t really feeling anxious, some tension leaves me as I melt into him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my forehead on his shoulder.
He breathes a kiss on my cheek, and it’s so gentle and so soft that I can’t help but sigh.
“Remember that she already knows about your anxiety, and she already knows about your work experience and your skills. She just needs to meet you in person. That’s all,” he assures me.
I nod but hold him a little tighter, and, just as I wanted, he kisses my cheek again.
“And remember that this is as much about giving you the chance to make sure you’ll be comfortable with the job, too.
That’s important as well—that you feel you’ll be able to work there and with her. ”
I nod once more. Alex’s mom had explained that to me, too—that it would be okay if I decide the job Vera might or might not end up offering me isn’t what I’m looking for.
Given all the details I know so far, I can’t see that being the case.
But I’m allowed to turn it down if I think I won’t be comfortable in the position.
He keeps holding me for another few minutes. I can feel the confidence he has in me giving me strength, and I’m legit almost eager to actually get going. I straighten up.
“I’m ready,” I say with a nod that doesn’t feel forced at all.
His smile lights up when our eyes meet, and he leans in and kisses me. “Alright. Let’s go.”
Alex and I part ways at the corner of San Carlos Street and South Market Street.
He’s heading to the train station, which is about a mile to the west. From there, he’ll catch whatever the next train is going north to Palo Alto, and he’ll meet up with that professor he’s always talking about so they can geek out over stars and black holes and dark energy or whatever for the next few hours.
Me, I turn the opposite direction, shoving my hands into my pockets and keeping my head down as I follow the light Saturday-morning crowd crossing South Market Street.
I’m alone now.
Alone in a new city, surrounded by strangers.
And I’m about to go meet another stranger and try to convince her to pay me much more money than I ever expected I’d really be worth.
I lift my chin as I push away that thought and all the anxiety that wants to come with it. I can do this. I have to do this. For myself. And for Alex.
For us.
I step up onto the sidewalk on the other side of the street and keep walking. One block over, then cross First and turn right, and there it is. Urban Arts.
I stop, staring at the two-story building, its high glass windows decorated with bright geometric designs and random bursts of color. It looks loud and energetic, especially in the early morning light, but at the same time, it’s inviting, pulling me in its direction.
My heart’s racing, too, with some mix of eager anticipation and nervousness. It’s a different nervousness, though. Maybe just a normal nervousness. A normal I’m-about-to-meet-my-future-employer nervousness.
I can almost feel Alex laughing at me for that thought, and I shake my head at myself, then reach into my pocket and pull out my phone to check the time and make sure I’m not too early.
Eight twenty-five. Perfectly on time. And I’m ready.
I take a slow breath, and I’m just about to put my phone back into my pocket when it vibrates and a notification pops up on my screen. It’s a text from Alex.
A simple three words.
I love you.
My heart stutters, and I feel the most comfortable warmth surrounding me. Like he’s here, whispering the words in my ear as he hugs me.
With a deep breath, I silence my phone, slip it back into my pocket, and then get my feet to move, bringing me one step closer to our future together.