Chapter 17
17
Hayden
present
When I hear the click of Natalia’s door, the heavy double doors leading up to her building creaking and straining, I see Natalia walk through. She’s exactly how I imagined. The mess of her wavy hair is piled on top of her head, with a fringe of curls trailing down her nape. Her small body is practically enveloped by the oversized hoodie she’s wearing with a tweed coat draped over her shoulders. She sticks her arms through the sleeves as she carefully walks down the steps before coming to a stop with a light hop in front of me.
While I expect some sharp, witty comment to leave her mouth, something about how my late-night escapades resulted in this impromptu snack hankering, she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she smiles sheepishly as she wiggles her fingers in front of her .
“Hi,” she whispers shyly, which I find completely adorable.
“Hey,” I say back. And then, she full-on laughs. “What’s so funny?”
“Just that…you’re here.” Her hand, half covered by the sleeve of her jacket, comes up to cover her mouth.
“Well, you called.”
“I didn’t think you’d show up,” she says through her smile, and her nose does that little dip again.
“You know the tip of your nose twitches when you smile?”
“It does?” Her eyes cross, trying to look at her nose.
“Yeah.” I laugh and pinch her nose between my fingers. “It always has.”
She pulls my hand away and tugs on my thumb. “What are you even doing here?”
“I, uh…” My voice trails, and I awkwardly shuffle my feet. “I had a date. At a bar a couple of blocks down,” I confess.
Her smile fades almost instantly. She leans backward in a way that looks as though she’s examining me, stretching her neck to the side to get a better look at my face as her hands grip my shoulders. Her cold fingers move to my chin, tugging it side to side before a hum of disapproval purrs through her closed mouth.
“What?”
Her lips form a firm line as she squints her eyes. “I’m checking to make sure that your date cleaned up her seat properly after using it.”
My hands move to grip her sides just as she squeals to get away from me.
“Hayden! Stop!” she screams when my fingers start digging into her ribcage. Her hands claw at mine, failing at her attempt to pry them off of her. “ STOP! ”
“Take it back,” I threaten. I try to keep a straight face, but I fail miserably when I laugh at the way the redness in her face travels all the way to the tips of her ears.
“No!” She wriggles against me, squirming in my arms .
She turns her back to me in an effort to get away, but it only gives me the advantage to wrap my arms around her, forcing her to seek mercy.
“Take it back,” I demand.
She stays quiet, but her entire body trembles with laughter as she shakes her head against my chin. My fingers dig deeper into her waist, and her body jerks against mine.
“ OKAY! ” she finally shrieks. Her shrill voice echoes off the walls and sidewalk. “Okay! I take it back!”
My hold on her doesn’t release right away. Instead, it slackens just the tiniest bit. I don’t mean to, but when that comforting scent of warm vanilla hits my senses, I don’t want to let go. My fingers skim over the rough material of her coat as she turns to face me before I reluctantly let her go. She playfully shoves her hands into my stomach, pushing me and forcing me to stumble a step backward.
“Come on,” she says, laughing and turning to walk away. “I’m craving fried pickles.”
“Fried pickles? Where are we going to find fried pickles?”
She smirks over her shoulder. “I have my connections.”
I smirk back and follow willingly, falling in step with her. With Natalia on my left and the occasional buzzing of cars on the street to my right, this moment feels too surreal. Almost as if time has stood still and nothing has changed between us.
And while almost everything in the past eight years of our lives has changed to a great degree, some things remain the same. Like the warm vanilla Natalia’s carried with her this whole time.
Natalia is clutching on to my arm, desperately hanging on as she grasps her chest with her other hand. We’re both stumbling out of the small restaurant, our stomachs full of fried pickles and milkshakes, ube flavored for Natalia and chocolate flavored for me.
“You seriously have to watch your mouth when you’re in public!”
“Hey,” I defend. “It is way past that kid’s bedtime. That was not my fault!”
“Di–did you see the mom’s face?” she says in between whimpered breaths.
“‘Mommy, what’s a dirty sanchez?’” I mock in a high-pitched tone.
Natalia’s laugh turns into a long, winded gasp. She turns red, and the muscles on her neck pull taut as she waves a hand at me, pleading for me to stop. “Stop! My stomach hurts!”
I’m laughing just as hard, cowering forward as Natalia leans her body against the nearest lamppost.
“I still can’t believe your mom thought it was a cocktail!”
“The bartender turned red to keep himself from laughing! And then we had to explain to her what it was!”
Our laughter comes back tenfold as we remember my story about the time Pat and I took my mom to a bar during one of my trips back home. It wasn’t long after I passed the legal drinking age, and she attempted to order a “dirty sanchez,” thinking it was some exotic flavored margarita while claiming she heard about it somewhere on Facebook.
As our laughter dwindles, Natalia sighs, making a happy, contented sound as we continue to walk back in the direction of her apartment.
“I don’t remember the last time I laughed that hard,” she comments, wiping the corner of her eye and bumping her arm against mine.
“I don’t either,” I agree, grinning like a fool while realizing I sincerely can’t remember the last time I had this much fun .
“Are you going to catch a cab home?” she asks, her hands stuffed into her pockets. She looks so comfortable, so content. And I realize that the thought I had during the moment outside on the fire escape at her apartment, when I thought she would look just as carefree and beautiful dressed down in something two sizes too big for her, is confirmed.
I shake my head. “I’ll just take the subway. But I’ll walk you home first,” I offer, our steps growing lazier. I watch as she flips her hair back, now loose from the bun she had it wrapped in, smiling and shaking her head as if recalling our run-in with an overly curious child and equally curious mother overhearing our very not-child-friendly conversation.
She leads the way through the chilly night as the both of us wrap our arms inward in an attempt to stay warm. And before I know it, we’re at the steps of her apartment. But before we say our goodbyes, Natalia turns to face me.
“So I have a confession to make,” she says, a smile spreading across her face. “I called for another reason.”
“So you weren’t lonely?”
She tucks her chin down. “Not exactly.” She rummages into her coat, reaching into the deep pockets before retracting her hand, her grip on something small and rectangular. “I was at the bookstore, and I found this. It made me think of you.”
When her hands open between us, I see a fresh copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower sitting in front of me. The fuzzy warmth that spreads through my chest reduces my heart to a gooey puddle. I take the book from her outstretched hand, turning it over as I let the memories wash over me.
“Do you remember?” she asks, her small voice so eager and endearing.
I nod, my throat tight, at a complete loss for words. “I can’t believe you found this,” I say hoarsely.
“Consider it a thank you. For the lemon tarts. And that rat dish. And apple picking. ”
“Thank you,” I say a little breathlessly. My fingers run over the glossy surface, and a small huff of laughter slips through my lips, still surprised by this small gesture.
When I finally tear my eyes away from the book, I look at Natalia. She smiles shyly, tucking her chin toward her chest before she turns to walk up the stairs.
“Good night, Hayden,” she calls softly.
A sudden panic sets in me. Not the desperate, hysteric kind but more of an urgent kind. I need to see Natalia again. Not because I’m lonely but because I want to. I want to spend my time with her, laughing and joking and reminiscing.
Grasping at whatever excuse I can find to spend more time with her, I finally find one: Ashton’s wedding. It’s the perfect excuse, along with a legitimate reason to spend time with her. Aside from the fact that I desperately need a date, we would have fun together. Making each other laugh with no awkward lulls in our conversation, no unnecessarily filling the silence with talks about the weather or pop culture trivia. In fact, none of our conversations have been unnecessary or stiff, veering more toward personalized and comforting instead.
“Hey,” I call, forcing her to turn around. “I had a small favor to ask.”
“Sure,” she answers as she walks down the two steps she already took. She answers calmly before knowing what my favor is, naturally making me smile in response.
“I have this wedding to go to next Saturday, and I was wondering if you would be willing to go with me.”
“Like a date?” she asks warily.
I tilt my head. “Like a friend accompanying another friend to a social event.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure, I don’t have any plans. ”
I sigh, relief plied into my breath, realizing how worried I’ve been about going to this wedding solo. “Thanks.”
She nods, turning toward her building. “I’ll see you later, Marshall.”
I do a half salute that turns into an awkward bow. “Marquez,” I answer before turning around. The last thing I hear before my trek to the subway station is the sound of Natalia’s light giggle and the door closing behind her.