Chapter 6
six
LILIANA
When Kam clocked in ten minutes ago, I was thankful to leave the space behind the counter. I’m jealous of him now. There is better than here. Straining a smile through my irritation while staring at a random guy, because Grant blindsided me.
“Hello, Liliana.” Random guy’s voice is deep and emotionless, mirroring the blank expression of his face.
He doesn’t say anything else, and I’m asking myself why Grant needs me to help navigate around a guy who doesn’t talk.
“Well, now she’s off her shift, guess we should be working on our assignment,” Grant states casually. I feel the heat of a hand hover over my shoulder, but as soon as it appears, it’s gone again.
I take that as a sign he can feel the anger rolling off me.
They exchange a series of clipped sentences I don’t bother paying attention to—something about a dinner and a dad—before the taller, blonde guy walks away.
My instinct is to leave, too, but the sight of Grant’s art textbook catches in my peripherals.
I want to go home, curl into my pajamas, and commit myself to a night of reality television, but what I need is some guidance for my assignment.
It’s the only reason I agreed to help Grant.
Amongst the resentment and bitterness, there was one emotion I felt more than anything else today. Desperation.
I’ll blame desperation for the vivid memory of Kam pointing out Grant’s art textbook, and the hours I spent asking myself if it might help. And I’ll blame Kam for mentioning the textbook another two times since that first day. Neither of us have been able to forget about it.
I’m rationalizing my train of thought while climbing into a window seat, watching Grant as he throws glares at the blonde guy heading to the counter.
He sighs and leans closer to me. “Thank you so much for that. You don’t know how badly I needed him off my back.”
I almost tell him I couldn’t care less but can’t find the energy. There’s barely enough for me to pick up my pride to continue talking to him.
“Can we get into my part of the deal now?”
Grant creates distance like he’s been burnt, body shifting away from mine. It’s the first ordinary reaction he’s had all day.
He throws another glance behind his shoulders before straightening in his seat. “Yeah, sure, as soon as he leaves.”
I breathe out my irritation. “Who is he and why am I doing this?”
I’m not sure if I’m asking him, or asking myself, but my patience is waning. I scan over the textbook again, the words Studying Romanticism in large, bold letters. A painting of two lovers trapped in an embrace taking up the background.
I dig my palms into denim of my jeans. If Kam is onto something with this, and it leads to substance with my writing, I’ll owe him for the rest of my life. I can be patient enough to figure this out.
“He’s nobody,” Grant says, fidgeting in his seat.
“He has to be somebody if you’re on edge like this.”
This guy isn’t the Grant I used to analyze in my thoughts every day or tell Rosie every detail about. I remind myself that bubble’s been popped. Still, it’s strange to see his calm demeanor change, Grant shifting side to side and not-so-subtly checking over his shoulder every fifteen seconds.
He shakes his head and repeats, “He’s nobody.”
When we first met, I craved to know everything about Grant. Every part of his life he shared was like opening a present—the mystery and excitement of something shiny and new.
A small section of my brain reminisces on those feelings, despite how often I tell it not to. It comes alive now, asking to push Grant for more information, but I refuse to give in.
I set my back straight and tilt my head away. He can have those secrets now.
“Fine. Nobody.”
Before I can mention my part of the deal again, he turns to me. “What did I do?”
My anger multiplies. He’s forgotten me, and our history, again. This is why I don’t let myself assume he’s the same man I met over a year ago.
Shaking my head, I start throwing my tote bag over my shoulder.
“I’m not even surprised. I’m leaving.”
“Lily-” A hand grabs my forearm, burning.
“Stop.” My voice is laced with the anger that’s been festering.
“Stop touching me and stop calling me Lily.” His grip releases immediately, retracting into himself.
When I hop out of the chair and gather the courage to look at him, his eyebrows are stitched together, a frown spreading across his face.
Good.
“My name is Liliana.”
“I know.” Grant is quieter, like speaking softly will make me less annoyed or hurt. It doesn’t.
“You just pretend not to know my name?”
“I wasn’t pretending. Lily is the nickname I’ve always called you. It’s cute.”
“It’s not.”
His broad shoulders fall and during the few seconds he’s staring at the floor, I ask myself if I’m being too direct. I shake away the feeling as soon as it comes.
Grant’s arm reaches out towards me again but drops before making contact.
“What did I do?”
He sounds fragile, head drooping. Maybe someone more na?ve would let the guilt eat at them, but I refuse to be made a fool of twice.
“You forgot.” Again.
“Forgot what?” I take a deep breath and bite the inside of my lip. Grant sits up. “Seriously, what? Whatever it is, I didn’t forget. I wouldn’t have.”
My mouth opens to tell him the fact he’s not putting it together shows how little it meant to him, but Grant doesn’t let me get a word in.
“I remember everything about you. Liliana Kahale. Your fun fact on the first day of class was that, during summer, you visited your grandma on O’ahu.
You color-coordinate your hair accessories to every outfit you wear, and when you get nervous you twirl your pen or bite your nails.
” His words become steadier. “I don’t know what I did, but I know it wasn’t forgetting about you. ”
The heat gathered in my cheeks has spread to every part of my body. It’s a mix of everything Grant has ever made me felt, with doubt being at the forefront.
It’s hard to forget what he’s done when I’m living in a perpetual state of failure. It’s like a constant reminder of that day, except there’s no crying my way out of it, and no full-ride scholarship to support me when it goes south.
I can’t play this back and forth with him anymore. I agreed to this because there was something in it for me, not so I can be catapulted back to the days I’ve tried to scrub from my mind. If he needs me to spell it out for him, I will.
“The final, Grant. You forgot our comms final. You left me there, alone.”
I see it hit him in real time. His determined expression shifts, bursting into shock and a dropped jaw. He stands, tall frame hovering over me while his hands lift between us.
“Fuck, Lily- Liliana. About that…” Grant shakes his head. “I am so, so, so, sorry.”
I laugh at the absurdity of it. He’s sorry now?
“Really? That’s new.”
“You’re right.” One of his hands covers his face, sighing. “You’re so right for being upset with me. There was so much I meant to tell you about that day, but the right time never came.”
My eyes roll. As if he doesn’t come into my workplace every week, talks to me over the counter about his stupidly complicated latte, and then sits at the same seat scrolling through his phone.
“Yeah, because you couldn’t have apologized to me when it happened? Or after the fact? Or one of the days you’ve been sitting here no more than twenty feet away from me?” Bitterness gathers at the base of my throat. I don’t try to swallow it down.
Grant deflates dramatically. Body slumping, head hanging, arms limp at his side.
“I’m so sorry for that, too.”
I’ve waited for Grant to apologize for a long time. Patiently. But time has created distance between me and any forgiveness I reserved for him.
The café’s bell rings. The tall, blonde guy that initiated this reunion walks out of the shop. I’m not obligated to be standing here any longer.
“There. He’s gone.” I pull my lips into a sarcastic smile, ready to leave, when the lo-fi music playing through the speakers pauses. Silence lasts for a few seconds before Now That We Don’t Talk by Taylor Swift plays, paired with Kameron’s laughter behind the counter.
I throw daggers at him—of course he would make a spectacle about this—but it reminds me why I subjected myself to this.
Kam. Grant. Textbook.
Assignment.
Do I really want to ask him for help when he royally screwed me last time? I almost failed the entire class. I’m basically failing my class now. I’m close to failing my entire semester.
Unfortunately, if I’m already at the bottom, the only way I can go is up.
“You still owe me. I’m too tired and annoyed, honestly, to do anything here. But I want my end of the deal.”
“Of course,” he answers quickly.
“Good.” I nod, both in agreement and to shake the defeated look on his face. Time is of the essence with my first draft deadline soon, but for both our sakes, I’ll give myself at least half a day to process everything.
“What time are you free tomorrow?”
It takes two hands and all the strength I can muster to pull the bulky library door open. It’s two sets of stairs and four students napping into their schoolwork before I find the door labeled 3A in the back corner.
Grant didn’t oppose when I suggested meeting today. He was too enthusiastic, I’d argue, when I mentioned it last night.
Over dinner, Rosie agreed my feelings were totally valid. After bottling them up for so long, it was bound to overflow the first chance it got.
We also agreed it was wise of me to step back for the night and give myself room to breathe. My best friend, however, continues to stand by her dating idea and claims if I’m willing to rekindle my friendship for a grade, I should be willing to date a few random guys too.
I told her dating men is a lot scarier than asking for some textbook insight from someone I already know, and there would be a rekindling of absolutely nothing today.