Chapter 27
27
Lucy
Dexter and I make it back home, this time opting for a cab instead of the nine-mile walk to his apartment. Dexter leaves to get takeout—more Thai food—realizing the hospital food ran through us pretty quickly, and I hop in the shower. I take my time, shaving parts of me that were growing prickly and scrubbing my skin using the small sample jar of watermelon sugar scrub I save for special occasions. I deep condition my hair and exfoliate my face. I’m not expecting anything. At least, I shouldn’t be. Whatever happened with Dexter earlier, it wouldn’t be smart for us to move things further. I’m leaving soon, and it would make things so complicated. Worst case scenario, we’d resent each other, hating our predicament and, in the end, each other. Best case scenario, we’d break each other’s hearts.
So maybe this level of pampering is more to give me time alone to think about me and Dexter instead of preparing for…more complications.
When I walk out of the bathroom, Dexter’s already back. He’s at the kitchen counter, two plates in front of him and multiple open to-go containers. His focus is on transferring the pad thai noodles to the plates. He moves the bean sprouts I usually pick out to his and adds the extra servings of shrimp to mine. There’s already a serving of fried rice on the plate that’s mine and white rice on his. He moves to the larb, scooping a healthy serving onto my plate and a small scoop to his, right next to the bean sprouts he removed from my plate. He digs into the paper bag and unwraps a set of chopsticks. He separates them, rubbing them together to remove all the splinters, and turns to open the fridge door to retrieve a fresh Coke can for me along with a bottle of beer for himself.
My heart soars just then. I could really fall for this man. I really could. I could risk it all, my heart, my sanity, all for the sake of this feeling. Having someone in my life who takes care of me the way Dexter does.
He looks up and sees me standing there, just watching him. He smiles a small smile and waves his hands in front of him proudly. “Dinner’s ready.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“Do you…want to eat in awkward silence or watch another episode of the Winchester brothers take on more demons?”
“I could use some awkward silence to wind down,” I answer.
He chuckles, pulling out a stool from under the kitchen counter. We both sit in the dim kitchen lighting and eat in silence, minus the awkwardness. Because it isn’t awkward between us at all. Whether we’re swapping stories from our childhood or sitting quietly, comfort and ease seem to be a consistent norm between us.
“Uh…” Dexter’s gruff voice cuts into the silence. “Have you booked your flight yet?”
I look up, twisting the chopsticks in my hand. “For Hawaii?”
He nods, and I shake my head. “But Nat sent me the hotel stuff. I’m going to stay in her room until the wedding, so I guess my room situation is settled.”
“I—did you, like, want to fly out together?”
I look up at him to see his gaze focused on his food. His hair hangs off his head, and his brow is drawn up, making his forehead wrinkle. He pokes at his food, moving it around instead of actually eating it. His throat bobs, and his lips twist to one side. Is he nervous? Maybe worried I’ll say no? Or maybe he’s scared to discuss the future, whether it be travel plans or us.
“Um, yeah,” I answer meekly.
“I mean, if you don’t want to, or if the timing isn’t right and you need to go back home early or?—”
“Dexter,” I interrupt. “We’ll fly out together.”
He lifts his head and peers at me with cautious eyes.
“I checked my schedule with the internship and the wedding, and it looks like I’ll be done with the internship a week before the wedding,” I explain. “So, I mean, I could go home, but it wouldn’t be worth the flight just to fly out again a few days later.”
“I guess we’ll look into some flights then.” A smile lifts the corners of his mouth, and I smile back before we continue to eat in silence.
He opens his mouth again. It looks like he wants to say something else, maybe some more details about which airline we should book or what strategy we’ll use so we don’t show up at the hotel at the same time. But instead of saying something, he lifts his beer to his lips and takes a long pull. I hear the liquid glug into his mouth, and the bubbles in my drink fizz inside the aluminum can. Somewhere in the distance, I hear music thumping through the walls of the apartment and a car honking its horn.
Maybe this awkward silence is really a thing. Though not the usual type of awkwardness most experience. Words feel caught on my tongue, questions I feel need to be cleared and absolved. But that suddenly feels scary, almost terrifying. So much so that this “awkward” silence feels like a reprieve.
When I wake the next morning, Dexter isn’t there. The apartment is empty, and the silence filling it feels almost too quiet. Much like the awkward silence that lingered last night. We finished dinner and went to bed—our separate rooms—without discussing anything. Without scrolling through our phones to check out flight deals on Expedia.com or suggesting a night cap with a few episodes of Supernatural . We were both really tired, so it made sense that we embraced in a much-needed hug before going to bed, but then I fell asleep feeling so confused. We should have talked. I should have told him that what happened should never happen again and reiterate the multiple reasons it should never happen again. Like us living on opposite coasts or that if this didn’t work out, it would complicate things. Hayden is his best friend. The best friend who’s marrying my sister. If this went south, it wouldn’t just involve me and him, it would involve family and friends.
I walk to the kitchen without bothering to change or run a brush through my hair first. It’s Sunday, and since I don’t have anywhere to go, mussed bed hair and stained pajama pants it is. When I get to the counter, I see a note scribbled on the back of an unopened credit card bill.
Coffee’s in the fridge. I’ll be back soon. Please miss me.
I smile, and it hurts. Not in the way that my cheeks are sore or my jaw strains. The ache is in my chest, where it fights the giddiness bursting from my heart.
Please miss me .
I don’t need the request for me to realize the ache is there because I miss him. Not just now with him gone from the apartment for a short amount of time, but for how I’ll miss him in the future. Once I go back home, there’ll be no more notes scribbled on random scratches of paper. No more surprise cups of coffee waiting for me in the fridge. No more plates of food arranged exactly the way I like it. No more Dexter.
I let my smile dwindle into a confused frown, and I reach for the fridge. I find my usual caramel macchiato order sitting on the middle rack and just as quickly, the smile is back. He remembered my order.
I start sipping my coffee and return to my room. It’s a mess, clothes strewn all over the place and my suitcase still an open heap on the floor. It feels like a good time to clean up. I start with my clothes, gathering a pile to start a load of laundry downstairs, and move on to my toiletries. When I get to the one bathroom Dexter and I have been sharing, I realize how much of my things have taken over his space. My razor that I used just last night lies at the edge of the tub. My curling iron is resting on the bathroom counter, unplugged, along with all of my eye shadows, makeup brushes, and skin care products. My shampoo, conditioner, body wash, even my overpriced loofa fill the space in the tub, shoving his own products to a small corner. All this, me invading his space, and he hasn’t mentioned it once. It doesn’t even feel like it annoys him but he’s keeping his mouth shut to be polite. It feels like it truly doesn’t bother him. Like him, living like this, with my presence so glaringly obvious, is just fine, and he’d gladly give up the space for the sake of my comfort.
With Annabelle, I was conscious of my mess, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. We both remained respectful of each other’s space and haven’t had any issues. And it’s always worked for the both of us. But all of that flew out the window with Dexter. He shoved away the mindful consideration of living with another person from my head and allowed me to just be me. To be the messy, carefree Lucy who enjoys the process of getting ready and hours of uninterrupted primping.
My phone rings in my room, and I jolt for it, expecting it to be the one person who’s been occupying my mind all morning. But it’s Annabelle, along with a welcoming FaceTime call, and I smile, missing her and Jeremy.
“Hey, Ann!” I squeal as I answer, excited to see my friend. When the screen clears from the blurry image before the call comes through, I not only see Annabelle but Margo and Alma too. The three faces beam at me with the sun shining behind them.
“Lucy!” they all shriek at the same time. They start to giggle, looking behind them at what looks like an outdoor patio, mindful of their high-pitched voices in a public setting.
“What are you guys doing?” I ask, a little melancholy that I’m not there with them.
“We’re having brunch,” Alma answers, her thick-rimmed sunglasses covering her eyes. “And we miss you!”
“I miss you guys too.” My lips turn down into a little frown. I miss them so much.
“How’s the internship going?” Margo asks, shielding herself from the sun with her hand hovering above her forehead.
“It’s going,” I answer. “Learning loads.”
“And the mystery man you’re keeping from us?” Annabelle cuts in.
All three faces zone in on me, wide eyes and even wider smiles.
“I told them,” Annabelle says without batting an eye. I roll my eyes, and that just makes them squeal like schoolgirls.
“There’s nothing…going on.”
“You paused,” Annabelle points out boldly. “Why did you pause? Is it because you’re lying? You know I can tell when you’re lying.”
“Okay,” I fold. And that elicits another round of squeals. “There was?—”
“Mind-blowing sex?” Annabelle interrupts.
“Ann!”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She rolls her eyes and raises her hands in the air with her palms facing me. “An intense wringing out until you’re sucked dry.”
I bury my face into my hands. “Oh my god.”
Margo jumps in and smacks Annabelle’s arm. “Would you just let her finish?” She turns to the screen, and her face softens. “Okay, we’ll be quiet and let you tell us. So please, because we’re dying to know over here.”
“So there may have been some heavy making out, something in the second to third base region?”
Annabelle lets out a low chuckle and a sly smile while Margo and Alma stare at me with gaping mouths.
“I called this, by the way. So I think a triumphant ‘I told you so’ is in order.”
I shake my head through a reluctant smile.
“So what does this mean?” Margo asks, ignoring Annabelle’s smugness.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Are you guys, like, friends with benefits?” Alma asks, a mixture of concern and curiosity on her face.
“No!” I practically shriek. “No, it’s nothing like that. We haven’t really talked it over.”
“Are you going to talk it over?” she asks, the curiosity on her face now fully replaced with worry and disapproval. With her broken heart still mending from her breakup last year, I understand that she’d have some misgivings about the whole situation. Especially when it comes to the interest of someone she cares about.
“Probably.”
All three have grown silent, and I realize they’re reading into this correctly, from my apprehensive body language to the stress in my voice. They see how much this has been wearing me down, no matter how much I’ve tried to convince myself that this can’t go anywhere .
“Uh, where is he?”
“He stepped out,” I tell Annabelle, not wanting to dive into the fact that he’s probably at the hospital visiting his sister. Those details feel more personal and something of Dexter that I don’t know if I’m ready to share just yet.
We all stay quiet, politely smiling at each other before Margo chimes in. “Well, we’re here if you need someone to talk to.”
“Or to spill the dirty details,” Annabelle adds. “We’re definitely here for that too.”
“But seriously,” Alma says. “Talk to him.” She pauses before adding, “And tell him if he breaks your heart, we’re hopping on the next flight to New York to beat his ass.”
I chuckle. “There will be no ass beating,” I assure. “And I’m going to talk to him. Like an adult.”
They’re interrupted just then with the arrival of their food. Plates are placed in between them and off the screen, and it’s my signal to hang up.
“You guys eat your food,” I say once they’ve settled on which belongs to whom and who needs a refill on their mimosas. “I’ll keep you updated.”
They all lift their glasses to me, and I reach for my coffee, only a quarter left, and tilt it toward the screen. “Have an extra mimosa for me!”
We exchange prolonged farewells, adding extra syllables to the word “bye” and excess hand waves. When the screen goes dark, I have a sudden twinge in my stomach. I miss my girls. And as much as Dexter’s made me feel at home here, I miss my home. My life, my friends, Jeremy and Annabelle. Even Vanessa and Mr. Bean. My mind starts to play a little tug of war, wondering what it’ll feel like when I have to leave, excited that I get to finally go home but sad that I have to eventually say goodbye to Dexter.
I slide to the ground from the edge of the bed, where I perched myself while on the phone. I pick up the remaining items of clothing lying around and start folding them into a pile around me, hoping staying busy will keep those lingering thoughts of heavyhearted goodbyes and a home I miss in the foggy parts of my brain where I can ignore them for now.
“Lucy?”
I look up at the open bedroom door just in time to see Dexter round the corner. He smiles when he sees me, taking in my appearance, all messy and unkempt. My bed head has transitioned itself into a small claw clip barely holding back the hair from my face. I now have a sticky coffee stain on the front of my shirt, and the smear of toothpaste I had on my cheek is most likely still there. But he looks at me like none of it’s there. Like I spent the last hour dolling myself up with hair care products and a shiny new outfit.
“Hi,” he says softly.
“Hey.”
He closes the space between us and plops onto the ground next to me. “What are you doing?” he asks.
“Just cleaning up,” I answer. “I’ve become quite a slob since I moved in.”
He shrugs. “I kinda like it. Seeing little bits of you all over the apartment.”
“Like my dirty razor in the tub?”
“Yeah,” he answers with a smirk. “And the smell of your shampoo in the bathroom after you shower. I kinda like that too.”
I nudge him with my shoulder. “Did you go see Janet?”
He nods. “It looks like the doctor’s discharging her tomorrow. I’ll probably take the day off, just to make sure she’s settled at home and everything. I think Charles needs to go back to work so…”
“How’s she feeling?”
“Better,” he says, his voice a little brighter. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to go, but I thought maybe you should get some rest.”
“It’s okay,” I say softly. “I’m sure it was nice for you two to have some alone time.”
He smirks. “She asked about you. ”
And I smile too. “What did she say?”
“If I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend.”
I chuckle, bringing a hand to my mouth. “Did you tell her you were planning on asking me after fourth period behind the bleachers?”
“It crossed my mind.” We both laugh but that quickly dissolves, and a line between Dexter’s brows deepens. “But I told her that I like you.”
We sit there on the floor, with our eyes locked on each other. “I like you too.”
He sighs, the kind of deep exhale that feels like he’s been holding his breath. “So we sorta like each other.”
“Looks like it.” He nods. And I nod too, mirroring the up and down bobbing motion of his head. “But I’m only here for another month. And we have the wedding after. And that’ll be nice but then…”
“But then you go back home.”
“Yeah,” I say, answering this lingering silent question hovering over us, making me wonder if there was more to this simple “yeah.”
“So we go back to how things were?” he asks, a small frown set in the firm lines of his lips.
“No,” I answer too quickly. It’s instinct. I’m not even sure if the answer should’ve been yes, but saying no felt too natural. “I mean…I-I don’t…”
“I don’t want things to go back to how they were either.” He hesitates and scrapes his nail against the smooth plane of skin in front of his ear. “I might be getting ahead of myself, but would you consider long distance? If this…”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
I sigh a shaky breath. “It’s just that I’ve seen the horrors of it first hand,” I explain. “A friend of mine dated this guy from Tampa, and when they broke up last year, it got really ugly. I saw how badly it affected her. And my parents did it for a while after college, and my mom tells me all the time about how it nearly tore them apart, so?—”
“Hey,” he interrupts. “I get it. We don’t want to complicate things.”
“Yeah.”
There’s a pause between us where it feels like a turning point, and I can almost hear the gears turning in our heads while we try to figure out a solution. Until I finally say, “So we don’t label this between us.” I say it firmly, leaving little room for doubt, no matter how unsure I still feel. “We do this one day at a time, and after the wedding, we…”
“We go on with our lives.” A quick smile twitches at his lips, and it looks so mournful, like he’s already thinking about the fallout from this. “And we’ll take things slow?”
“Yes,” I say assertively. “That’s smart…”
“And responsible.” I realize he’s finishing my sentences.
I don’t know if this is a good idea. In fact, it feels like a recipe for disaster. A disaster full of broken hearts and painful goodbyes. But I couldn’t say yes when he asked if we should just go back to how things were. When the feel of his hands on my skin was nothing but a distant memory. Or when the thought of kissing him was something that I tucked away as a dream and flushed down the possibility of it happening again.
“Okay,” I say, cutting into the silence that snuck up on us. I say okay because we don’t have any other choice. Neither one of us wants to forget about what happened yesterday. We don’t want to act as if we didn’t light each other’s skin on fire. Or that there isn’t already a gaping hole in my chest from whatever future goodbyes we’ll have to share. It’ll only be for a month. And that’s it.
He inches closer and wraps his arm around my waist to pull me into a long, deep embrace. I turn so that I face him, and our bodies lean against the side of the bed. He drags me to him, pulling me flush against his body. Whatever reservations I have festering in my heart about us, about my temporary living situation, fall into the shadows. Almost as if they’re giving us a moment of privacy so I don’t have to think about what can come of this.
“Is this okay?” he says into my hair. I nod, rubbing my nose against the fabric covering his shoulder and allowing myself a deep inhale of his scent. Something in my brain chemistry alters as I consume myself in him, convincing me things are going to work out the way they’re supposed to.
When I pull away, he doesn’t let me go. I look at him, our noses playing this little teasing game of cat and mouse. I brush my lips against his, and his eyes squeeze shut. His hands grip my waist tighter, and when I bring my hand to skate along his chest, I feel his heart thrum underneath my fingertips.
“This is okay too,” I say, adding a small kiss to his lips. It’s his turn to nod. I kiss him again, and this time, he kisses me back. It’s gentle and slow, and for some reason, it feels a thousand times more intimate than our rushed kisses from before.
The second his tongue dips into my mouth, I rise to my knees and straddle his lap. Our kiss deepens, and my fingers thread through his hair, tugging at the roots. That draws a low moan from the back of his throat, and I feel his hand caress my back underneath my loose sleep shirt I haven’t changed out of yet. He trails my skin, making me shiver. His other hand cups the back of my neck, and he grips me so hard, so fiercely, I feel like melting into a puddle of sticky ooze right on his lap. His fingers rake into my hair, and the weak, hopeless moan that squeezes from my lips is outright embarrassing.
He pulls away just then and looks at me, the brown in his eyes barely visible with his black pupils filling most of the color. “I meant it when I said we should take it slow.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to his. I push my hips down into him, and he groans .
“You know,” he says, his voice strained. “Doing the responsible thing?”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, it would be the responsible thing, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You keep saying ‘yeah.’”
“Ye—” We both pause to chuckle. “You’re right.” I climb off him and kneel to his side, my hands twisting on my lap. “I guess things sorta got out of hand?”
“Yeah.” That makes us both laugh, this time with less tension.
I glance at the clock and turn back to face him. “I have to go downstairs to get my clothes out of the dryer. And maybe we’ll figure out what to do for dinner after?”
“I’ll go with you. To get your laundry,” he offers.
I stand first and wait for him but as he gets up, he crouches back down. “I might need a minute,” he says sheepishly.
I look at him, confused, but then he gestures a hand toward his lap, and I dissolve into a set of giggles, falling back to my knees. I cup his face with my hands and grip him, placing a small peck at the corner of his mouth. “You’re so cute.”
He groans. “That’s not helping.”
I laugh, and his head falls back onto the bed. “I’ll wait outside for you,” I say as I pull away and reluctantly stand.