Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Wait so you two are friends now?” Logan’s brow was furrowed. “I thought you two would be more likely to duel at dawn or something.”
“We came close last semester,” I admitted, then looked at Tyler. “Remember the em dash debate?”
We were sitting in the corner booth at Peculiar Pub. When I’d told them what happened over the weekend, Jess declared an emergency meeting after class on Monday.
“That was horrible,” Tyler groaned. “I swear sometimes you two just fight to hear yourselves talk.”
“Hey!” I said defensively. “It’s not my fault Aiden prefers commas.”
“I can’t listen to this again,” Tyler muttered. “Anyone want another round?”
Tyler slid out of the booth when we nodded and made his way toward the bar.
“How’s it going with you two?” I turned to Jess. I felt bad I hadn’t been much of a friend to Jess lately. I’ve been so caught up in my own drama with Aiden, I’ve been neglecting my best friend duties of helping her get together with Tyler. Then again, she refused to do anything the last time I mentioned it. I’ve encouraged her to at least text him outside of our group thread, but she barely even talks to him when he’s sitting right there.
“Literally nothing is happening.” She placed her forehead on the table in despair. “He’s so hard to read.”
“He likes you,” Logan insisted. “He’s always looking at you in workshop.”
“That’s because I sit right across from him.”
He shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Jess let out a strangled noise, hitting her head against the table. “Rosie what do I do? You’re the romance expert.”
I grimaced. “I wish I could help, but Tyler is really hard to read. Half the time I wonder if he even enjoys hanging out with us.”
“We should confront him,” Logan said, slapping his hand down on the table.
“You’re just tipsy.” Jess sat up. “Actually … maybe I should get super drunk and confess my feelings to him.”
I shook my head. “Tyler is too good of a guy for anything to come from that. If that happened, he’d probably apologize to you then never bring it up again. I say ask him out for coffee after class. Maybe next time he gives you a comment in workshop ask him to ‘elaborate further,’ ” I said slowly, widening my eyes.
Jess brightened, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. “And this is why you are our resident romantic.”
Tyler came back then, setting down the beers in the center of the table. “Can we circle back to you and Aiden being friends?” he asked, sipping one of the beers. “I feel like we moved on from this too quickly.”
I hesitated. Being friends with Aiden was nothing like I had expected it to be. I’d thought maybe we’d just start being nicer to each other, but lately I’d found myself always reaching for my phone to text him. It started when I asked for advice on one of our chapters, but soon I wanted to know his opinion on everything. I kept reminding myself the feelings weren’t real, just a result of spending so much time with him. But I couldn’t stop my heart from beating harder every time he nodded at me on the way into class or told me he liked my chapter after I sent it. I craved more and more, and I wasn’t sure when this newfound desire for his attention would be satiated.
“It’s not a big deal,” I said finally. “He’s not that bad.”
“I think it’s a great thing,” Logan said. “The chapters have been getting better.”
Our characters were no longer enemies and were slowly but surely making their way toward lovers. Our truce really allowed us to put more of ourselves in the characters, and we couldn’t stop writing. I had written more words in the past few weeks than I had in the past year . Suddenly, everything looked different.
“And you two have been way nicer to each other in class.” Logan waggled his eyebrows at me suggestively. I rolled my eyes and sipped my beer, hoping they couldn’t see my blush.
Today in class, we’d been mid-discussion about our chapters when Aiden spoke up.
“I haven’t been able to give Rosie feedback on this chapter, actually.”
I’d held my breath, a little nervous that our new friendship meant absolutely nothing to him, and we were on our way back to insults.
Ida had reluctantly nodded before saying, “Go ahead.”
“I think one of the strengths of this chapter, and really the work as a whole, is your ability to make dialogue seem so realistic. It’s never stilted or awkward.” He was reading off his notes from the chapter, flipping through the pages. “And, obviously, something I’m not as good at is the romance of it all, but you’re able to fill in the blanks with surprisingly tender moments.”
“You may not be as good at the romance,” I had blurted in response, “but I think you do a really good job of keeping us grounded. I tend to want to romanticize everything, but you make it feel real.”
“Well, to be fair, the reason the characters have become so dynamic is because you set them—”
“Sure.” I’d waved him off. “But when you rein me in it adds more tension—”
“While I’m loving this friendly exchange for once,” Ida interrupted, “I think it’s time to move onto other pieces.”
“Right.” I had sat back in my seat, a blush forming on my cheeks.
“That was nothing,” I insisted to the group now. “Everyone’s nice to each other in workshop.”
“I guarantee you, Aiden has never been that nice to anyone in his life ,” Logan said. “Maybe he has a little crush.” He reached over the small booth of the table to pinch my cheek, but I shoved him away.
“Shut up.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Tyler said, smiling softly. “He has a soft spot for you.”
My heartbeat sped up again. Maybe I had the smallest, tiniest, most insignificant crush in the world on Aiden. But it was a pipe dream—I never would imagine him to feel the same toward me.
“Now that I think about it,” Jess said, “lately, if someone else in workshop gives you a harsh critique, he glares at them.”
I deflated a bit. “I bet he just wants to be the only one to insult me.”
“In a sexy way,” Logan piped up. “It might be a kink. It’s always the quiet ones.”
“Shut up.” Jess kicked Logan, shaking the table. She must’ve been able to tell I was uncomfortable because she said, “Let’s talk about something else.”
“I agree, enough about Aiden and me.” I sipped my beer, letting the bitter taste wash down my throat. “Did I tell y’all I’m applying for the Frost Fellowship?”
“You’re kidding!” Jess said in surprise, a smile taking over her face. “That’s great! Tyler, didn’t you apply last year?”
He nodded. “You definitely should, Rosie. I’m a finalist at The Paris Review right now for a short story, and I think my fellowship helped a lot.”
“I’ve been working on revising a short story from last semester with Ida. I’m hoping they’ll be kind to a romance.”
“You should have Aiden look over it,” Logan said.
I scoffed. “No way.”
“I mean, he knows your voice. It couldn’t hurt.”
I fiddled with the label on my beer, peeling it off. The submission deadline wasn’t until the end of January, but I wanted to get it done now. I was so nervous for all of it, eager to just submit everything and be done.
“Maybe,” I conceded.
“And since Aiden’s got a fat crush on you, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help.”
“That’s it,” Jess declared. “Next round on Logan.”
During the next class, I found myself staring at Aiden more than I ever had. He caught me once, and I felt myself turn so red that I thought about faking a stomach bug to leave.
After class, Aiden caught up with me to discuss the path for our next chapters. We walked down Fifth Avenue toward the Arch at Washington Square Park, our chins tucked against the cold as we walked quickly and stiffly together. Like a natural New Yorker, Aiden walked at an alarmingly fast pace. But he seemed to be making an effort to slow down so I wouldn’t basically be jogging next to him.
“They need to break up,” he said.
“No,” I whined. “They’re not even together yet! We have to at least let them kiss.”
He gave me a bewildered look. “In my head, I thought they would just fall in love, not be in love.”
“Not much of a difference, buddy.”
We walked around the park, between the trees and grass that reminded me so much of home. Even though it was freezing out, there were plenty of people ambling about—street performers and people walking their dogs. This was what I loved about New York.
As we neared the fountain, Aiden stopped and turned toward me. “I don’t think they should kiss at all,” he said.
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” I scoffed. “They need to kiss. They should have sex, too.”
He pressed his lips together. “I’m not writing a sex scene, Rosalinda.”
“Uh oh, we’re back to Rosalinda, you must be serious.”
“I thought you said not every romance has sex scenes.”
I scowled up at him. “We don’t have to write erotica, but you know …” I looked away from him, suddenly embarrassed. “They should do stuff.”
“Is that what they call it in romance novels? Doing stuff?” He laughed, and despite the rowdy park, it cut through all the noise and landed so beautifully in my mind that I wished it was a physical item that I could hold forever.
“Shut up, you know what I mean. It’ll be a display of intense love for our characters. All the tension between them will finally pay off.” Aiden’s dark brows furrowed, skepticism flitting across his face. “Don’t worry, I think we’re a little while away from writing their sex scene. But even though we’re writing a slow burn, I still think they should kiss before we turn in what we have.”
He raised a brow. “A slow burn?”
I smiled. “A slow burn is when it takes a really long time for the couple to get together. When you build up so much tension and yearning between them, that it makes the reader burn and die for them to finally kiss.”
He thought about that for a moment, then nodded once. “Well then, where do we go from here?”
“I’m not sure.” I bit my lip. “Do you want to grab some coffee? I’m freaking out just a little about getting everything done in time. Maybe we can sketch out the next bit together?”
He stiffened. “Okay.”
“We don’t have to if you’re busy.” I frowned.
“No! I’m definitely not busy. Not busy at all.” He shifted back and forth on his feet, his cheeks reddening. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply like he was collecting his thoughts. “Yes, I want to go get coffee with you.”
I eyed him. “Okay, weirdo. Think Coffee?”
“Lead the way.”
After we had ordered our coffee, we sat at a small table in the back corner. As I unpacked my laptop and notebook, Aiden rolled up his sleeves, revealing his forearms. He was wearing a black shirt, which made his green eyes look brighter and his hair look even darker. In romance novels, there was always such a focus on body parts that had rarely seemed attractive to me in real life. I’d never cared much for jawlines or clavicles or forearms. But around Aiden, I couldn’t help but always notice how his shirt would tighten around his biceps and make his forearms look so strong. I loved making him mad for plenty of reasons, but my new favorite one was the way his jaw would tick when he was particularly irked.
“Let’s outline,” I said before I went into cardiac arrest at the sight of Aiden running a hand through his hair.
For the next few hours, we entertained a few different story ideas. Mine romantic, his morbid.
“But! If we kill one of them off now, it gives the realistic ending that we need,” he reasoned. His shoulders were squared as he laid his hands on the table to speak.
“We can’t call it a romance if they don’t even kiss before one of them dies! They’re just friends right now, they’re not even lovers.”
“It’ll surprise the reader.”
“They’ll throw the book away!”
I pulled my hair away from my shoulders into a low ponytail. I had learned to dress in layers during the winter. Today I was wearing my puffer, a sweater, and a white V-neck with my jeans.
Aiden was looking up toward the ceiling as I arranged my hair, his jaw tense.
“I think there’s enough tension,” he said. “Let’s just cut it off—”
“And have them kiss! Perfect!” I clasped my hands in front of my chest joyfully. He suppressed a smile, his cheekbones lifting but the lines of his lips pressed together.
The sight of his unwanted smile made my chest warm because I knew I’d put it there. I was finally getting to know the real Aiden. Not the version of himself he hid behind his iron mask, but the one who relished in sad moments and awarded people with smiles, even if he didn’t want to. “Opposites attract” wasn’t just a romanticized idea in my head, it was a scientific fact, right?
Aiden cleared his throat, pulling at the collar of his shirt just a little. “Hey, would you ever want to grab—”
“Piel Canela” by Los Panchos, a song my mom and I always danced to in the kitchen, started blaring from my phone, my mom’s face flashing on the screen. Blood rushed to my cheeks as I snatched it from the table.
“Sorry, I should take this.” I turned away from Aiden and said in a low whisper, “Mami? Is everything okay?”
We usually had our weekly calls on Sunday nights. When she called during the week it was usually an emergency. Albeit they were always stupid emergencies like “Where did you get the blackberry jam from again?” or “Do you know where your father keeps the weed eater?”
“Mi vida, estoy pleaneando la cena de Navidad y necesito saber si vienes o no.”
“I don’t know right now, Mami,” I said through clenched teeth. I glanced over at Aiden who was staring intently down at his notebook, very obviously listening but trying not to.
“Hijita, your tía and I want to start cooking before the grocery stores turn crazy. We need to figure out how many potatoes, eggs—”
“I shouldn’t throw off your count by that much.”
“You eat a lot of Papa a La Huanca í na.”
I switched to Spanish. “Te llamar é m á s tarde. Estoy con un amigo.”
“Un amigo?” She gasped. “?Es guapo? Es su—”
“Te llamar é m á s tarde, Mami. Te quiero mucho.” I hung up before she could say anything else and turned back toward Aiden with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, my mom’s just …”
“No worries.” He waved me off. “Family’s complicated. You’ve met my dad.” He cleared his throat and looked down at his leather watch. “Actually, I keep meaning to thank you again for saving me. Do you want to grab dinner? My treat.”
“Um …” I stuttered, thrilled at the prospect. I sat forward, leaning over the table—and knocking the rest of my iced coffee over in the process. “ Shit .”
“Here, let me grab some napkins.” Aiden stood from the table to grab napkins while I sat helplessly at the table. This was why I didn’t have a boyfriend and this was why I didn’t like going on dates. I freaked out the minute I got asked out and ruined it. Romance was always better in my head and in books.
I helped Aiden clean up the ice and spilled coffee in silence, trying to find a way to say YES. I DO WANT TO GET DINNER WITH YOU.
“If you’re busy tonight,” Aiden said, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck, “then we don’t have—”
“ No ,” I said a little too forcefully. I squeezed my eyes shut, taking deep breaths. “Sorry, I’m just flustered.”
His eyebrows raised and my face got so hot, I was surprised it didn’t melt off.
“I’d love to go to dinner with you. Let’s leave this God-forsaken coffee shop as soon as we can.” I slipped my jacket on quickly, and he stuffed his black notebook in his bag.
“I know of a pretty good burger place a few blocks down, if that sounds good?”
“Sure,” I said, trying to calm my heart rate down. “I’m hungry for anything.”
He followed me closely out of the store, placing his hand carefully on the small of my back.
As we walked toward the burger joint, I tried to conjure ways for him to press his hand on my back again.
She was so obviously sad about the prospect of being alone; gone was the brightness in her eyes, and I was so afraid they would fill with tears that I was willing to do whatever it took to soothe the wrinkle between her eyebrows. The offer to spend time with her spilled out of my mouth, the color of hope, tinged with regret.
“You don’t have to do that.” But even as she said this her voice wavered. “I don’t want charity. I’ll be okay.”
“It’s not charity if I genuinely want to be around you, Max.”
— Excerpt from Untitled by Rosie Maxwell and Aiden Huntington