Chapter Twenty-Five. The Little Things
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Little Things
After I run her outside, we head to the buffet. As the elevator doors slide closed, Jo video calls.
“Happy birthday!” She’s in our neighborhood’s park. Behind her, the sky remains dusky with hints of nighttime.
“Thanks! But why are you in a park?”
“I jog now.”
Home must be incredibly boring without me if she’s started exercising. For fun.
“Wait…” I frown when I notice she’s in the hand-me-down Seahawks shirt I got from Dad. “Stop stealing my clothes, you parasite!”
“You’re not using them! Besides, I wouldn’t be caught dead in most of your crusty dusty clothes. You don’t have much to worry about.” I stick my tongue out at her. “Anyway, how are you? How’s Felix?” She waggles her brows.
I hesitate, fingers suspended in midair.
“WHAT HAPPENED?!” she signs with every ounce of energy left after her jog. “TELL ME!”
“We kissed,” I admit.
Her euphoria skyrockets. She flails around like a limp spaghetti noodle. She tries to sign, but her fingers move so erratically that it’s the ASL equivalent of a keyboard smash. The elevator doors open, and I walk toward the buffet.
“WHEN?” she finally manages.
“Last night. He surprised me with a picnic. It was worst-romantic.”
“A-V-A owes me twenty bucks.” She smirks. “I guessed you’d kiss before August. She thought it’d be later.”
I roll my eyes playfully. Leave it to them to place bets on our relationship.
“This is so exciting! So you like him? Was the kiss good?!” she continues.
I bite my bottom lip. Thinking about it transports me back to the stage, with his hands exploring my body, lips connected to mine. Kissing him felt warm and perfect and right.
“KissFist,” I admit with a buzz of nerves.
Jo’s elation for me is written all over her face. “Kiss him more! And have a fun birthday. Love you!”
I don’t have an opportunity to ask if Mom’s mentioned anything about my Camp SunSign message, or how things are going with the Center, before she hangs up.
My attention is caught by Mateo motioning me over to where he sits with the boys at the far back of the dining area.
The surrounding tables are occupied by bodyguards and staff.
I grab some food and head over. Mateo grabs a chair from another table as I approach. I put Ginger in a down-stay and sit.
“Happy favorite!” Mateo signs, beaming. I chuckle, assuming he meant “birthday,” and supply the correct sign, which is similar. He repeats, “Happy birthday!” He pulls out a small envelope from his denim jacket and hands it to me.
I take the world’s quickest glimpse at Felix, attempting to act casual, and he looks at me at that exact moment. We exchange a knowing look. A fresh jolt of electricity surges through me as his dark eyes are fixed on mine.
I feel my cheeks warming, then briefly meet Lachlan’s gaze. His face is set in a glacial frown as his eyes flit from Felix to me. I force it out of my head and look back to the envelope. I open it and pull out a gift card to Charlie’s Queer Books, a Seattle bookstore. “Thanks, Mateo.” I smile.
“It’s from all of us, but no problem. Are you tagging along for the concert tonight?” he asks.
“Probably not,” Lachlan cuts in using SimCom. I flash him a puzzled look. “I figured you wouldn’t want to spend your birthday stuck in a Green Room. Right?” His tone is just shy of honeyed, and there’s a similar intensity to him as there was in Fenway Park.
I study him carefully but get frustrated when I can’t get a read on him. The thing that bothers me most (besides his weird hot-and-cold thing) is sometimes I can’t quite put my finger on what his intentions are.
His body language and tone are a melting pot of conflicting information, and I don’t know how to begin sorting through it.
“You alright, mate?” Felix knocks his shoulder into Lachlan, who doesn’t answer and opts for glaring at his half-eaten waffle. With a frown, Felix focuses on me. “Er, it’s up to you if you wanna come or not.”
“Uh, yeah, I’ll come,” I murmur.
We eat an awkward breakfast, with neither Felix nor Lachlan meeting my eyes for different reasons, until Necktie orders the boys to get ready. Knowing they’ll take at least another half hour to get beautified, I stay behind to finish eating.
Halfway to the exit, Felix spins around. He flashes me a dazzling grin and signs, “Happy birthday, beautiful.”
When I get back to the hotel after an uneventful evening in the Green Room, I pace around my room, eyes glued to the wall clock, waiting for Felix to reply to the text I sent asking if we’re going to talk tonight.
My phone finally buzzes. “I got it. Good girl,” I tell Ginger before she can alert. She seems miffed I interrupted her. My pre-emptive excitement disappears when I read the message.
Sat, July 20, 10:24 PM
[Mom]
Happy birthday.
I wait for typing bubbles or a second message with an apology or her version of an olive branch, but nothing comes. Seriously? She ghosted me for over a month, then waited until 10:30 p.m. to finally wish me a happy birthday? With a period at the end? Not even an exclamation mark? An emoji?
I don’t know how to reply or even how to feel, so after a few more beats of anger-staring at the text, I throw my phone onto my bed. Right as I resume pacing, Ginger alerts to a knock. My feelings about Mom’s text disperse at the thought of Felix’s smiling face behind the door.
I quickly fix my hair before yanking the door open.
To my surprise, instead of Felix waiting for me, there’s a pink box with an envelope propped against it.
I briefly debate calling the bomb squad—what if some territorial fan discovered my identity and planted this here? —but curiosity gets the better of me.
Luckily, inside are a dozen gourmet doughnuts.
It takes an act of extreme self-control to shut the box and grab the envelope.
I break the seal and pray there’s not anthrax inside.
You can never be too careful. Instead of a card or a letter, I find three sticky notes stuck together.
I stifle a laugh. He’s committed to the bit.
NAT,
HAPPY B-DAY!!! I WANTED TO TELL YOU HOW THANKFUL I AM FOR YOU. YOU BEING HERE & PUTTING UP W/ ME MEANS THE WOLRD WORLD. NO MATTER WHAT I WANT YOU IN MY LIFE. EVEN AS A FREIND FRIEND. WHATEVER YOU DECIDE IS BEST FOR YOU IS OK. PROMISE!!! COME TO MY ROOM WHEN/IF YOUR READY TO TALK
XXX
YOUR FELIX
P.S. I KNOW RASBERRY DONUTS ARE YOUR FAVOURITE BUT THEY WERE OUT SO I HOPE STRAWBERRY IS OK!
I re-read the notes, drinking in every messy, incorrectly spelled word scrawled in Felix’s chicken-scratch penmanship.
I linger on the fact that he remembered my favorite doughnut flavor. It’s such a little thing, a minor detail, but like the Grinch, it triggers my heart to swell three sizes, and I hug the Post-it notes to my chest.
Somehow in a cheesy, rom-com twist I thought only existed in books, the most annoying, gorgeous, sweet boy to grace planet earth has successfully wormed his way into my heart.
I put the doughnuts and notes on my bedside table, throw Ginger a chew toy to occupy her, and speed toward Felix’s room at the far end of the hall.
I bang on the door. It feels like an eternity before it swings open. Standing in the doorway of his dimly lit room, Felix looks down at me with a faint trace of hope written across his features.
Not having the right words to say or sign how I feel, I opt to show him.
I step forward and connect our lips. He wraps his arms around me, and we stumble into his room, away from the potential exposure of the hallway. My back presses against the door as it shuts.
He hunches over, and I stand on my toes so we can reach each other. Kissing someone almost a foot taller than you is easier when you’re sitting.
The passionate press of his lips deepens into something that feels as natural as breathing yet electric enough to make me lightheaded.
Felix’s hands roam with reverence, each touch deliberate, like he’s making a map of my body.
His fingers glide along the planes of my chest, the curve of my waist. My pulse pounds as his teeth scrape against my jaw and collarbone.
I can’t suppress the quiet moan that slips out when he lingers at the hollow of my throat.
When he steps back, his breathing is ragged, chest rising and falling like it does after a concert. His dark, smoldering eyes rake over me with an intensity that’s almost too much to bear.
“Nat … shouldn’t we talk? I wanna make sure this is really what you want,” he squeaks out. One of his strong, soft hands cups my jaw. He searches my face for any hesitancy.
I drag him into another slow, drawn-out kiss, savoring every second. “You’re what I want. I don’t need to talk about it right now. I just need you.”