Chapter Thirty-Five
After dinner, I sneak some leftovers upstairs for Mom.
“Sorry, there weren’t that many…” I try to recall how to say lactose-free in Mandarin. “No-milk options.” The plate is piled high with items from the salad bar. In English, I add, “It was mac and cheese night.”
“Char, you shouldn’t have to do this,” she says. “I’m your mother. Why are you taking care of me?”
I don’t get why she’s picking now to suddenly feel guilty. Maybe if she’d cared this much years ago, we wouldn’t be in this mess. No, I’m being unfair. I lift a shoulder noncommittally. “I have to go work.”
Khoi and I camp out in his room. Obi’s gone—his squad has been grinding long nights at the student center. Obi says it’s because the Wi-Fi is marginally faster there, but honestly, I think they just want to be within refill range of the boba shop.
We’re this close to hitting submit.
I want to check Hello World’s responsiveness on larger screens, so I slide over to his desk to hook my laptop up to his monitor. As I reach for the HDMI cable, my knuckles knock into an orange pill bottle that feels surprisingly light.
I squint. The label says levetiracetam—Keppra, his seizure meds. There are no pills inside. “Khoi, why is your medication empty?”
“I ran out a few days ago. I was going to visit the pharmacy for a refill yesterday, but we went to Oregon instead,” he says. “And then I had a very busy schedule today, with all the sleeping and whatnot. I’ll get it tomorrow.”
“Is that safe?” I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure meds need to be taken regularly.
“It’s whatever.”
He kisses me, and even though I know it’s his way of shutting down the convo, I kiss him back. His lips are tender, then urgent. Something within me uncoils. Something that used to be tight and pinchy.
I dip my hands beneath his shirt. He gasps as my fingers trace the skin of his abdomen. I didn’t know a boy could sound so—vulnerable. My body responds with a desperate stirring, almost a howl.
Edvin Nilsen said I should focus, stay sharp.
Edvin Nilsen can go kick rocks.
“Let’s go to your bed,” I murmur into his mouth.
He steps away and searches my face. “Char. You sure? I know you said no distractions…”
“I want to be with you,” I say. “If you’re ready.”
He hesitates, and my heart lurches. Maybe I’m asking for too much. Maybe I totally misread him. Maybe, after everything, he doesn’t want to be with a train wreck like me.
Then he says, “Um, I didn’t think we’d get this far, so I didn’t do any research or…”
And I’m tempted to smack him.
“Khoi. Do you think I give a fuck? I just want you.” I swear, he better not whip out his phone to ask ChatGPT for top-ten best sex tips.
To distract him from any AI-related shenanigans, I close the distance between us, pressing my body against his. His eyes darken with desire. They look like molten glass. “I want you too,” he says. “You’re… everything. I’m so lucky.”
No, I’m the lucky one, I want to say, but I don’t get a chance before he drags me into another kiss. This time, he doesn’t let go.
Afterward, we’re sprawled on his twin XL, both naked.
My head rests on his chest, rising and falling with his breath.
My fingers trace the secrets of his skin, each tiny new miracle I’ve discovered in the last hour.
The mole on his hip. A small scar on his inner thigh from a bike injury in Vietnam when he was eight. I want to memorize every inch of him.
He’s stroking my hair, slow and deliberate, and it sends shivers down my spine. I don’t recall the last time I felt this calm, this safe. I want to scoop this moment into a glass jar and live in it forever.
Out of nowhere, he drops the question: “Why won’t you be my girlfriend?”
Just like that, the peace has been shattered.
I roll onto my back and gaze at the ceiling as if the answer to his question might be written up there. “Dude. This program ends in, like, three days.”
“So? You’re not returning to Chinook Shore, right? Char, you can’t go back.” He props himself up on one elbow and stares me down.
“Chill. I’m not going back.” Mom and I need to put as many time zones between ourselves and Michael as possible.
Heck, maybe we should go to the moon. One of those space-obsessed billionaires must have an extra seat on their rocket ship.
“But I can’t commit to a romantic relationship. That’s just not a priority right now.”
“I’m not a priority to you?” His voice is small.
I swallow my sudden irritation. “That’s not what I meant. Obviously you’re important to me, Khoi. But I don’t know where my mom and I are even going to live.”
“You guys can get a hotel around here,” he says, like someone who thinks Hilton rewards points grow on trees.
I know he wants me to stick around Boston even though we have zero ties here. No housing, no job opportunities, no community that might help us get those things. (If only Hello World were a real app with users, and not a hackathon project.)
I could fight him on it. I could pull up whatever bank accounts Mom and I can still access, whip out an Excel spreadsheet, really drill it into his head that we’re too broke for this zip code.
But I don’t want to argue. Not now. Not after he’s been so kind, and definitely not before the final presentations on Saturday.
I sit up and reach for my clothes, which are wadded up in the corner of his bed. “Let’s just try to win this damn thing.”