Chapter 27
FELIX
There are some things you learn about yourself as you grow older that you sort of wish you’d remained ignorant of.
For example, I did not know I was such a coward. It was not until exactly thirty seconds ago that I realized this unfortunate truth.
But I have seen the harsh, glaring, blinding light.
I take a deep breath and stare at Cyrus’s front door some more. I’ve been staring for several minutes, so I may as well round it off with a bit more of an inspection. It’s red—interesting choice for Cyrus—and the knocker is probably going to turn into a face at any moment, like in Muppet Christmas Carol , after which it will proceed to laugh itself silly at me.
Get it together.
I’ve sort of lost the right to flip Cyrus the bird and do whatever I want. So I knock sharply on the door.
Nothing.
I knock again, louder this time. When a rustle finally sounds against the door from inside, I let my fist drop.
Except…he still doesn’t answer the door.
And that’s when I realize he’s making me wait on purpose. I roll my eyes and pound on the door this time.
“Open the door, you son of a—” But I break off as I glance around; I’m outside, and this looks like a neighborhood where kids might live. So I bite my tongue and knock again.
When he still doesn’t open the door, I call, “I’m going around back and I’m going to break your window.”
One foot is off the porch when the door finally, finally lurches open, revealing Cyrus.
The look he gives me is definitely grumpier than usual. In fact, it’s a glare .
“Can I come in?” I say, but I don’t wait for him to answer. He’s lucky I’m trying to remain polite at all after refusing to open up. So I step inside and muscle past him—he puts up a fight, clearly feeling extra petty—and then see myself into the living room. Poppy isn’t here, so I take her usual seat on the couch.
I hear the door slam shut from the front, but I don’t let myself wince. When Cyrus storms in, I don’t let myself cower then, either.
“Why are you here?” he demands, flinging himself into his chair. His hair is a little messier than usual, and his shirt looks like it’s been slept in; I think I’ve caught him deep in a research hole.
I swallow and sit up straighter. “Wanted to tell you that I’m going to date your sister.”
And although he glares at me some more, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses, Cyrus doesn’t look surprised. “What if I say no?” he finally says, his jaw ticking.
I shoot him an apologetic look and a little shrug. “I’m probably going to do it anyway. If she says yes, of course.”
I told India I didn’t know how I felt. It was true. But I know now. I might even have realized earlier if I hadn’t been so scared.
Which is so stupid, by the way. I shouldn’t be scared of falling in love. I don’t have some tragic past. My heart has never been broken irreparably.
Somehow I’ve been afraid anyway, running from the ways people change—the ways I might change—hunting down fun as though it’s any replacement for happiness.
I don’t know. I don’t understand everything. Sometimes I’m not sure I understand anything. But I like her. I think I even like her a lot.
That’s enough for me to go on with, even if it feels scary.
“You let her into your house,” Cyrus says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Yeah,” I say, a little surprised now. “I mean—just the once.”
He eyes me, his fingers drumming on the arm of his chair, his expression less overtly threatening now. “You don’t ever let people into your house.”
My brows jump. “I—how did you know that?”
“You told me. Poppy, too. Years ago.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Did I?”
Cyrus nods, looking unconcerned. “You said you don’t want anyone in your space.”
I think back, but I still can’t find that particular memory. It’s not something I really talk about—partly because it doesn’t make sense, and it’s not a big deal. It’s just something I’m a little particular about.
“I don’t remember telling either of you that,” I say, suspicious now. I didn’t let people in my room when we lived together, but I don’t think I’ve ever said anything about my home.
He jerks his shoulders into a shrug. “Fine. Maybe you didn’t tell us. Maybe…” He draws the word out, his eyes darting up to mine. “Poppy might have performed her psychic voodoo magic and figured it out on her own. And then she might have told me, and I brought it up to see if she was actually right. I had my doubts.”
I glower but don’t answer. We’re walking a fine line in this conversation, and although we disagree about a lot of things—including whether or not I should date his sister—Cyrus is still my best friend.
When he finally sighs, though, his shoulders slumping, I know we’re moving in the right direction.
“Why India?” he says, taking his glasses off. He scrubs one hand down his face. “I know you’re going to do whatever you want anyway. But why her?”
It’s a good question, one I’ve been asking myself too.
“Because now that I’ve met her, I’ve lost interest in anyone else,” I say truthfully.
“And what will happen when you lose interest in her, too?”
“Did you or did you not specifically tell me that if I came to you and said I genuinely liked your sister, you’d be fine with it?” I say.
“No,” he says sharply, holding one finger up. “I told you that if you fell in love with her and wanted to marry her, I’d deal with it. This is different, and you know it. You have no attention span when it comes to women.” He pauses, leveling a stare at me. “So is this going to be like every other relationship you get into?”
My heart picks up, beating faster in my chest. “No,” I say slowly, keeping my voice steady. “It’s going to be very, very different.” And, the truth I don’t tell him, the one dancing on my tongue: I think I’m becoming different, too.
I can’t explain it, because I barely understand. I’ve always let the women in my life pass by me like I’m a boulder in a stream. They come and go, but I stay where I am.
And I don’t think I meant to change this time. I only think I looked at India as she passed. Smiled when I saw her. Followed her with my eyes until she was leaving my line of sight. And now…
Now she’s almost gone, and I can choose to stay where I am, or I can go with her.
I’d like to go with her.
All I know is that with India, I could never settle for what I’ve had in the past. With India, I think I’d like to go through the ups and downs with her. Rough waters and still waters and rain and sun.
Something powerful stirs in my chest, emotional and revelatory.
I’m doing this. I’m jumping out of this nest and praying for wings.
“It will be different,” I say as I swallow that warmth, that desire to call her immediately and ask her to please be patient with me as I learn how to grow and change and love.
Because right now, I need to deal with Cyrus. I don’t technically need his permission. I might not get it at all. But I need to try.
His eyes are narrowed on me, and he’s put his glasses back on. His fingers are drumming on the arm of his chair again, but other than that he’s still. So I wait. I wait for probably twenty more seconds until finally he speaks.
“It better be different,” he says gruffly. He pauses. “If you even so much as?—”
“Yep,” I say, elation and anticipation surging through me. I get to my feet.
“Because you know I’ll?—”
“Yep,” I say again, turning to leave. I hesitate, though, freezing as I’m about to pass out of the room. Then, not looking at him, I say, “She’s special to me too.”
And though his response is quiet, almost inaudible, I manage to catch it: “Good.”
I hurry out of the house and to my car, my mind reeling with ideas and half-formed plans and hopes —so many hopes. I breathe them in, pull them into my lungs like oxygen and let them sustain me for the first time in my life.
“Hey, Herb,” I say into the phone as I get into the driver’s seat. My boss is surprised to hear from me, I can tell—I don’t usually call him. But I press forward anyway. “Quick question. Is it too late for me to submit another article?”
His answer is hesitant. “What do you mean?” he says slowly. “You’ve got a couple days before everything has to be in to go to print. But—something other than the Lucky is for Lovers ?”
“No,” I say quickly. “A separate piece. Here’s what I’m thinking.” The more I explain, the more excited he gets, and by the time I hang up, I think Herb is just as on board with this idea as I am. I shoot off a quick text to Poppy with a question I need answered, and then I pull away from Cyrus’s as quickly as the speed limit will allow, heading back to work.
I have a lot to do.