Chapter 24 Then #2
A laugh wheezes out of Alex as he drops forward, his forehead bumping into mine. “I love you,” he whispers.
I blink, stunned. And then I immediately talk myself down. He means friend love, of course. Alex is as affectionate with his words as he is with his touch.
“I love you, too,” I whisper. “You’re the bestest friend.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then he slowly pulls away, meeting my eyes. “Better than Lauren?”
“Lauren’s not here,” I hedge.
He leans back in. “But if she was.”
I bite my lip, torn. “It’s different. We’re different kinds of best friends.”
“Hmm.” Alex narrows his eyes and reaches for my phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Sending myself Lauren’s contact info.”
“Oh, hey now—”
“Shh,” he says magnanimously. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
“Got what?” I’m half exasperated, half amused, a reversal of our usual roles.
Alex leans in, curls an arm around me, and lifts his phone for a selfie. “Smile, Ted?”
There’s just the slightest upswing in how he says it, an unsureness that I hate to hear. I lean in, pressing my temple to his, and smile wide.
The photo’s a little blurry. Our smiles are wide but our eyes look a little sad, smudged with shadows beneath them from not enough sleep and too much booze.
In my black boatneck long sleeve, Alex in his charcoal-gray thermal shirt, we both look like we’re headed to a funeral, entirely out of a place in this festive, explosion-of-color bar on New Year’s Eve.
But something about the photo makes me smile. Because it’s honest. Because it’s real.
Because it’s us.
Alex hunches over his phone for a second, grinning while his thumbs fly across the screen. A second later my phone dings.
I reach for it on the bar and groan. Alex sent the photo to Lauren and me, then below it, HAPPY NEWSYEAR SIEVE FROM THEDA AND HER BESTEST FREND ALEC.
Lauren responds immediately. Who the hell is this and what have you done with Thea? Thea, if you’re there against your will, send the knife emoji!
Alex frowns at the text. “That’s rude of her. Why would she think you’re here against your will? I’m a nice guy.”
“You’re the nicest guy,” I soothe him.
I sigh as I type, Lo, I’m out with Alex, very much of my own free will. We’re both a little tipsy, and Alex got excited about sending you a photo.
My phone pings, a separate text from Lauren only to me. WAIT, THAT’S THE HOT CHEF?
Lauren’s been so busy with work, and I’ve been so busy trying to keep myself afloat the past the months, I’ve hardly managed to talk to her, and when I have, I’ve kept conversation to other parts of life.
I already think about Alex too much. I didn’t need to bring it into my rare phone calls with Lauren, too.
His name is Alex, I type, and we hang out sometimes.
“Hang out sometimes?” Alex glances from my phone screen up to me. He looks completely stricken. No, worse. Gutted.
I drop my phone. “Alex—”
“I thought we were friends,” he says, a little sloppily. “Bestest friends!”
“We are!” I’m panicking, because Alex is giving off strong vibes á la kid at The Bookshop who just dropped their hot chocolate and is about to wail.
“Not according to your text with her,” he says, clearly wounded.
I grasp his arms, drag my hands up his shoulders, ducking to meet his eyes.
“I haven’t told her about you because I didn’t want her to know how much I like you.
Because I don’t really know what to do with how much I like you, Alex, so just talking and thinking about it more than I already do is not helpful. ”
“Wait.” Alex blinks, then frowns, his brow furrowing with an adorably deep crease. “You really like me?”
I swallow nervously. I hope that he’s as drunk as he seems, that he won’t remember any of this tomorrow. “Yes, Alex, I really like you.”
His breaks into a smile, wide and deep-dimpled. Utterly beaming. “I really like you, too, Ted.”
My phone dings with a text from Lauren. I steal a quick glance, but that’s all I need to read it and immediately want to puke. Hanging out with HOT CHEF and not a word about it?! You’ve been holding out on me, ma’am, and You! Are! In! Trouble!
“Ted,” Alex says.
I tear my gaze away from my phone and meet his eyes. “Yes, Alex?”
“Can we go home”—he hiccups violently—“and cuddle?”
I open my mouth to make up an excuse, a detour—anything to keep us from going back to his place and snuggling on the couch when we’re both varying degrees of intoxicated, sad, and lonely.
But then the song for whoever’s next up on karaoke starts to blast over the speaker, and after four notes, I know exactly what we’re in for.
Listening to happy people sing happy holiday music was a downer.
But there is something even more downer-inducing than that, and it is 100 percent Joni Mitchell.
I’ll figure out how to redirect the cuddle session eventually. Right now, I have to focus on us making a quick exit. Because Alex needs me to have my shit together, and if I stay and listen to this song, I absolutely will not be able to.
“Let’s get out of here.” I slap down a twenty on the bar, then slide off my stool.
Alex glances from me to the money, then back to me. “That was fast. You really want to cuddle, huh?”
I throw a thumb over my shoulder. “ ‘River,’ ” I tell him, then add, to emphasize the point, “Joni Mitchell.”
Alex jolts on his stool like he’s been electrically shocked. He suddenly seems halfway to sober. “Oh, fuck no.”
As he slides off his stool, we find each other’s hand, fingers locked tight, and shove our way through the crowd, straight toward the door.
Even though I’m the one who’s felt sick to her stomach since that text from Lauren, Alex is the one who pukes, thankfully after our driver drops us off in front of his house.
“I never liked that rhododendron anyway,” Alex mutters as I unlock his door.
He makes it to the powder room toilet just in time for round two, and I follow him, rubbing his back, pausing while he retches again.
I hesitate at first, but then I figure maybe it’ll put him at ease if I just keep talking, if I don’t make it some big deal.
Once he’s done, the toilet flush’s echo faded from the bathroom, I ask, “Why didn’t you like the rhododendron? ”
“It didn’t bloom,” he says, sitting slowly back on his heels. “I did everything I was supposed to, and it still didn’t bloom. Mia was so disappointed.”
My heart twists. I glance out the window at the rhododendron peeking above it, rubbing his back again. “Maybe it needs a partner plant.”
Alex stands, then ambles over to the medicine cabinet. He pulls out a toothbrush, lines it with toothpaste, and starts to scrub. “A partner plant?” he asks.
I shrug. “Rhododendrons don’t technically need a mate plant, but… it can help to have another plant nearby. Cross-pollination,” I add, at his blank look. “It increases the chances of a flower.”
Alex peers at me as he scrubs his teeth, toothpaste foam gathering at the corners of his mouth. “A partner plant,” he says again. He smiles.
And I can’t help but smile back.
I step aside as he bends over the sink, spits, then rinses, taking time to make sure his scruffy beard is clean, too, then turns toward me. His eyes are clearer, back to their deep-blue brightness. I think he’s pretty much sober now.
“Sorry about that,” he says quietly.
I shake my head, threading my fingers through his. “Don’t be. Happens to the best of us.”
“Didn’t happen to you,” he says, slipping past me, taking me by the hand out of the bathroom and toward the couch.
“That’s because,” I explain as I drop on the couch with a plop, “I’ve been drinking more than you. My tolerance is higher. That isn’t a good thing.”
He’s still standing, looking unsettled as he scrapes a hand through his hair. His gaze darts away then back to me. “Would you say you’re sober, then?”
I squint. “Ninety-five percent. You?”
“About the same. That puke did me good.”
After a beat, I say to him, “Why do you ask?”
Alex clears his throat, hands on his hips.
He’s staring down at the ground. “Because back at the bar is a little fuzzy, but… I think I remember asking you to cuddle and you being up for that, and I, uh… I wouldn’t want us to do that if we weren’t both clearheaded.
That is, if you were still up for cuddling. ”
I told myself I wouldn’t let us cuddle not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t think we should.
But after this past miserable month, and before that, a fall spent barely seeing Alex, I simply can’t make myself care right now about doing what I think we should.
I want to do what I want. What he wants.
Standing from the couch, I wrap my arms around his waist and set my head on his shoulder. “I’m up for cuddling. Very much, yes.”
He laughs. “I do remember saying that.”
My heart rate doubles. “Do you remember after that?”
He’s quiet for a moment, then rests his head against mine. “Not much, beyond that I was glad I was with you. I’m still glad about that.”
My pulse slows, relief unspooling through me as I tell him the truth. “I’m glad I’m with you, too.”
Alex pulls back enough to look at me, his eyes clear and bright, sparkling in the glow from the twinkly lights strung around his Christmas tree. “I’m always glad when I’m with you, Ted. Even when everything is shit.”
He curls his hands around my neck, his thumbs sweeping along my jaw, and I list toward him. Heat curls through me. “I… feel the same way.” I can barely form a sentence. My whole body is a live wire.
I slide my palms up his chest and press myself against him. I wish I could blame the drinks or the depressing reality of my first divorced Christmas, but I can’t. I’m touching Alex because I’m desperate to.
His hips rock toward mine. His gaze drops to my mouth. “Ted,” he whispers roughly. There’s an edge in his voice, a plea.
“I’m sorry.” I try to pull back. “I shouldn’t—”
“You should,” he mutters, dragging me back against him.
It’s the only permission I need, before my body finally gives in to what it’s been fighting for months now.
I press up on tiptoes, so we’re eye to eye, sink my hands into his hair, and brush his lips with mine, so faint, I’m not sure it happened, but then Alex leans in and meets me, his mouth brushing mine, too, minty warmth gusting over me, and I know it’s real. A whispered, frightened, momentary kiss.
My nose grazes his. Our foreheads meet. Silence hangs in the room.
Kissing Alex felt so right. And yet suddenly, I’m petrified it was the wrong thing to do.
Alex curls his hands around my waist, tucking his head into the crook of my neck. “Ted,” he whispers.
My heart’s pounding in my ears, and maybe it’s warped my hearing, but I don’t think so. He sounds like he regrets it.
We shouldn’t have. We’re friends. Friends don’t kiss. They can’t. Not if they want to stay friends. And there is nothing I want more than to keep Alex Bruscato as my friend.
“Night, Alex.” I hug him as platonically as I can, then wrench myself away, throw open the door, and start power walking home.
My phone buzzes with a text two minutes into my walk. It’s from Alex.
Let me know when you’re home safely?
I feel like I just swallowed a rock. I should be relieved—on the rare occasion he hasn’t walked me home in person or on a call, this is what friend Alex has texted his friend Thea. He’s being a good friend to me.
Why, then, am I so sad that he’s given me exactly what I want?