Chapter 30
THIRTY
jade
“Are you sure you know how to do this?”
Reeve sits on the edge of a kitchen chair in front of my bathroom mirror Friday morning, clearly ready to bolt at any minute.
We’re both due in class sooner than later, but Reeve and his superstitions are persuasive.
I examine the photo on his phone, showing his haircut from last fall, some sort of modified faux-hawk.
“You know how many times I’ve cut my own hair?” I ask.
“With trimmers?”
“Eh. I cut my high school boyfriend’s hair like this a couple times.”
“How was his hair? As good as mine?”
“We all know that’s not possible.”
“How was his . . .” He catches my eye in the mirror, playfulness dancing in his eyes. “Kissing?”
“Not even worth mentioning.”
“What a loser. Good thing I came along, huh?”
“You definitely shattered the mold.” It’s true.
I’ve never dated anyone like Reeve. We’ve spent every night together since Saturday, and every morning I wake up thinking about the words he said to me—you own me—and feeling like I’ve struck gold.
“Are you sure this is the cut you want? It would look better if the sides were a little longer.”
“No, babe, it needs to be exactly the same. I got that cut on this exact day last year, and the rest of my season was fucking golden. Understand?”
“Yes, drill sergeant, sir. Should I start?”
“If you’re sure I can trust you.”
“That’s for you to decide. Is your season worth it?”
He grunts but sits back in the chair, submitting to me.
Morning sun spills in through the half-moon window, making his hair glow beautifully.
I run my hands through it, halfheartedly pretending I’m getting a sense for the length and texture, but really I just want to revel in the freedom to touch him.
No one touches Reeve’s hair—it’s too precious to him.
But he closes his eyes as I pull the strands through my fingers, and I feel a surge of happiness. I can’t believe he’s mine to touch.
“Are you sure you don’t get your hair highlighted?” His hair really is as stellar as he thinks it is: silky and sandy blond with better highlights than I’ve ever had, even back when my parents were footing my salon bills.
He scoffs. “Are you kidding?”
“Like you aren’t vain enough for highlights?”
“I am vain enough. I was also born with the world’s most perfect head of hair.”
I stifle a smile, admiring the way his chin juts out when he brags shamelessly. Funny how the things I used to find reprehensible have become the ones I can’t get enough of.
I set to work with the clippers. Reeve watches me in the mirror, not my handiwork but me.
I don’t have my makeup on yet, and my own hair isn’t bothering to put on a good show in the face of Reeve’s superiority, but I’m not self-conscious.
He doesn’t bombard me with shallow compliments like Sam always used to.
Instead it’s in his eyes. When I’m with him, I know I’m beautiful.
I turn his head this way and that. Loving the way he yields to me and holds himself precisely where I want him.
My eyes and fingers study the small details of his body, the smooth slope of his neck, and the baby-soft skin behind his ears.
A deep sense of longing takes root somewhere inside me. I want this man to belong to me.
“Well?” I ask when I turn off the clippers.
Reeve takes my little hand mirror and examines his head from all angles. “Huh. It’s actually pretty good.”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“Before you started, I was thinking about when I might get to my hair guy to fix whatever botch job you were about to deliver.”
I laugh. “Then why did you even let me?”
“I’ll take a chance on you any day.”
“Your risk paid off, didn’t it?”
He nods. “You don’t even need to jet off to Spain; you might have a backup career right here.”
Something small inside me deflates. I don’t want to think about Spain right now. I take the towel carefully off his shoulders and shake it into the shower. “You want to rinse off before we head out?”
He nods and pulls his T-shirt off. I’m moving for the door when he stops me. “Hey, Jade?”
I turn to him.
“What’s the other reason you’re running away?”
“What?”
“You told me your parents were half the reason you’re running away to Spain. What’s the other half?”
“Oh.” I remember that night on the library roof when we barely knew each other and it was easy, somehow, to be open with him. Too open. “I said ‘running away’?”
“Yeah.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess Sam was the original reason.”
I catch the flash in his eyes before he looks at the floor.
“You know I’m over him, right? I have been for a long time.”
“But you’re not over what he did to you.” He leans back against the counter, hands behind him, muscled chest on display. “You still believe the lies he told you.”
“What lies?”
“That you’re selfish. You’re not, Jade, you’re human. He put you on a pedestal, and when you turned out to be imperfect, he couldn’t take that.”
I hesitate, stunned by how simply and perfectly he’s put words to the blur of thoughts and feelings that have plagued me since Sam broke up with me.
He’s right. I always used to choose guys who couldn’t believe their luck when I agreed to a date.
I don’t know that I liked being put on a pedestal so much as I needed it.
From up there, I was safe. I wouldn’t turn out like my mother.
“He did,” I agree. “But what if I was selfish?”
He shrugs. “What if you were? So was he. He missed out on being with the perfect girl because all he wanted was a trophy.”
“The perfect girl?” I smile but Reeve doesn’t.
“The perfect girl.”
My heart picks up speed at the soft, sincere way he says the words. “We don’t need to talk about Sam ever again. He’s so far in the past, he’s nothing.”
“Good. That’s why I don’t understand why you’re leaving.”
I sigh, not ready for this conversation. “I don’t know. There are probably a dozen reasons. I just don’t care to examine them. That’s how I make decisions.”
“You’re going to move across the world and spend a bunch of money you don’t have and waste your degree for no reason? That seems fucked up.”
“There’s a reason.”
“A good one?”
“Doesn’t really matter whether it’s good or bad, it’s just what I’m doing.” I watch his face contort in disapproval, feeling myself grow defensive. “Actions make a life. Not the reasons behind them.”
I think—or do I hope?—he’s going to tell me Spain’s a bad idea, but instead he proceeds to take off his shorts. He walks over to the shower in his black boxer briefs and turns on the water. “You know,” he says, “Sam’s not in your life anymore.”
“Clearly not.”
“And your parents have no control over you. So what are you running away from?”
“I probably shouldn’t have said ‘running away.’”
He cocks his head, calling my bullshit. “Come on, Jade.”
“I don’t know,” I say again. I grab the nearest object—a comb on the countertop—and fidget with it. “The decisions I’ve made so far haven’t exactly amounted to anything. I guess I wanted a fresh start. I didn’t want to be tied to the life I have here.”
I can’t read his face at all. His expression is one I don’t recognize, which unsettles me.
He turns away to test the water. If I said what was in my heart, I’d tell him that I don’t want to go anywhere.
I don’t want to think anywhere outside this campus or anytime beyond graduation day.
I’d tell him that next to him, Spain suddenly holds no appeal.
But what if that’s the last thing he wants to hear from me?
Reeve drops his underwear to the floor. “I guess it’d be nice if I said I could relate, but I’m holding tight to the life I’ve created here. It’s pretty much all I have.”
I stand there speechless and watch him get into the shower, unable to come up with an adequate response. I feel dazed, ambushed by his questions and exposed by his insight into me and Sam. But he’s right about all of it.
I thought I had it easy with Sam; he worshipped me.
But the inequality went both ways. While he was working to prove he was worthy of sharing my bed, I was always trying to live up to the standard he set: that I was out of his league.
I didn’t recognize the struggle then, only that as much as Sam seemed to love me, I could never completely relax around him.
I don’t ever want to feel that way again.
After a minute, Reeve takes pity on me and motions me into the shower. I move immediately for the safety of his body, clothes and all. He doesn’t seem to find it strange that I walk into his shower fully clothed; he just kisses me and peels the wet clothes away.