Chapter 18
Eighteen
ISABEL
In Natalia’s closet, Ravina is helping Natalia pick out outfits for the rest of the week while Luz and Erin trade a vape back and forth. Chiara and I sit on plush ottomans, watching from the sidelines.
AMPARO
How’s the writing going?
ISABEL
I’m knee-deep in research!
Amparo reacts to my message with a thumbs-up emoji. Older generations always sound so dismissive through text.
“Sugar.” Luz. I take an even breath before looking at her. She smirks at me, vape positioned near her mouth. “I heard you kissed Jaime.”
My stomach drops. My eyes snap to Natalia, who doesn’t even flinch as Ravina holds a polka dotted blouse against her chest.
“I—I didn’t—”
Luz quirks a brow. “So you didn’t kiss him?”
“No, no, I just meant—”
“Did you or did you not kiss him?”
Even without their eyes on me, I can tell they’re all listening in. I suppose it doesn’t matter who kissed who, but I clarify anyway. “He kissed me.”
Natalia laughs. “Did you like it?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. No, I didn’t like it.
When I think of how I imagined my first kiss would be, I see myself standing by my front door, giddy after a wonderful date and unwilling to let the night end.
I lean in, and Kieran—I mean the guy—closes the gap between us.
It’s chaste, a promise of more to come. Not whatever Jaime and I did against that tree.
When I don’t answer, Natalia launches into a spiel of what Jaime likes and doesn’t like, for my benefit, she claims. She stacks her fists over one another and twists them on opposite sides, making the girls laugh.
Erin sticks her tongue into the corner of her cheek and bobs her head.
This elicits even more raucous laughter.
I tune them out, body burning with shame and disgust and humiliation.
I’m compelled to apologize, to set the record straight even if Natalia clearly doesn’t care what her ex does—or who. But when I start to, Natalia only shakes her head.
“Don’t do that,” she says. “Don’t apologize. Seriously. Breaking up with him is the best thing I’ve ever done. He’s yours if you want him.” As if Jaime is a luxury bag from several seasons ago.
“Besides,” Ravina says, wiggling her brows at us. “Nat has Kieran now.”
“Oh, stop.” Natalia’s cheeks tinge pink. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her blush; I didn’t think it was even possible to make her feel sheepish. She’s always been so confident, so self-assured.
The image of her twisting her fists over one another fills my head. She probably knows exactly what Kieran likes—and how he likes it. The thought makes my stomach churn.
But why should it matter? It doesn’t. It shouldn’t. It can’t.
Chiara touches my wrist, pulling me out of my thoughts. “If he ever mistreats you,” she says, “just say the word, alright? I’ll beat him up myself.”
Luz hands Chiara the vape, all while wiggling her eyebrows at me. “He’s loads of fun.”
“You would know,” Erin cackles.
“What does that mean?” I ask. My voice sounds so small compared to theirs.
Chiara laughs along with them.
“Oh, God, don’t bring it up,” Luz says.
“Bring what up?” Natalia asks.
“The threesome,” Erin says.
“Oh my God, shut up!” Natalia shrieks, covering her ears.
I sink further in my seat to the sound of their squeals and laughter.
* * *
Later that night, I toss and turn in bed, unable to sleep.
The kiss plays in a loop in my head. I don’t understand why I feel so dirty about it.
It was just a kiss. It went no further. Natalia doesn’t even care.
If I were any other girl, I would jump at the chance to have a summer fling with my high school crush.
But that’s just it, right? I am who I am, and Jaime is who he is, with all the millions of miles that being ourselves entails stretching between us.
Not in the sense that I was different, or special.
Only that he’d played a hand in all the bullying that culminated in me ending up where I was a year ago.
And the fact that I’m here now to seek… what, not vengeance—reparations? In the form of inspiration?
Restless, I climb out of bed and head downstairs. I pray to God and ask for guidance. Even if Natalia said she doesn’t care about him or what he and I do, dating the ex of someone I know isn’t exactly my M.O.
I resolve to do better, be better, and to let Jaime down easy.
It isn’t right, especially knowing that part of the thrill was imagining Natalia jealous.
Even if Natalia hasn’t apologized to me for everything she’s ever put me through, even if she still calls me Sugar, she has, in her own way, welcomed me into her home.
Loving my enemy might very well be the hardest thing I ever have to do, but nobody ever said it would be easy.
I step out into the lanai and breathe in the night air. The lights are on in Kieran’s studio. That same music again. It brings me comfort to know someone else is burning the midnight oil.
What’s he doing in there, I wonder. What’s he painting? I take my phone out to search Natalia’s following on Instagram in case he posts his art online. @kieranoconnor. Private account, no icon, 0 posts, 89 followers, 30 following. I search his name. Nothing. He might as well be a ghost.
Who are you?
I lay back on the lounge chair and watch the clouds drift by.
Fireflies catch my attention; it speaks to the concrete hellscape this city’s become that the one of only few places you’d see fireflies in now are in gated subdivisions such as Exeter Park.
Watching their warm glow circle the air, I try to envision how I want tomorrow to go.
At breakfast, I’ll ask Jaime to speak with me in private.
I’ll apologize for how things ended during our walk and admit that I can’t get into anything right now—serious or otherwise.
I pray that he takes it well. Or if he doesn’t, that he won’t kick up a fuss.
I pray to God to grant me the right words so we can both leave in peace, but my focus meanders.
There’s movement behind the curtains in the pool house. Kieran’s shadow seeps out from under, and I watch it move from left to right.
What is he up to?
I get the urge to knock on his door and ask. But that didn’t go over so well last time. I don’t want to disturb him again. Still, I can’t shake the impulse away either.
Heart pounding, I head over to his door. We know each other a little better now; surely, he wouldn’t be too opposed to a quick chat? And if he’s busy, he’ll just say so. “Sorry, I can’t talk right now, I’m in the middle of something.”
I hesitate at the door. What if I interrupt and he loses his train of thought?
The door opens.
“Oh.” Kieran is dressed in a loose graphic tee and dark running shorts. There’s a smudge of charcoal on his chin, near his lips.
“Hi,” I breathe out, startled by his timing and the sight of him. “Sorry. Am I interrupting?”
He shakes his head. “I heard someone approaching.”
“Were you expecting someone?”
“No. Well, Natalia came by earlier asking to come in. I thought maybe she came back.”
Right. Of course. “Sorry,” I say. “I was going to see what you were up to, but then I realized you probably don’t want to be interrupted, so…I’ll go.” I start to leave, but Kieran’s voice stops me.
“Having trouble sleeping?” he asks.
That’s putting it lightly. My brain is on overdrive. It would take a whole bottle of melatonin and then some to knock me out. Maybe another joint. High sleep was kind of nice. “Yeah. Yeah.”
Kieran chuckles. “Yeah, me too. I’ve kind of accepted that I’m meant to be awake all night. Someone had to keep watch over the fire in ancient times, right?”
“Right.”
“I work best when it’s quiet, too. I mean, except for the music.”
“I don’t suppose the jet lag helps.”
“You would think it does. Time zones and all. But no, it doesn’t.
” He grips the edge of the door and presses his lips together.
I’m so desperate to ask him what he’s working on, if only to give me something else to think about.
I’m going to go crazy if I have to keep flitting back and forth between wondering about him and worrying about Jaime.
If I can at least get an answer to one of those things tonight, maybe I can sleep.
Kieran knocks on his side of the door. “Do you maybe want to come in?”
An answered prayer. I’d say I can’t believe it, but God never lets me down. I manage a small smile and nod. “If you don’t mind.”
“Just—give me a second.” He shuts the door and disappears into the studio. The music’s volume lowers and I hear a drawer open and close before he returns.
“Okay. Ready.” He steps aside to let me through and shuts the door behind me.
I don’t know what I’m expecting, but it’s not this.
The room has obviously been converted from a game room into his studio.
A ping-pong table has been folded up and pushed off to one side.
Plain canvases in varying sizes are propped up against it.
On an easel, there is another. If Kieran has been hard at work painting, there is no proof of it.
I turn back to look at him questioningly. He’s scratching the back of his head. “I know,” he mumbles. “I know.”
“Artist’s block?” I ask.
“Something like that.” He shuffles over to his desk and rummages through loose scraps of paper. He picks up some pencils and puts them back in a ceramic mug. When he scratches his chin, he adds another smudge of charcoal on his skin.
“Oh, you—” I reach out to swipe at it with my thumb before I can think it through. He freezes, his brown eyes piercing mine.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “You had, um, charcoal on your chin.”
He glances down at his hands. Twists them and snorts when he sees the entire lateral side of his hand is covered in charcoal.
“You were sketching?” I ask.
He tips his head from side to side. “Yeah.”
“Can I see?”
“Um—”
“It’s okay if you’re not comfortable with it,” I quickly interject. “You can just tell me what you were sketching.”
He stays quiet. The silence is uncomfortable.