Chapter 25
KENDALL
Joan and I inspect each other before we step out of my apartment door. The temperature has started to dip into winter territory, so we’re dressed in layers, but I’ve tried to jazz things up with a sparkly top. Joan’s wearing a more practical sweater.
We’re going to a party for some of the incoming med students—the ones who live near enough, that is.
I wanted a friend with me for moral support, especially given my fragile emotional state.
I don’t want to drink too many Palomas and sob to one of my future classmates.
Maria was free tonight, and she said she’d go if I really needed her to, but that in actuality she’d rather “carve out one of her kidneys” than go to a party where she didn’t know anyone.
Graphic, but effective. I won’t subject my introverted friend to something that will make her uncomfortable, so luckily Joan ended up being free.
“Are you sure we won’t know anyone there?” Joan tucks her hair behind her ear on our way to her car. The full moon highlights her blonde mane in the dark parking lot. “Is this just for other med students?”
“As far as I know, there won’t be any faculty there. I do think some of the more senior med students will be around. One of them organized it, actually. Not sure who else they invited.” I open the passenger door to Joan’s car. “I hope I’m not, like, the oldest person here.”
“You’ll be the coolest person there. That’s the important thing.”
I laugh. “Whatever you say.” I stare out my window, up at the night sky.
“I hope this cheers you up,” Joan says. “I’ve been worried about you.”
I turn back to her. We drive through a nice neighborhood with large homes and little lights framing walkways, and I think of Grant’s place back home.
I think we gave him way too much power, honestly.
Huge homes, wealthy zip codes, are common in the city.
He would have been just another reasonably well-off kid here.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”
I can pick up on her rolling her eyes even in the dark.
“Let me rephrase that,” I say. “I’m still working on accepting help. But I’m glad you care about me.”
She smiles.
We get to the event space, a large bar complex with games and various sections for activities, and walk up to the entrance.
I read online that this place has a golf simulation (at which Joan will excel and I will be terrible) and karaoke (which I will enjoy and Joan won’t touch with a ten-foot pole).
Music drifts from speakers mounted in corners.
No one’s on the stage yet, a wooden platform on one side of the room.
Other rooms boast things like mini-bowling, the golf simulation I read about, and more traditional bar stuff like darts and pool tables.
Old signs and Americana accents decorate the black walls, and pendant lights illuminate a long, wooden bar top.
We find the guy who contacted me, one of the older med students, and introduce ourselves.
We mingle with some of the other incoming students—all a few years younger than me, as predicted—and I start to actually have fun, something I haven’t been capable of for weeks now.
I drink some delicious cocktail made with gin and jalapeno.
Once people start taking the stage, Joan urges me to sign up, and I oblige, of course.
Even with the excitement of meeting my new comrades, though, an ache still sits behind my breastbone. I miss Grant. God, I miss him. I want him here with me, at my elbow, whispering encouragement in my ear. I’ve come to a decision, and I’m going to call him as soon as I leave.
My name gets called after about an hour of socializing. Joan nudges me.
“Go get ’em,” she says.
I wind my way through some of the gathered crowd. Nerves flutter in my stomach, a phenomenon that’s never gone away before I get on stage, and I take another sip of my drink to settle myself.
I climb the steps to the little platform. When I turn back to look at Joan, a shocking scene greets me. Time crawls.
Grant. He’s here. He speaks urgently with Joan, who listens with intermittent nods. I stare. Are they talking about me?
Of course they are, though. He must be asking for advice.
Something turns over in my brain. My legs freeze. A slice of pain knocks the breath out of me.
It’s clear who Grant is now. That’s been clear for months. It’s me who can’t let go of my past picture of him. I’ve been so stubborn I’m getting in the way of my own happiness.
The DJ clears his throat. “Come on up, Kendall.”
I startle, then keep walking toward the stage and up the little steps to the platform. Grant locks eyes with me.
He drinks me in, scanning me up and down like he can’t get enough of me.
I’m doing the same thing. I want to smooth out the piece of blond hair that sticks up on one side.
I want to kiss him. His tan coat falls over a pair of dark blue jeans, and I want to wrap myself up in it.
He’s beautiful, this man, and the few weeks away from him have heightened the impact of him, not just his hotness but also the energy around him. He’s a force field drawing me in.
I bring the microphone to my lips. I’ve chosen a Cranberries song, and though my voice doesn’t sound like the lead singer’s, it’s one of my favorites. I keep looking at Grant as the first notes play.
He doesn’t look away, either. I’m serenading him, and despite my earlier assertion about how I don’t do that, I can’t help pouring my raw emotions into the melancholy lyrics, hoping my intent comes across. My heartache’s on display.
My eyes start to well up toward the end, and Grant strides purposefully toward me. He meets me at the bottom of the platform.
“Can we talk?” He edges closer to me.
“I think that’s a good idea.” My throat stings. I look around. “What brought you here?”
“I knew you’d be here. One of the older med students mentioned it to some of the residents. And I figured this would be a neutral space, better than showing up at your apartment, in case you want to tell me to fuck off.”
I laugh, but it’s a sad sound. “Grant,” I say, “I’m not going to do that. In fact, I was going to call you after this.”
His eyes widen, and my heart punches against my ribs.
I search for Joan and mouth “are you okay?” at her, but she shoos me away.
She’s talking to one of the med students, presumably someone she knows if their gestures are any indication.
The crowd swells around her, and with her height, her hair, and her general affability, she’s like sunshine come to life. No wonder Lucas loves her.
“Can we go outside for a minute?” I touch the sleeve of Grant’s coat. His head snaps down like he can’t believe I’m actually touching him.
He follows me out one of the side doors. Given the temperature, no one’s out here, so we’ve got a little alcove to ourselves.
“I want to go first,” I tell him. I shiver, and he steps toward me, but thinks better of it and lets his hands hang at his sides. “I miss you.” My voice cracks, and dammit, why does that keep happening?
This time he surges forward. My hands loop around him, inside his coat so that I’m enveloped in it like I imagined earlier. I lay my head against his chest.
“I want to try this again. For real,” I say.
He leans back. He tips my chin up, but I don’t have far to go to be eye level with him. “You sure?”
I nod. “Positive.” I bite my lip. “I mean, if you are.”
“Kendall,” he moans. Our lips find each other.
It’s shock, comfort, and euphoria all rolled into one, the nerves in my lips singing like they’ve never been alive until now.
Every cell in my body breathes a sigh of relief.
He angles his head to deepen the kiss. He’s shaking, frantic, trembling as his hands run up and down my arms, squeezing intermittently as though he’s reassuring himself I’m real.
He breaks away. “I came to tell you I can’t stand my life without you. That I’m yours. I don’t know what else I was going to say other than that. I just hoped you’d be receptive.” His face softens when he glimpses my pained expression. “I’m serious. I’ve been a goddamn mess.”
“Well”—I touch his lips with my finger, which pinkened with our kissing, and let my hand trail down his collarbone—“I’ve been the same way.” My breath puffs in the cold air. “Did you have a big speech?”
“Yes, but it all went out the window when I saw you. It’s like you scramble my brain.” He grins. “I thought about singing to you, but Joan confirmed you would hate that.”
I shudder. “That was a good call. I don’t need you to humiliate yourself for me.”
“Who says my voice isn’t good?”
My breath turns visible with my huff of laughter. “Even if it is, I have a feeling you would hate being on display like that.”
“True.” He tips forward and hugs me again. His strong arms band around me, and I feel like nothing could ever be wrong as long as we stay like this. “You want to go get something to eat? If you’re ready to leave, that is?”
I tilt back again. “Let me make sure Joan’s okay to drive home solo. I don’t want to just ditch her.” I have a feeling she’ll be enthusiastic about this, but I don’t say that. “And then we’ll get out of here.”
“I know this isn’t the fanciest place in the world,” he says.
“It’s too bad I’m used to such fine dining, then,” I tell him.
I smile, but a flash of memory arises, one involving Blaine and I eating leftover hot dogs from a concession stand when he worked at a ballpark early in high school.
I’ve never been snobby about food, and I won’t start now. I’m always just happy to have it.
“It’s delicious.” He walks with me to the counter of the late-night diner so we can order. It’s one of those places with the track menu boards and block lettering featuring various fried foods. “So it’s got that going for it.”
We chat about nothing while we wait for our food. Once we have plates in front of us, he gives me a direct stare.
“Are we actually doing this?” he asks.