9. Kendall #2
“Obviously,” Sylvia shoots back, joining this charade of ignoring both James and me.
“I want to know how serious they are. Should we be getting our wedding speeches ready? Or am I going to have to use my spare key to stock Kenny’s apartment with wine and mint chocolate chip ice cream?
You know, for the inevitable heartbreak James is going to incite. ”
There it is. The ineffable parts spoken out loud.
What if I spill my heart, splay the fleshy parts so he sees all the vulnerable sides of me, and he turns it down.
We’re having fun. Maybe, for him, that’s the extent of it.
Maybe this was my fear all along. I think I might have tossed aside that no-dating blueprint a little too soon.
A sudden pang hits my chest thinking about that exact blueprint and the reason behind it.
I drew it up in an attempt to slip into some normalcy here without overcomplicating things.
A life I could get used to without the added stress of a relationship.
It’s hard enough being away from home and trying out this whole “independent woman” venture.
I could really use a talk with my mom right about now.
James looks at me, rolling his eyes. It lightens the mood, but there’s still the subject matter we both have yet to discuss. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek like he’s holding back an argument, and I know it’s time to put an end to this conversation.
“Since you two are acting like we aren’t in the same room, I’m going to do you a favor and leave.” I stand, but James grabs my hand, giving it a forceful tug.
“Are you leaving?” The puppy dog pout on his face brings on a wave of guilt, and I run a soothing hand through his hair.
“No, I was just going to go to your room.”
He stands too, taking the opportunity for us to be alone again. “We’re going to…give ourselves a little privacy.”
“Have fun,” Sylvia croons over her shoulder.
We walk into James’s room without answering Sylvia and close the door firmly behind us.
I sit on the bed, and James keeps a considerable amount of distance between us. About three feet, but too much considering he was lying on top of me a few minutes ago. It’s like Sylvia’s question slithered in after us, reminding us of a conversation we’ve yet to have.
“Sorry about that.”
James slowly makes his way over to me, moving like he’s approaching a scared kitten. “You don’t need to be sorry,” he tells me.
I draw my knees up to my chin. “Should we talk?”
“We can,” he offers with a stoic shrug. He provides the opening, always the kind, patient gentleman. A pause for me to tell him about all my fears, my hopes and dreams, but no words come out. “Or we don’t have to.”
I tilt my head and smile, wondering how to do this. This transition from casual to something more. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I straighten out my legs, and my toes reach his thigh. It might appear insignificant, but it’s my form of a truce. A back-and-forth swish of a white flag to let him know we can meet in the middle, come to terms we can both be happy with, whatever that may be.
“I guess,” he answers, his voice still unsure. It matches his body language, moving with caution as he moves an inch closer. “I can start.”
“Please,” I urge. I cock my head to the side, and we smile at each other. We can do this.
“I…I really like you.”
“I like you, too,” I confess.
Our hands touch, fingertips brushing against fingertips. We’re testing the waters, letting it ripple before deciding if we should dive in.
“And do you think…we’re moving too fast?” he asks, another question spoken with prudence.
“No, I don’t,” I tell him honestly. It might feel like it when we measure time. Seconds to minutes to hours. Especially when we consider how long we’ve known each other, but it doesn’t feel fast at all. In fact, it feels like the complete opposite. And I think that’s what scares me.
“Okay,” he says. “So, we aren’t moving too fast. Do you feel like we’re moving too slow?”
I silently shake my head, unable to refute that question as strongly. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
I scoot to him, perching myself on his lap. He positions himself to fit me perfectly. My butt on his thighs with my feet tucked in so I’m a little ball of anxiety in his arms. A nervous mess, but his nervous mess.
“I didn’t come here looking to meet someone,” I say.
I look at him, hoping if he sees me like this, vulnerable and honest, he knows I’m not hiding anything.
I’m being as truthful as possible. “My mom married my stepdad last year, and up until then, it was always just me and her. She’s my best friend, and watching her find someone and having to share her attention with him was… a bit of an adjustment period.”
He smooths my hair away from my face when I pause. It’s followed by a placating kiss to my temple. An encouraging way to let me know he’s still listening. I have the floor, and he’s there to hear every word.
“I’m really happy for her,” I continue. “I really am. Javier is amazing and he makes her so happy, but I realized I need to stop depending on her. I need to be able to be on my own. I need to find my own place in a world that doesn’t revolve around her.”
“You miss her,” he states.
I nod. “It’s so silly because she’s there. She’s alive and healthy—”
“But things just aren’t the same.”
I nod again. He gets it. “And when Sylvia told me about this teaching position, I figured it was a way for me to figure out who I am without my mom.
“Anyway, I just thought you should know that. I don’t want you to think that finding someone and settling down was on my checklist or something. But as much as I wasn’t looking for something, I really like you.”
He kisses me. It’s soft and gentle. And simple. “We like each other, and that’s it.”
“Yeah,” I agree. Because it’s true. I like him, and he likes me, and that’s it. That’s all that matters. Whatever labels or titles society—or Sylvia—expects us to slap on can go all the way to hell. We’re happy, and that’s all that matters.
Until we’re knocked sideways with the biggest surprise of our lives, and something more important becomes the center of our attention.