Chapter 22
We flew too close to the fake-relationship sun, earning ourselves an invitation to a double date with my parents.
“We’ll have a car pick you up next Friday,” Mom said, half distracted by typing out an email. Flooding at the high school auditorium led to the cancellation of the last town hall meeting. Dozens of people used her inbox to express their grievances.
“Sorry,” I said as soon as she was out of earshot. “We’ve done so well today that I could come up with an excuse to get us out of that later.”
“It’s fine,” David said simply. He sat down on the bench in the gazebo my enthused mother had trapped us in.
The sun had long since set, solar yard lights lining the walkway.
Sixties jazz music played from one of my cousins’ portable speakers.
They were waiting for the older folks to clear out before switching it to something obnoxiously contemporary.
“Fine, as in, you’re not overwhelmed?” I joined him on the bench, keeping my distance because our audience wasn’t hungry for an encore. “Or fine as in, you don’t mind going.”
“Both.”
I studied the dark brown of his eyes, looking for any sarcasm underneath. David further raised suspicion when he added, “Your family’s not terrible to be around. I like them.”
“You’re joking?” I smiled, folding my legs to the side with my knees pointed toward him.
The air smelled of fire from the pit Aimee insisted on lighting.
Burnt marshmallows and melted chocolate weaved into the smoke, making it feel like a proper welcome to fall, even though we were halfway through it.
“It’s not a joke,” he promised. David picked at his nails as he watched my family argue over who would get their turn in horseshoes next and who would help clean everything before the night was over.
“Can I ask what happened earlier?” I whispered, an attempt to remain gentle and avoid triggering his guard. “When you knocked over your glass at the table?”
David’s jaw clenched. He remained quiet as he watched my brother urge my mom to dance with him. She was still on the phone, trying not to laugh at his attempts at distraction.
Instead of answering my question, David said, “Despite all of this–” He gestured to the house and my family. “—I think we’re more alike than we are different.”
He met my gaze, eyes holding a kind of seriousness that did away with my need to force gentleness. I should know by now that David didn’t need me to be lighthearted. Smoothed edges didn’t impress him.
“And that’s why I couldn’t stand you all those years,” he said.
I snorted, only a bit offended, mostly amused.
“And probably why you couldn’t stand me,” David continued.
“So how did we get here?” I was anxious about this side of us. It was so new and impossible. It was like a weird dream of your childhood celebrity being so madly in love with you that you weren’t sure you could actually handle that reality.
“I’m not sure,” David matched my tone, all hushed and curious.
I waited for more. When nothing came, and his attention was redirected once more to my family, I felt my heart rate pick up. If he wouldn’t say more about it tonight, then it was up to me. I’d have to bridge our final gap.
“David, I think we should…” My throat constricted as the words struggled to push past my chest. “What I mean is… I like this feeling of… us.”
He took a beat before confessing, “So do I.”
Those three words calmed the riptide. My head resurfaced above the water.
“I’ve been thinking about how we’ve known each other for such a long time and maybe… maybe the universe kept pulling us together so we could get to this moment,” he finished.
I laughed a little because it was strange to hear him say something like that. “You don’t really believe in that. In the universe’s intervention?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No, and yes.”
“You can’t have both.”
“But that’s what we feel like,” he said without hesitation.
“And I’ve always wanted to believe in the universe.
Or something. Anything. But that always felt impossible until you started showing up everywhere.
And so, I started looking for you. We started doing this, and it started feeling like the only thing that made sense.
Being with you is the only thing I can guarantee I will seek out. ”
“I don’t know what to do next,” I confessed. “Do you?”
His forehead wrinkled. “Do we have to know?”
My laugh was dry. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t see the point.”
“Of understanding your emotions? Knowing how to interpret them so you can make the best decision for yourself? There’s no point in that?”
David shook his head. “We don’t need to come up with a five-year plan to justify a feeling, Yara. Have you ever just leapt?”
“Plenty of times. But with a parachute.”
“Some of us weren’t fortunate enough to grab one before we were pushed out.”
“I don’t mind sharing.”
He chuckled. I didn’t know how I ever sat next to him while he did that and didn’t feel some type of want. The ache in my chest spread through my veins, pleading with me to either satisfy my urge or figure out another way to sedate it.
“I have a dare,” David said.
I took a deep breath, curious but slightly disappointed in the potential change in topic. “What have you got for me this time?”
“There’s this team dinner,” he said, dipping his gaze down to his hands for a second. “Very important and daunting. I’m not great with… charm. You are. And you make me less afraid.”
The flattery bypassed my head and went straight to my heart.
“Be mine for the night,” he said. “I dare you.”
It’s not a request for a date or a clear step to a relationship. But somehow it was even more promising. More hopeful. More than us.
We passed our old middle school on the way back home. The park across the street had been updated: the swing set, see-saws, replaced with a mini rock climb, and a metal slide for a plastic one. The aching nostalgia didn’t haunt just me.
David pulled into the parking lot and wordlessly unbuckled his seatbelt. When I gave him a questioning look, he asked, “Remember when you cheated in that monkey bar race?”
I scoffed and unbuckled my seatbelt. “I did not. Why are you lying about a monkey bar race?”
“Why would you cheat?”
“Is this your way of asking for a rematch?” I opened my door, and he did the same with his.
“Fair’s fair.” He hopped out of the car.
The night’s too cold for the skirt-and-stockings pairing I have on.
But I ignored the chill in favor of seeing David’s face light up.
We walked toward the bars, slow at first. But then, he picked up the pace, and I matched his energy.
When he does it again, I enlist my arms to help push me through an impromptu speed walk.
“Remember that walking race in middle school?” David’s breath was a white cloud, his arm pumping just as fast and steady as mine.
“Yeah.” I was already huffing and puffing.
“Heel, toe,” he reminded me, and then kicked into his third gear.
I cursed under my breath, remembering the technique our gym teacher had tried to hammer into our brains. But no amount of heel or toe could help me contend with a starting university tight end.
“You… suck…” My lungs burned when I finally made it to the bars. David stood tall with his hands on his hips as I placed my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.
“We've got to get you back on the trails, Daredevil,” he said. “You used to dominate.”
“I’ve… been… a little… busy.” I needed water. Or an oxygen mask.
“Why did you stop?”
I held up a finger, practically begging him to give me a moment. He chuckled but let me have a quiet recovery.
“I stopped because I didn’t qualify for Westbrooke’s track team,” I said. “And I was a little salty about the whole thing.”
“Sounds like more than a little,” he teased.
“Would you still play football if Westbrooke didn’t take you on?”
He nodded without hesitation. “I’d find some kind of rec league.”
“Really?” I asked in surprise.
“It’s the only thing I can do to fully get out of my head and escape my repetitive thoughts,” he said. “The only thing that helps me avoid hand washing for a couple of hours. Playing’s the reason I’ve survived this long.”
My face softened. I stood up straight again. “That’s… thank you for sharing that.”
His smile was small and a little sad. But he moved on, reaching for a monkey bar and swinging back and forth. “So, are we racing or are you too winded?”
Despite my dry laugh and the growing stitch in my side, I went over the other end of the bars. Since there was only one monkey bar when we were kids, we’d race to see who’d get to the center first. A thinning area marked the middle of the mulch where other kids had taken over the tradition.
“Ready?” he called, still showing off by swinging back and forth.
I grabbed onto the cold metal and tried to suppress my wince at the slight burn. “Ready!”
“On three?”
“Three,” I agreed.
David counted us down with an obnoxious amount of energy. It was a turn-on. His energy, his smile, his willingness to do something so random just because it reminded him of old times. Of us.
“Three!” As expected, he was fast out of the gate. I tried to match his speed, but holding on was far harder as an adult. My legs had to curl up far more not to touch the ground, and my palms didn’t have the calluses I so carefully built up as a twelve-year-old with a title to defend.
David beat me by three bars, laughing as I cursed under my breath once I finally met him in the middle. We remained hanging for a second, our knees knocking into each other, a breath apart.
“Are you trying to hang on longer than me?” he figured after a couple of seconds.
“Maybe…” I managed through a strained breath.
“You are really something.” He was smiling brighter than ever.
“Trying to win at something tonight,” I grumbled.