Meet Me in Outer Space

by Melinda Grace

  I carefully unbuttoned the cuff, looking between his face and my fingers. He watched me closely. “Now pay attention, okay?” I grasped the cuff and pulled it up his arm to his elbow. “Pull the cuff all the way, okay? Don’t start rolling it at the wrist.”

  He nodded as he watched intently.

  I slipped my fingertips between the sleeve and his arm, the tops of my fingers brushing gently against his skin. “Then you fold this up to the bottom of the cuff.” I smoothed the fold, adjusting and smoothing again once more before gesturing for his other arm.

  “Do you want to try doing this one yourself?” I asked as I unbuttoned the other cuff. I’d been dreaming about dressing Hudson for weeks; this was the beginning of a dream come true.

  He shook his head as he watched me. “You do it,” he said, his face serious.

  “Okay.” I pulled the other cuff up to his elbow, then slipped my fingers between his arm and the shirt, taking a little longer than necessary.

  “You know I’m going to Paris this summer, probably for the fall semester, too,” I said as I tugged at a wrinkle in the cuff.

  He let out a groan in response.

  “What?” I asked with a laugh, giving his sleeve one last smoothing before settling back against the arm of the couch.

  “You,” he said as a means of explanation.

  “What does that even mean?” I asked, my smile reflecting his.

  “It means why are we talking about this?” he asked, dropping his head back against the couch, his face toward the ceiling. His knee started bouncing again.

  “I was just saying,” I said, shoving his shoulder. “Excuse me for caring about your feelings.” I kicked at his bouncing knee.

  He rolled his head my way. “You care about my feelings?” he asked with a megawatt grin I’d yet to see.

  I blushed. “No!” I said, delivering a whack to his abdomen. He caught my arm and attempted to pull me into him.

  “You care about my feelings, that’s so sweet,” he said, still trying to pull me.

  “Let me go.” I laughed as I tried to pull my arm back. He shook his head, tugging me a little harder.

  “Let me go, Impulse Control Issues,” I teased as I tugged harder. He let go and I fell back into the arm of the couch.

  “You want impulse control issues? I’ll show you impulse control issues.” He fisted my scarf, kissing me hard.

  I closed my eyes, feeling warmth spread through me as I kissed him. I’d been watching his lips for weeks in class, and now they were pressed to mine. They were everything I’d imagined. They were better than I’d imagined. My head swam. The beer taking more control than I would have liked. But I was kissing Hudson.

  I was kissing Hudson. Oh, shit.

  I pulled away, putting my hand to his chest.

  “No,” I said, my other hand pressed to my forehead and then my lips.

  He groaned in response, dropping his head back against the couch again. “That was a perfect moment, you know,” he said as he rolled his head toward me. “I’d been waiting for the perfect moment, and that was it.”

  It was a perfect moment for eight months from then.

  “You disagree?” he asked with a smirk.

  He knew I didn’t disagree. How could I dispute the fact that that had been an incredible kiss?

  “So, you agree, then?” he continued when I didn’t respond. “We just had a perfect first kiss.” He smiled at me and opened his arms, inviting me into them. I stared at him and shook my head, unsure of what exactly he wanted. His arms were spread as he opened and closed his hands.

  “Did you say first kiss? As in, you assume there will be a second kiss?” I asked, amused at the idea.

  “Oh, there will be a second kiss,” he said, his hands calling to me.

  “I am not going to cuddle with you right now,” I said. “And don’t hold your breath on that second kiss.”

  He pouted, his arms still open. His hands still beckoning.

  I released a deep breath. “Fine,” I acquiesced, adjusting to lean on him, my cheek pressed to his chest.

  He held his arms open until I’d settled, then wrapped them around me. It was an amazing sensation. The weight of his arms around me. The rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He grasped my wrist and pulled my arm across his abdomen, releasing a happy moan as I settled my arm where he put it.

  I closed my eyes. This was a bad idea, the best kind of bad idea, but still a bad idea. How long was I going to tell myself that I didn’t like Hudson, especially now that it was clear he liked me?

  “This is probably a bad idea,” I said, adjusting into him.

  “Nope. This is a great idea.” He cupped my head against his chest; I could hear the smile in his voice.

  I grinned, letting out a breathy laugh. “Can you get in trouble for this?” I asked. “The whole TA-student thing?”

  He sighed deeply, his body relaxing into the couch. “We’re a thing?”

  I smiled as I shook my head. “No, we are not a thing,” I said, tilting my head so I could see his face. “But the TA-student thing is definitely a thing.”

  “Then, no,” he said, his eyes closed. His face calm. “But I’d be willing to get into all sorts of trouble over you.”

  “Ha. Ha,” I said, resting my head against his chest again. His thumb grazed my ear and then my cheek.

  “This is getting weird,” I said, even though his touch was incredible.

  “Je sais. Ça va aller,” he whispered as his thumb grazed my cheek again.

  If we stayed like this a moment longer, he would fall asleep. And I might, too. “I’m sitting up now,” I said, half-heartedly trying to push off him.

  He held me tighter. “Nooooo,” he groaned.

  “Yessss,” I mimicked.

  He squeezed me as he adjusted into the couch more, slouching and taking me with him. “Just five more minutes,” he said.

  I bit my bottom lip. I yawned as I settled into him. “Fine, five more minutes.” I nuzzled my cheek into the softness of his shirt. “But that’s it. No falling asleep, either.” I poked him in the side playfully.

  He shied away from another poke. “Sure thing, Edie.” He breathed deeply, sleepily.

  17

  Eleven Sewing Machines Sewing

  “So, you and Hudson, huh?” Serena asked as I climbed back into bed after a much-needed trip to the bathroom.

  “It’s too early for this conversation.” I yawned, pulling the blankets over my head as I smiled to myself.

  “Uh-huh, sure,” she said, holding out the word playfully.

  “It was nothing.”

  “It definitely wasn’t nothing, Edie,” she snorted.

  “It was nothing,” I said, laughing at her snort. “It can’t be anything else.”

  There was a brief silence as Serena adjusted in her bed. “You really feel that way?” she asked.

  I smiled at my blanket again. “No, not really.”

  “Did you just giggle?” she asked.

  “No,” I said, pressing my smile into my pillow.

  “You are definitely giggling.”

  “Am not.”

  “You guys looked absolutely adorable cuddled up on the couch like that,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice. “You in that blazer and those ridiculous boots and him in the oldest flannel on the planet and dad jeans. I mean, honestly, how many plaid shirts can one person own? I bet he has dozens. Oh my God, I hope has an entire closet filled with them.” I smiled at the thought of him.

  “I’m a hundred percent sure he has an entire closet filled with them.” I rolled onto my side. “Okay, subject change. You guys are up against Bump ’N Grind tomorrow night, and I really think you should have practice this afternoon.”

  “Are you serious right now?” Serena pushed herself to sitting.

  I pushed myself to sitting as well. “Listen, when you beat them, you’ll only have one more team to beat to go into the finals.”

  “Edie Helena Kits, sh
ut up about volleyball,” she said, tossing her pillow at me. “You are not changing the subject when you just admitted that you like Hudson.”

  I swatted it away, and it landed on the end of my bed. “Serena Elizabeth Theresa O’Dell, I said no such thing.”

  “He likes you,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes. “I have work to do in the lab today; do you want to paparazzi me or what?”

  “Absolutely.” She threw her blankets off and hopped out of bed. “But this conversation isn’t over.”

  I followed suit. Throwing my blankets off and hopping out of bed. “You’re right, there is plenty more to discuss about the game against Bump ’N Grind.”

  * * *

  Eleven sewing machines chugged away as I attempted to concentrate on finishing up my fancy underwear project. I had my earbuds in, music blasting and Serena kneeling next to me taking “up-shots” of me working.

  I was sharpening a lavender-colored pencil with my hand sharpener when my text message tone momentarily interrupted the music.

  It was a text from Hudson. My heart jumped. My stomach flip-flopped. My smile exploded. I set the pencil and sharpener aside before opening the message.

  HUDSON: Hey.

  I smiled as I looked at the text.

  Serena nudged me with her hip, mouthing Hudson’s name. I nodded.

  ME: Hey.

  ME: Sorry about last night.

  Still friends?

  I picked up the lavender pencil when he didn’t respond right away and began to sharpen it. Serena reached for my phone, tugging out one of my earbuds when she read what I’d written.

  “Cold, boss,” she said, setting my phone down hard.

  “What?” I asked. I wasn’t trying to be cold. I was trying to be pragmatic.

  Serena pulled a chair behind me and hopped up. “Ten bucks says he isn’t going to respond to that.” She snapped a series of pictures from above.

  “He’ll respond,” I said, twisting to look up at her. “He always responds.”

  “If you say so,” she said as she hopped down. I watched her drag the chair back.

  My stomach sank as I waited for a response.

  I should text him again, tell him how much I like him. How funny I think he is, how awesome it would be to hang out and get to know each other better. How much I’d enjoyed his impulse-driven kiss … but then there was Paris. And sad good-byes. And regrets. And broken hearts. Texting him again would be a terrible idea.

  I stared at my phone, waiting for a text from him. I shaded in the bustline of my sketch.

  I checked my messages. I sharpened a jade-colored pencil. I shaded in some background. I stared at my phone again.

  Why wasn’t he texting me back? He’d been quick with the texts, and now, at the worst possible time, he wasn’t going to answer me?

  “Told you,” Serena said.

  I picked up my phone.

  ME: Are we still on for volleyball tonight?

  “Why?” she asked, looking over my shoulder.

  “Not helping,” I said, dropping my phone facedown on the table.

  My stomach turned. Why had I sent him that? I shouldn’t have sent him that. That was probably the last thing he wanted me to text him.

  I picked up a crimson-colored pencil and flipped to the next sketch as Serena continued to snap pictures and the music in my ears played uninterrupted.

  18

  Super Awkward, or Just, Like, Normal Awkward?

  “Hey,” Hudson said as he slipped into the desk next to me, rubbing his forehead.

  “Hey,” I said, not looking at him. I hadn’t heard from him since I texted him, apologizing. Since I asked if we could still be friends. I’d watched the door at volleyball the entire game, even missing out on a few points. Three full days. Three full days I’d been left to wonder what the heck was going on in his head. Three days I ruminated over my words and his lack of response. And three days was a long damn time.

  “That shouldn’t have happened. I know you aren’t—” He waved a hand around.

  “Don’t,” I said, looking at him and then back to my earpiece. I’d been passing it between my hands as I waited my mandatory ten minutes. “Listen, I’m not looking for a boyfriend, or a friend with benefits, because everyone knows those arrangements always end badly. I need a tutor, and that’s you.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it.

  “I’m sorry. I am. I like you and if this were eight months from now, then, trust me, we wouldn’t be having any kind of conversation like this, ever. But it’s not, and it is what it is.”

  “It’s just—” He sighed loudly, before releasing a frustrated growl; my stomach tightened in response.

  “I really like you.” He blurted the words as if they would burn his mouth if he didn’t, his eyes shooting to the front of the classroom and then back. “And I don’t believe in bad timing.”

  I lifted my head from my hand as the sounds of the room increased. “Can we just be cool?” I asked, knowing those were the wrong words the moment they were out of my mouth. “I mean, can we just, you know, rewind?”

  “Bonjour, tout le monde!” Dr. Clément said as he approached the podium and slipped the transmitter over his neck. Shuffling papers and scraping chairs took my attention away from Hudson briefly.

  He opened his mouth to respond, but he said nothing as he pushed out of the desk. Later? he mouthed as he took a step backward.

  I nodded as I slipped on my earpiece.

  * * *

  “Okay, it’s awkward,” I said to Serena as I slid into the chair opposite her in the dining hall.

  “How so?” she asked as she chewed her bagel. Today she expanded her culinary horizons to include buttered noodles; a huge pile sat on a small plate next to the other half of her bagel.

  “I hadn’t heard from him since I sent him that text, and then he plopped down next to me before class and I said that it shouldn’t have happened, and then he said he really likes me.” I picked up my sandwich with the intent to take a bite.

  “How is that awkward?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Because obviously, I am an asshole,” I said, deciding against the bite.

  “Well,” she said, “yes and no.”

  “Tell me the yes.” I crumpled up the napkin I was holding, tossing it to the side and crossing my arms.

  “You are kind of leading him on,” she said with a bite of noodles. “But, like, I mean that in a purely girls-can-do-whatever-they-want-with-a-guy-and-just-walk-away type of way. You don’t owe him anything, per se, but he’s a great guy so I kind of feel bad for him, you know?”

  I shrugged as I picked a piece of lettuce out of my sandwich and tossed it aside. “And no?”

  “Well, you told him you didn’t want anything, right? Like, he knows about Paris.”

  I looked just over Serena’s shoulder and out the windows that made up the back wall of the dining hall. It gave a perfect view of the lake across campus.

  “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

  “I did tell him, but it came out all shitty.”

  “Well, don’t you think you should tell him in a nicer, less shitty way?” she asked, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. “Or else we’re going to have another Cody on our hands.”

  I shook my head, deciding to take a bite of my sandwich, chewing as I thought it through.

  I swallowed the mouthful of food. “Part of me doesn’t want to tell him anything more than I already have,” I said. “The other part of me knows better.”

  “The part of you that doesn’t want to tell him anything more is the part of you that likes him, so that makes sense.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair. “I told him I just needed a tutor,” I said with a grimace. “Like, I actually said I didn’t want a relationship, I just needed a tutor.”

  “If you weren’t my best friend, I would call you an asshole.”

  I pushed my tray aside and rested my head in my arms. �
��Call me one anyway.”

  “Nah,” Serena said as she rummaged through her bag. “That would let you off too easy. You need to talk to him and make this right.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?” I asked, lifting my head from my arms just as she snapped a picture of my miserable face. “Noooo,” I whined, putting my face back into my arms.

  The camera clicked a few more times before Serena rummaged through her bag again, putting her camera away.

  “Just talk to him. Tell him what’s up. Be honest.” She laughed. “You know, just like you always tell me to be with Michael.”

  “Yeah, and how does it go with Michael?” I asked, my nose pressed to the table.

  When Serena didn’t respond, I said, “Besides, honesty didn’t work with Cody.” I sat up, my hunger outweighing my need to sulk.

  “That’s because you never liked Cody this much.” Serena snagged a chip off my tray and popped it into her mouth.

  “And you don’t think it’s the same situation with Hudson?” I said, swatting her hand away from taking a second chip. “You don’t think he likes me more than I like him? Like, on a scale of one to ten, he’s at an eleven and I’m just not.”

  “Edie,” she said, her chin sinking to her chest as her eyes stayed on me. “Don’t be ridiculous. You might not be at an eleven, but I haven’t seen you like this in a long time. You don’t both have to be at an eleven, and you know that, so stop asking me if it’s the same and start asking yourself.”

  19

  Do You Like Me? Circle Yes or No.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” Hudson asked the moment he stepped into the quiet room. “I know something’s wrong. Please just tell me.”

  My head shot up; I’d been looking at my phone as I waited for him. “Huh?”

  “You like me, but—” He threw his arms wide. “You’re sorry about what happened at Michael’s party? There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m not sorry I kissed you.” He smiled, his eyes shining in the bright lights of the room.

  I shushed him. “Close the door.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him as he shut the door. I barely dragged myself to this tutoring session, considering the way we’d left it at the beginning of class, but my conversation with Serena had turned me around enough to come. I had a whole speech planned, which was out the window now.