Nathan didn’t strike me as being in a rush to purchase a kitty sweater anytime soon. I wondered if he had ever doodled a cat in a sweater. I bet he had.
“Euclid,” he said, a corner of his mouth lifting. “Dorky, I know.”
No argument there, but it was also incredibly endearing. My throat felt tight. “It’s a good name,” I said. “I mean, I couldn’t get away with naming my cat after the father of geometry. But that’s just because I failed it in high school.”
“Twice. I know.” He looked up. Until that moment, we’d both been watching the desk, as if waiting for Euclid to come out. Or, in my case, praying that he would. As long as I could focus on the cat, I could ignore the rapid beating of my heart.
Now there was no ignoring it. It was like a tribal drum. I wondered if Nathan could hear it. I wondered if you could overdose on emotion.
“You must be asking yourself why I’m here,” I said, leaning awkwardly against his dresser. The only way for us to sit down together would be to climb up on the bed, and there was no way to suggest that without being really awkward.
“It crossed my mind.” He didn’t make a move to sit, either, even though there was a standard-issue Stiles desk chair right next to him. It was as if he didn’t expect me to stay long. Or didn’t want me to.
A little of my bravery vanished with the sight of that wooden chair. I glanced around the room. “So this is where you live?” I asked, my voice a horrible imitation of casual.
“For now,” he said.
It was even smaller than legend had described it, and it already seemed stamped by Nathan, and for that reason alone it was the most inviting, intimidating room I’d ever been in. I realized Nathan hadn’t been lying earlier when he said he was going to unpack boxes—several open ones were scattered around the living room, and dirt streaked his plain white T-shirt.
“So you’re just going to live alone?”
“I might get an apartment next year,” he said. “I have some money my dad left me, and I tutor a few times a week to earn some extra cash.”
“Oh.” Another thing I hadn’t known.
“Leigh?”
I looked up. “Yes?” My voice was breathy, expectant.
“I really have a lot to do.”
The last of my bravery deflated like a balloon the day after a birthday party. Had I really thought he was going to be happy to see me? He would rather unpack boxes than spend five minutes in my presence.
“Right,” I said, pinning a smile on my face.
“Right,” he repeated, more to himself than to me.
He didn’t need to walk me to the door, since it was about eight inches from where he was standing. So instead he just leaned against it, his hand on the knob, and he and I were so close I could feel my entire body hum. I wished I were the kind of person who could just move in for a kiss. In many ways, it would have been so much easier than trying to find the words. But that just wasn’t me.
His eyes were a dark forest green as he looked down at me, as if compelling me to…what? Kiss him? Leave? I couldn’t tell.
Say something, say something. I cleared my throat.
“I came here to tell you…” I thought about my next words carefully. Finally I glanced up at him, my gaze holding his. “Remember that Incomplete Sentences paper?”
He smiled—slightly, but it was a smile. I took hope from it. “I remember.”
“I didn’t know my happiest time, because it hadn’t happened yet,” I said. “It was when I was with you.”
His face was still. “Leigh…”
But I wasn’t going to be stopped, not now. The words had to be said, and I knew if I heard what he was about to say, I might never say them.
“I wanted you to know that,” I said. “Whatever else happens…that night, sitting with you under the stars…those moments on the porch steps…I was really, really happy.”
He closed his eyes. “Leigh, don’t,” he said.
I remembered another time he’d said that. He’d been guiding my hands away from the broken glass of the confetti globe, protecting me from the shards of Andrew’s and my relationship. Then his voice had been soft, tender even. Now it was just ragged.
It should have shut me up. It should have given me the message: He doesn’t want to hear it. He couldn’t care less. But something in his voice told me he could definitely care less—a lot less, and it spurred me on. “No, you need to know this,” I said forcefully. “It kind of freaked me out how much you seemed to understand about me, even before Arizona. It made me want to protect myself, even if it meant that I wasn’t completely honest with you. But now, I have to be.”
I took a deep breath. I’d always been a wader. It was time I did a cannonball. “These are things you should know about me: sometimes when I shave my legs, I miss the strip on the back of my calf. I cry when the beginning credits of My Girl roll, because I know how it’s going to end. I did not have sex with Andrew. I don’t think I really wanted to.”
Something in Nathan’s eyes flickered then, but still he was silent.
“And I lied when I told you I could never think of you as anything but Andrew’s roommate. Nathan, I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve tried, but I can’t.”
“So then, how can I trust you now?” Nathan asked. His tone was light, but his face was guarded.
Now would be an ideal time for that kiss, my brain whispered, but I couldn’t take the coward’s way out.
“Because,” I said simply, “I’m in love with you.”
At first he just stood there, looking down at me. As many times as I tried to tell myself that what was important was being honest, and not necessarily the way he reacted, I could feel the first tendrils of devastation curl around my heart. It felt cold and shriveled in my chest. But still I wouldn’t wish the words back.
Finally he smiled. “You have no idea,” he said, “how much I’ve thought about you saying that.” And then he did what I hadn’t had the nerve to do. He pushed his hands in my hair, and kissed me.
I would’ve been fine with making out for the rest of the day, but eventually he pulled back. His hands cradled my face, and his green eyes were serious on mine. “I love you, too,” he said. He gave me a crooked smile. “And as genius as Bono is, I don’t mean the band. I knew I wanted to be with you the first moment I saw you, looking up at the stars.”
He leaned in for another kiss, and for a moment I felt some of my old fears and insecurities creep back. What if Nathan discovered that the reality of me didn’t live up to his ideal? Could we last through four years of college? What if we didn’t get in to the same grad school? Would our relationship survive?
But then his mouth covered mine, and every feeling evaporated from my body except for that tingly flutter in my stomach that sent goose bumps all over my body. To hell with it. I wrapped my arms around Nathan’s neck and kissed him back.
“Nathan,” I breathed. I wanted to tell him how good this felt. I wanted to tell him how happy he made me. I wanted to tell him that this was no transitory thing, that I could finally see a future. And it was him.
“I know,” he said. “Me, too.”
Psych Major Syndrome Page 25
