by Staci Hart
I looked down at my hand where it rested on the table, feeling like a fool. “I’m sorry, Adrienne.”
She put up a hand. “Don’t be, really. I mean, I’m not going to pretend like I’m not disappointed. But I wanted to see where it goes, and here it is.”
See where it goes. The words rang through my brain. All I needed was to be brave enough to make a move, a real move on Cam, consequences be damned. Because I couldn’t shake her, not now. Not until I knew for sure.
She watched me. “You just realized it, didn’t you?”
I nodded.
“Well, then I’d call dinner a success. Just not in the way I’d been hoping.” She took a sip of her wine, and the server brought our dinner, setting it in front of us, warm and steaming.
I wasn’t even sure I could eat — the pit in my stomach seemed to occupy all the space.
“So,” she said matter-of-factly, picking up her fork, “what are you going to do about it?”
I watched her for a second and took a drink. “Isn’t this weird for you, Adrienne?”
“A little,” she said with a shrug. “But I want to help. So, what’s your plan?”
I shook my head, sighing. “I … I don’t even know. You have to understand that Cam is dead set against a relationship on the grounds that we’re too different. I’m not sure how to broach the subject with her. I’m not even sure exactly how I feel, other than a little dizzy.”
She chuckled and speared a potato wedge. “You don’t talk to a lot of people about this sort of thing, do you?”
“None. Just Cam. I can’t exactly sort it out with her though.”
“No, not this time.” She slipped the fork into her mouth, chewed and swallowed as she thought. “What’s stopping you?”
“She compared me to her brother earlier today, is that enough of a reason?”
She winced. “Maybe. Do you think she meant it?”
I sighed, staring at my food. “Sometimes I get these … I don’t know, vibes from her. I know she’s attracted to me, but she denies having any feelings for me that aren’t strictly platonic. And if I don’t handle this carefully, it could blow up in my face. She’s my roommate, for God’s sake.”
Adrienne nodded. “And one of your closest friends, it would seem.”
“And that.”
“And you could lose her.”
My heart squeezed tight. “And that,” I said softly.
“Well, the way I see it, you have two options.”
I picked up my fork and poked at the grilled broccoli on my plate briefly before setting the utensil down again.
“You can tell her how you feel, or you can leave.”
I frowned. “I can’t just keep it to myself?”
“Nope. You’ll implode from the pressure. Once you know, that’s it. You can’t un-ring the bell. The knowledge alone changes everything, and there’s no going back.”
“I don’t want to leave,” I answered solidly.
Her dark eyes met mine. “Then you know what you have to do. Honestly, you could still end up having to leave. If she doesn’t want you the same way that you want her, it would mean the end of it all anyway.”
It was sound logic — I could find no fault other than that being honest about my feelings with Cam scared the hell out of me. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a wise woman?”
She laughed, white teeth flashing. “A time or two. One thing about being the boss is that you learn how to see the available options and outcomes on the fly. You learn how to pull the trigger with the knowledge that you’ve made the best decision, even when it’s terrifying.”
I felt my way through my thoughts, looking for the path to the answer. “I can’t just go in guns blazing, but I don’t think I need some grand plan to tell her how I feel, either. I have no idea what to do,” I said half to myself.
“I think you’ll know, when the time is right.”
I nodded, picking up my fork again. This time, I took a bite. She made it sound so simple — the thought filled me with hope and fear and uncertainty. But Adrienne was right. I had to tell her. I imagined it as I ate in silence, her rejection. Her acceptance. Her happiness. Because that was really all I wanted. Her happiness was my very own, and if what she said was true, if she really believed us to be so different that she couldn’t think of me as more than a friend, then I would find a way to accept that.
I wouldn’t lose her friendship. We would find a way through it together. Because I’d regret it until the end of my days if I didn’t tell her what she meant to me.
I swallowed and drank my wine. “Thank you, Adrienne. I’m sorry, really. I’ve never had a date quite like this before.”
“It’s all right. I have to admit I was crushing on you pretty hard for a second there.” She chuckled. “The hunt continues. I’m sure Mr. Right is just around the corner. Maybe I’ll even enlist Cam’s help.”
“Just keep coming to singles night. I’m sure she’ll have you set up by Christmas.”
Adrienne laughed. “A girl can hope.”
Dinner passed easily, though my mind was on Cam. I longed for a moment to myself before I went home, and after I walked Adrienne to her apartment, I made my way through the streets to our building, circling it a few times before working up the courage to go in. Partly, I hoped she’d already be asleep. Partly, I didn’t know what I’d say, if I’d even say anything.
But mostly, I knew that when I walked through our door, nothing would be the same.
YES/NO/MAYBE
Cam
EVERYTHING’S FINE, I TOLD MYSELF as I raised a hand to knock on Mrs. Frank’s door, smile firmly in place, happy for something — anything — to distract me from thinking about Tyler and Adrienne.
Kafka went ballistic, his bark high and loud, and I heard Mrs. Frank approach, shushing him along the way.
She opened the door with her face soft, skin like cream, wrinkled in a way that didn’t look weathered, her wispy white hair in a bun pinned on top of her head. Kafka bolted out, running in circles around me.
“Cam!” she said with a friendly smile, holding out her knobby hands for me. “What a surprise. Come in, come in.”
“Hi, Mrs. Frank.” I leaned into her arms, my hands full of food containers, and I kissed her on the cheek. The sweet scent of rose oil hit my nose, a familiar smell that always reminded me of her.
Kafka barked, hopping and scratching at my leg.
“Oh, come here, you brute,” she said, bending to scoop the little Yorkie into her arms, and I followed her inside.
It was always like walking into a time capsule, the story of her life as told by her belongings. She had depression era china and glassware that she’d told me actually contained radioactive material. A tea set from occupied Japan. Lamps from the sixties, quilts that she’d crocheted. Every single thing in her home had a story, and I’d heard dozens of them.
“I made some spicy white chili for you,” I said as I followed her through the apartment, her frame even smaller than mine under a velvet dressing gown, embroidered with flowers.
She glanced back at me over her shoulder with a brow up. “Really spicy or Cam spicy?”
I chuckled. “Well, I could stomach it, so probably not spicy enough. I packed some extra fresh jalapeños though. Oh, and I made cookies. Cornbread too.”
“White or yellow?”
“White. Is there really any other kind?”
She laughed and set Kafka down, turning to take the plastic containers from me. “No, there isn’t.”
Mrs. Frank shuffled to the fridge and packed away the soup, leaving the cornbread and cookies on the counter. She opened the plastic bag with the cookies in it and snagged one, taking a big bite as she turned.
“Mmm,” she moaned appreciatively. “At my age, you always eat dessert first. It’s a God-earned right.”
She pulled out a chair and sat, and I took a seat next to her.
“It’s sweet of you to think of me, Cam. I’m glad for the company. Ka
fka too. He gets bored with just me to keep him company … I can’t even take the poor boy on a walk anymore.” She waved her hand. “Getting old is for the birds.”
“‘Time can’t change me, but I can’t trace time,’ as David Bowie would say.”
“He was a very, very wise man. Tell me what’s new. How’s work? How’s Tyler? Tell me some stories about youth and love.” Her blue eyes were dreamy, so blue they were almost grey.
“Well, work is great, and everything is going well. We did another singles night a couple of nights ago that was a smash, a costume party.”
“Oh,” she said, her cheeks flushing, “I love a good costume party.”
“I think nearly everyone does. It’s fun to pretend. You should come.”
She laughed and waved me off.
“I’ve been making matches at work still, including Tyler.” My voice was tight, even I heard it, and Mrs. Frank raised a brow.
“Oh?”
I smiled, but it was paper thin. “Yeah, and the girl I set him up with is something else. You’d like her. She’s strong and beautiful, but somehow soft and kind too. She complements him well, and I’m really happy for him that it’s working out.”
She nodded and took a bite of her cookie. “How long have you been trying to convince yourself of that?”
I blushed. “Since yesterday.”
She smirked. “And Tyler really likes her?”
“He seems to. Why wouldn’t he?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I sort of thought maybe he was holding out for you.”
I shook my head, embarrassed. “No, you’ve got that all wrong.”
“I don’t think it’s all that wrong.”
“He and I aren’t the same.”
She raised a brow. “Since when does that matter?”
I frowned. “Since always. He should be with tall, pretty girls like the one he’s on a date with, not dorky midgets like me.”
Mrs. Frank polished off her cookie and dusted off her hands before picking Kafka up. “That’s just silly, Cam.”
“When girls like me get mixed up with guys like him, they get hurt. I’m not interested in being hurt.”
Her fingers massaged the dog’s ears, and he closed his eyes, leaning into her hand. “You think Tyler would hurt you?”
“Not on purpose.”
“Hmm,” was her only response.
“It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s on a date as we speak with a girl who’s absolutely, unerringly amazing.”
“Well, I’ll give you my advice, not that you asked for it. But when you’re ninety-four, aside from having dessert first, you also know to say your piece because who knows if you’ll get another chance.”
I chuckled, and she smiled.
“You can hem and haw about Tyler until the end of days and it won’t change the way you feel or the way he does. You’re not the type to shy away from a problem — you’re the sort that meets it head on. You’re as unstoppable as a Category 5 hurricane. So why shy away from Tyler? You care for him.”
“I do care for him, but not like that.”
She gave me a look at said she knew better.
My cheeks were hot. “Well, I mean who wouldn’t be attracted to him? You’ve seen him.”
She sighed. “Yes, I have. Have you seen yourself?”
I didn’t answer.
“If you care for him, you can’t wait. Life’s too short. Take it from someone at the end of the road looking back.”
“But,” I argued, “he’s on a date. One that I set up.”
She shrugged. “Maybe it’ll work out. Maybe it won’t. Just think about it. Don’t pass up the opportunity just because you’re scared.”
I thought about him almost kissing me the night before and wondered what would have happened if I’d let him, if I hadn’t pulled away. I thought about his lips against mine, imagined how they would feel.
But I wasn’t ready for that disappointment. Don’t date anyone not on your shelf, I told myself, as if repeating it could make it easier to follow through with.
So I thanked her and smiled, changing the subject to her, asking for a story of her past, and she happily obliged with a tale from when she was growing up on a farm in Texas during the depression.
It wasn’t long before she was tired, so I hugged her, squeezing her small body tight before petting Kafka on the head and leaving for my own apartment.
I trudged down the stairs, uncertainty seeping into me, stealing the joy from talking with Mrs. Frank. And the first thing I did after changing into leggings and a T-shirt was hop up on the counter with a gallon of double chocolate fudge and a brain full of what-the-fuck.
I shoved the spoon into the carton crammed between my thighs.
To say I was confused would have been the understatement of the century. I wanted his date with Adrienne to work out so I could hold faith in the universal rules I held to be true. I wanted it to be lukewarm so he could still be single and I wouldn’t have to share him. I wanted it to be a disaster so he’d come home and see me. I mean, really see me. See me as more than just good ol’ Cam, and when he was completely sober.
But I wasn’t … I don’t know. Enough. Sophisticated enough. Sexy enough — at all, if I were being honest with myself. I wasn’t even tall enough, for God’s sake. I was just a fairy-boned dork in glasses with her nose in a book and her head in the clouds.
I turned on music, and even the shuffle on my phone knew I was a mess, playing a random assortment of music from Tool to Chuck Berry, and somehow, every word and every note made me think of Tyler.
I shoveled a rude bite of ice cream into my mouth and ate it too fast, sending a shock of pain behind my eyes and around my head in a burst. Through the blinding pain of the brain freeze, I reached for my glass and chugged the warm water, holding my breath for the second it took to warm my head back up.
What? I’m a pro ice cream binger. I come prepared.
I was halfway into the gallon when decided I should probably stop. I took another bite, rolling the freezing chocolate around in my mouth. I figured I should go to bed. Maybe read a book. I shoveled my loaded spoon into my mouth again, nodding in solidarity. But first, I would definitely stop eating.
So I took another bite. For good measure, and all.
I heard his key in the door and looked toward the sound with wide eyes, not expecting him home so soon. I didn’t move otherwise, not with my thoughts flying through my brain at the speed of light.
When he stepped through the door, he looked … different. Like his body was charged up and tight, determined, but a spark of fear flickered behind his eyes. Eyes that locked on mine with an intensity I didn’t anticipate. Intensity that stopped my heart.
He didn’t break the silence between us, just closed the door and locked it, deposited his wallet and keys on the small table near the door.
I ripped myself out of the trance unwillingly, my eyes finding the ice cream for a distraction as I dug in for a gigantic scoop.
“Hey. How’d it go with Adrienne? Tell me I was right about her.” I stuffed the spoon in my mouth and closed my lips, pulling it out without fanfare, though there was too much to eat at once. I looked up as I pulled the remaining lump out, lips parting as I scraped the top layer of ice cream off.
His eyes weren’t on mine. They were on my lips.
“You were right about her. She’s great, Cam.” His tone was obscure, but his words told me enough.
I smiled and swallowed, feeling the cold move down into my chest. “Told you. Did she look great? Tell me she showed off her legs,” I chattered, my voice a little too high. “The girl’s got some stems.” Shut up, Cam. Stop asking. Stop talking, for God’s sake. The spoon entered my mouth again to stop anything else from coming out.
He nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets, making no motion to sit. It made me nervous for some reason, and I felt the blood rush to my cold cheeks. “She looked great. She’s beautiful, Cam. Smart. Funny. Gives good advice, too. We hav
e a lot in common. It was a good match.”
My laugh sounded like horse-laugh Julia. “Good. I mean, I knew she would be. You guys are basically perfect together, you know? The first second I saw you and her together, I just knew it.” I kept rambling as I dug my spoon back into the ice cream with an edge of violence. “Did you kiss her?” I tried to sound innocuous, but it came out a little like an accusation.
Ice cream in.
He watched me, the look in his eyes enigmatic. “No. Are you jealous?”
I laughed again nervously, hanging my mouth open, hoping I looked gross enough that he’d stop watching me like he was. “No. I mean, why would you even say that? Jealous.” I swallowed and blew air out between my lips so they flapped. “Everything’s fine, Tyler. So fine. I set you up with her. I basically want you to make little beautiful babies who play football or win beauty pageants or are supermodels because your kids would have like the longest legs in the whole world. I even want you to kiss her, if you haven’t already. Have you?” I asked, not giving him time to answer before saying, “No, I don’t care, because I’m not jealous. You should kiss her. You should leave here right now and go over there and kiss her instead of looking at me like that, because when you look at me like that, I want you to kiss me instead.”
I froze.
He didn’t.
He sprang to life from still as stone, moving across the room, around the table with burning eyes and a small, crooked smile.
“You want me to kiss you?” he asked, closing the distance.
“I — no, that’s not what I meant.” I stammered. “Yes. I mean, no! Maybe.”
He stopped in front of me, pressing his hips against the counter between my knees, spreading them apart. His hand found my cheek, and he said softly, “You want me to kiss you right now, Cam?”
“I…” I breathed, looking up into his eyes, unable to say anything, drunk from the proximity of his lips. But he didn’t wait for me to speak. I think he already knew the answer without me having to say a word.
He inched closer until his nose trailed up the bridge of mine, his lips so close that I could feel them — every nerve reached for him. If I’d moved a half an inch, our lips would have met, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe as I sat on the counter in my kitchen with Tyler Knight’s hand in my hair, his breath mingling with mine, with nothing to separate us save a few layers of clothes and a gallon of ice cream. And after that long, stretched out moment, he kissed me.
