Love and Other Words

by Christina Lauren

  “No.”

  I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

  “I don’t really know,” I told him. “Any particular reason you’re asking me this in September?”

  Elliot rolled to his side to face me, his head propped in his hand. “I’d just like to get you something nice. Something you want.”

  I put my book down and rolled to face him, too. “You don’t have to get me anything, Ell.”

  He made a frustrated sound and sat up. Pushing up off the carpet, he moved to stand. I reached out, wrapping my hand around his wrist. The light, lusty mood between us had been only on my end, apparently.

  “Are you mad about something?”

  Elliot and I didn’t fight, really, and the idea that something between us was off tilted my internal balance, making me feel immediately anxious. I could feel his pulse like a steady drum beneath his skin.

  “Do you think about me when you’re back there?” His words came out sharp, exhaled roughly.

  It took me a second to process what he meant. When I was back home. Away from him. “Of course I do.”

  “When?”

  “All the time. You’re my best friend.”

  “Your best friend,” he repeated.

  My heart dipped low in my chest, almost painfully. “Well, you’re more, too. You’re my best everything.”

  “You kissed me this summer and then acted like nothing happened.”

  This came at me like a blade to my lungs. I closed my eyes and covered my face with my hands. It had happened like that. After I kissed him in his kitchen, I’d made everything go back to how it was: reading on the roof in the morning, lunch in the shade, swimming in the river. I’d felt his eyes on me, the shaking restraint of his hands. I remembered how warm his lips had been, and the way I felt like a lit fuse when he growled into my mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Why are you sorry?” he asked carefully, crouching down beside me. “Are you sorry because you didn’t like kissing me?”

  I felt my hands flush cold, looking at him in shock. “Did it feel like I didn’t like it?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging helplessly. “It felt like you liked it. A lot. And I did, too. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, Mace, and then you just…” He scowled at me, face tight. “You got weird.”

  My thoughts got all tangled – the memory of Emma beside him in the driveway and the panic I always felt when I imagined him leaving my life for good. “I mean, there’s Emma —”

  “Fuck Emma,” he said, voice rough, and it surprised me so much that I leaned back on my hands, tilting away from him.

  Elliot looked immediately remorseful and reached to move a strand of hair out of my face. “Seriously, Mace. There’s nothing going on with me and Emma. Is that really why you don’t want to talk about what happened with us in the kitchen?”

  “I think it’s also that it scares me to think of messing this up.” Looking down, I added, “I’ve never had a boyfriend – or anything. You’re, like, the only person other than Dad who really matters to me, and I’m honestly not sure I could handle it if I didn’t have you in my life.”

  When I closed my eyes at night, the only thing I could see was Elliot. Most nights I was desperate to call him just before I fell asleep, so I could hear his voice. I hated to think beyond the next weekend, because I wasn’t sure how our futures were going to align. I imagined Elliot going away to Harvard, and me going somewhere in California, and we’d slowly turn into vague acquaintances. The idea was repellent.

  When I met his eyes again, I noticed the hard line of his mouth had softened. He sat down in front of me, his knees touching mine.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Mace.” He picked up my hand. “I need you the same way you need me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Elliot looked at my hand in his and moved our palms so they were pressed together, lacing our fingers.

  “Do you think about me?” I asked. Now that he’d raised it, the question gnawed at me.

  “Sometimes it feels like I think about you every minute,” he whispered.

  A bubble of emotion wedged tightly beneath my ribs, hitting a tender spot. I watched our clasped hands for a long time before he spoke again.

  I struggled to keep my eyes from his body.

  “Favorite word?” he whispered.

  “Zipper,” I answered without thinking, feeling rather than seeing his smile in response. “You?”

  “Crackle.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” I asked, and the words sounded like an explosion of wind into the room, an awkward window opened.

  He looked up from our hands, scowling. “Is that a serious question?”

  “Just checking.”

  He let go of my hand and returned to his book. He wasn’t reading it; he looked like he wanted to throw it at me.

  I scooted a little closer to him. “You can’t be surprised I asked.”

  He gaped at me, setting the book down. “Macy. I just asked you if you think about me. I asked why you got weird after we kissed. Do you really think I would push this subject if I had a girlfriend?”

  I chewed my lip, feeling embarrassed. “No.”

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  I gave him a grin. “A few here and there.”

  He let out a wry laugh, shaking his head as he picked his book back up.

  Obviously, whenever I imagined kissing anyone, it was always Elliot. And we’d already covered that: perfect fantasy, sublime reality, potentially treacherous aftermath. Even the idea of kissing him led to thoughts of a nasty awkward breakup and that would cause my stomach to spasm painfully.

  Still… I could never stop looking at him. When did he lose all his awkwardness and get so completely perfect? What would I do with him if I ever had the chance? Nearly-seventeen-year-old Elliot was a work of long lines and definition. I would have no idea how to touch his body. Knowing him, he would just tell me. Probably give me a guidebook to the male anatomy and draw me a few diagrams. While staring at my boobs.

  I snorted. He looked up.

  “Why are you staring at me?” he asked.

  “I was… not.”

  He let out a short, dry sound of disbelief. “Okay.” Stretching his neck, he looked back down. “You’re still staring.”

  “I’m just wondering how it works,” I asked.

  “How what works?”

  “When you…” I made a telling gesture with my hand. “With guys and the… you know.”

  He raised his eyebrows, waiting. I could see the moment he knew what I was talking about. His pupils dilated so fast his eyes looked black.

  “You’re asking me how dicks work?”

  “Ell! I don’t have sisters – I need someone to tell me these things.”

  “You can’t even handle talking about kissing me, and you want me to tell you what it’s like when I get myself off?”

  I swallowed down the thrilled swell in my throat. “Okay, never mind.”

  “Macy,” he said, more gently now, “why don’t you ever go out with anyone back home?”

  Gaping at him, I told him what I thought was obvious. “I’m not interested in other guys.”

  “Other guys?”

  “I mean,” I said, catching my slip, “anyone.”

  “‘Other’ implies there is one guy” – he held out the palm of one hand and then lifted the other – “and then, other guys. But in this case, you said you aren’t interested in any others. So, there is just one guy you’re interested in?”

  “Stop debate-teaming me.”

  He grinned crookedly. “Who is the one?”

  I watched him for a long beat. Inhaling deeply, I decided this didn’t have to be so bad. “You know I compare every boy to you. We aren’t in revelation territory.”

  The grin widened. “You do?”

  “Of course I do. How could I not? Remember? You’re my
best everything.”

  “Your best everything you ask about wanking.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Your best everything who no other guy compares to and whose tongue you let touch your tongue.”

  “Right.” I didn’t like where this was heading. This was heading to admissions, and admissions changed things. Admissions make feelings intensify simply because they are given space to breathe. Admissions lead to love, and admitting love is like tying yourself to a train track.

  “So maybe your best everything should be your boyfriend.”

  I stared at him and he stared at me.

  I spoke without thinking. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe,” he agreed in a whisper.

  now

  thursday, october 26

  T

  rue to her promise, Sabrina brings Viv to the city to meet me for lunch. The first time that works for both of us is nearly two weeks after the picnic. During that time, I’ve essentially buried myself in work. It’s strange to say it, but I’ve seen Sean awake only three times.

  That might be because I’m sleeping on the couch.

  I don’t know why I can’t take that last step and pack up my suitcases and move back to Berkeley. It might be the drag of the commute, or the ghosts of my past that I know still live there – Mom and Dad are in every single particle of air in that house.

  I’ve only been back for a total of seven days since I left for college. It would be like stepping into a time capsule.

  Sabrina’s face when I walk into the Wooly Pig tells me all I need to know about how successful I was at covering the dark circles under my eyes this morning.

  “Jesus Christ,” she mumbles as I sit down across from her. “You look like you’ve been raised from the pet cemetery.”

  I laugh, grabbing the water in front of me. “Thanks.”

  “If I’d known to expect this I would have had an espresso waiting for you.”

  “No coffee,” I say, holding up my hand. “It’s been the sole source of my calories this week and I need something… juicy. A smoothie or something.”

  I feel her inspection as I look down at the menu.

  “Okay, tell me what’s up,” she says, leaning closer. “I saw you two weeks ago, but today you’re like a different person.”

  “I’ve been working a ton. It’s a busy time – flu season is starting.” Without thinking, I glance at Viv, asleep in her stroller beside the table. “And things with Sean aren’t great.”

  “Oh yeah?” Sabrina asks, and I don’t look at her face after she says it because I’m not sure how I’ll feel if her expression matches the giddy edge to her words. “What’s going on?”

  I meet her eyes, giving her the spare me face. “Sabrina.”

  “What?”

  “Do we have to do this?” I feel like I’m going to break down in tears. “You know what’s going on.” Holding up a hand, I begin to count off the events on my fingers: “I barely know Sean. We get engaged after two months. I run into Elliot at Saul’s and seeing him is like… I don’t know, a kick to the soul. And then, what do you know? Elliot is back in my life and, surprise! I think things with Sean maybe aren’t so great.”

  Sabrina nods but doesn’t say anything.

  “You’re quiet now? I thought you’d be happy to hear this.”

  “The point is that I want you to be happy. I want to see that spark I saw the other day. I want to see you blush when someone just looks at you.”

  “Sabrina, I have been happy with Sean. Just because I feel more overall when Elliot is around doesn’t mean that those feelings are more valid, or happier.”

  “Really? Do you even know what happy looks like? I was wondering this the other day, actually. Had I ever seen you happy before the picnic?”

  This feels like a violent shove from someone who has known me for ten years. “You’re joking.”

  She shakes her head. “When Elliot walked up to us… I swear that was the first time I’d seen you smile like that – with your entire body – and it made me question everything about your personality before then.”

  “Wow,” I say slowly. That feels… enormous.

  “You think you’re happy, but you’re barely living.”

  “Sabrina, that’s residency and working eighty-plus hours a week.”

  “No,” she says with a firm shake of her head. She leans back in her chair, taking her mug of coffee with her. “Do you remember freshman year?”

  I feel the cold shadow of that time creeping over me. “Barely.”

  “Ever since I met you, Elliot has been the third person with us, every second. I sometimes felt like the things you told me, you only told me because he wasn’t there.” She holds up a hand when I start to respond to this. “That’s not a complaint, by the way. I had Dave, and I had you. You had me… but you also had him – in your thoughts, in every single thing you did. When you went out with guys, it was like… you were slinking out and sneaking back in at night, as if there was someone who might be mad that you’d been on a date.”

  Letting out a long breath, I study her, hating her for doing this, for putting these truths, which so far lived only in the dusty shadows of my memory, out into the public space.

  “The first time you slept with Julian? You remember that?”

  I let out a laugh-groan. I do remember. It was halfway through freshman year. Guitar-playing, long-haired Julian was a demigod on campus, and a junior. Beautiful, mildly vain, not as deep as he thought he was – or maybe that’s just my take in hindsight. For whatever reason, he started pursuing me in October, much to the heated jealousy of his band’s groupies. I finally agreed to go out with him; at the time I thought maybe diving into something with someone else would make everything back in California disappear.

  We had sex at his place after our first date. I don’t really remember much about it other than thinking, while it was happening, that there were at least fifteen other women who would want to be in this bed right now, and that he was probably doing a fairly capable job at the whole thing. But all I wanted was for him to be done so I could go home and curl into a ball.

  I got back to the dorm room I shared with Sabrina, and before I could say a single word, I threw up on her favorite pair of purple Docs before breaking down into a hysterical puddle and telling her everything about Elliot.

  “Poor Julian,” I say.

  “He was cute,” she says. “And it worked for a while because you weren’t invested. You’re never invested, Macy. You only have a handful of people you’d actually call friends, and keep everyone else on the surface.”

  I move to object and she lifts a sassy hand to stop me.

  “Let me get this out, I’ve been working on this speech since the picnic.”

  I smile in spite of my anger. “Okay.”

  “I’m sure Sean is a great guy, but it’s another version of you and Julian; everything’s on the surface. You never feel what you felt for Elliot, but it’s convenient: you don’t want to feel that again anyway.”

  I nod tightly. Sabrina can’t really be blamed for saying aloud the things I’ve started to wonder, too.

  “But, shit, Mace,” she says gently, “doesn’t it seem sort of selfish? You give only as much as you’re willing. Luckily this time, Sean is happy with the scraps.”

  I sit back in my chair. “My goodness,” I say. “Tell me what you really think.”

  She chews on her lower lip, studying me. “Are you saying I’m wrong?”

  I scrub my hands over my face, feeling more tired than I’ve been all week. “It’s not that simple, and you know it.”

  Sabrina closes her eyes, breathing slowly in and then out. Looking at me again, she says gently, “I know, honey. The thing is… you’re pretending like you can just walk away from Elliot. Can you? And if not, what are you doing staying engaged to another man?”

  “I know, I know,” I say, feeling a simmering in my stomach.

  Her expression softens. “Don’t you just want to
see where it could go with Elliot? The worst thing that could happen is it doesn’t work and he’s not in your life anymore.” She leans back in, saying more quietly, “You know you can survive that. At least, minimally.”

  I spin my fork on the table.

  “What’s keeping you with Sean?”