Lola Carlyle's 12-Step Romance

by Danielle Younge-Ullman

  “You know I wish… I mean, it feels like…” I stop.

  “What?”

  “Oh shit. No, what I was about to say…uh, it wouldn’t help.”

  “Tell me,” he says.

  “While the subject is still open?”

  He nods.

  “It’s inappropriate,” I warn him.

  “Yeah, I figured.” He stretches out his legs just far enough that both his ankles tuck inside mine. Of course it’s just our ankles so it shouldn’t feel like a big deal, and no one who saw us could accuse us of anything…but knowing he’s been trying not to touch me at all makes this intensely personal and ridiculously sexy. Yep, ankles touching and I might pass out.

  “Tell me,” he says again.

  “I wish we could just lock ourselves away somewhere private for a couple of days and, you know, try to get it out of our systems.”

  “I don’t suppose you mean talking it out…?”

  “Nope.”

  “Lola…” he says, his voice a deep rumble.

  “I know it’s not a real option. But the thing is, all of this…” I make a churning motion with my hand in the air between us. “I don’t know what to do with it. How to…get rid of it.”

  “You ever tried the getting it out of your system method before?”

  “No.” Heat rises up my neck and onto my cheeks. “I’ve never, ah, needed to.”

  Or even really wanted to—not like this.

  “I don’t think it would work,” he says. “I’m pretty sure it would make things worse.”

  God, I want to make things worse.

  “But it would be fun.”

  “I don’t think I can handle worse,” he says, almost like he’s in pain.

  I slip my feet out of my sandals and, without ever losing eye contact with him, slide one foot, and then the other, up the sides of his legs to rest them on the tops of his thighs, my denim on his. He looks down, then back up at me.

  “Inappropriate?”

  “Yes,” he says, but gently places his hands on my shins. “Completely.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “You’re right, I’m not.”

  Neither of us moves. The distance between our bodies, all the parts that aren’t touching, which is most of them, feels huge. And yet we could close that space in no time at all.

  “I just want to point out,” I say finally, “that people don’t come out to this courtyard very often.”

  “I know,” he says, hands gripping my shins, then sliding upward, toward my knees.

  “Please can we just—”

  “We have to stop this.”

  “Uh-huh.” I look down at his hands, now on my thighs. “I see how you’re stopping.”

  “I will, I swear. Any second,” he says, then his hands go behind my knees, gripping like he wants to pull me forward—up and onto his lap. It would be so easy, so fast. And if he does it I will wrap my legs and arms around him so tightly he won’t be able to get rid of me. I’ll run my hands up under his shirt, up his back, bury my face in his neck and inhale the scent of him, kiss him till he doesn’t even know his own name anymore.

  Into these delicious, tempting thoughts come…

  Voices.

  Not our voices—voices of people who are approaching, and fast.

  Shit.

  It’s a split-second decision. We’re not in a horribly compromising position and we could probably get out of it and back to “normal” in time, but in that moment I am certain there must be a visible, smoking cloud of lust surrounding us. Not to mention, I would be hard-pressed to have even a semi-intelligent conversation right now. No matter what we do, they’ll know, and then we’ll be in deep trouble. Par for the course for me, sure, but I don’t want it for him.

  And so, in a dazed, panicked move that feels to be in both fast and slow motion, I leap away from him, scramble off the bench, then start tugging him by the arm toward a thick clump of bushes nearby.

  “What the—?” he whispers, following me but looking over his shoulder at the same time.

  “We look guilty as hell,” I hiss. “Hide!”

  “You’re insane,” he says, but he follows me as I scramble under the bushes, squirming tight to the wall to make room for him. He pulls himself in beside me, swearing under his breath.

  “Shh,” I say.

  He goes still, and none too soon because Clarice and Mary enter the courtyard, chatting intensely about some protocol or something—honestly I’m so focused on not getting caught I don’t take it in. It sounds like they’re just going to walk through, but there’s a long, torturous moment where they pause near our bench, which would mean we’d be stuck five feet away from them, for as long as they wanted to chat.

  Adam and I are side by side on our backs, chests heaving, trying to stay silent. I am terrified his feet might be sticking out of the clump of bushes, and also afraid they might look too closely and see us. It’s not like we’re behind a hedge. And it’s not like there would be any chance of anyone thinking we were innocent now, if we got caught like this.

  And still, I am tempted to roll on top of him, or maybe nibble on his earlobe.

  Instead, I reach for his hand, but he moves it away.

  After an excruciatingly long couple of minutes, Mary and Clarice move away from the bench and then, finally, out of our courtyard.

  To be safe, we wait until their voices are very faint.

  And then I start laughing. It’s a silent laugh, a silent, shaking laugh that starts in my chest and shoulders and spreads to my belly. I put my hand over my mouth, but I can’t stop.

  “You think this is funny?” Adam croaks.

  I’m unable to respond.

  “I don’t think it’s funny at all, Lola,” he says, and starts pushing his way out of the bushes. “Come on.”

  I follow him, still laughing because I can’t control it and can’t explain it, either, and then we’re back standing on the path, looking the worse for wear. He has sticks and leaves in his hair and streaks of dirt on his shirt and jeans. I’ve got scratches on my hands and arms, and dirt on my jeans and tank, and Adam points to my hair—almost reaching out to touch it, then changing his mind—where I find leaves.

  “Why the hell did you dive in there?” he demands. “We could have just…moved apart.”

  “Well, you didn’t have to follow me,” I say, the laughter finally easing.

  “Oh, and stand there trying to explain why my mentee is hiding in the bushes?”

  “Well, I just—”

  “Never mind. Fuck, that took five years off my life, I swear. And you sat there laughing. This is exactly why—”

  “Why are you shouting?”

  “Because I’m upset,” he shouts. “What the fuck am I doing?”

  “You didn’t do anything. We did nothing wrong.”

  “Oh, seriously. If they hadn’t come along? We were about to be doing something, Lola.”

  “Were we?” My breath hitches and I tilt my head flirtatiously.

  “Cut it out. Shit. I have to get my head out of my ass.”

  “I don’t think that’s where it was.”

  “Lola, I’m not kidding, we have to stop—” He comes toward me like he’s going to grab me, then backs away instead, holding his arms out from his sides. “I have to get reassigned. To freaking China or something. The North Pole.”

  “You think all that ice might help? Send me some when you get there.”

  “I don’t know.” He shakes his head grimly. “Maybe if I got entombed in it.”

  I laugh, but again, he doesn’t.

  “You know what I really hate about this?” he says.

  “What?”

  “All this…” He gestures to the bench, to the bushes, then from himself to me. “All this garbage, and having to hide, and having it be that we just are both repressing all this…”

  “Mm-hm?”

  “It makes it… I don’t want to have this kind of sor
did thing…with you.”

  “You think it’s sordid?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, God, I shouldn’t talk about it anymore. We can’t do any of it. But also, I wouldn’t want to, like this. Hiding in bushes, feeling guilty. You’re not just some girl I want to get naked with. That’s not enough. That’s not good enough.”

  I’m tempted to say I thought the bushes thing was fun, and ditto the classroom kisses, and all the insane, built-up tension between us. But I know what he means and am both confused and moved by it.

  “You would want to take long walks and talk about philosophy and see art films…”

  “And wander deserted beaches and hold your hand and sit around talking about nothing, and learn about your favorite things, and listen to music, and not be a secret or a broken rule,” he says.

  “That sounds really good,” I say after a long, painful moment.

  “Fuck,” he says.

  After that we spend a couple of minutes making sure we look somewhat normal, and start walking, keeping our distance from each other.

  “Please don’t get reassigned,” I say to him as we approach the mansion. “I would…I would really miss you. Even fighting with you, I would miss. I promise, pinkie-promise, cross my heart, I will behave.”

  He snorts.

  “I will.”

  “It’s not just you,” he admits.

  “I know, but I won’t make it worse,” I say, then flush, remembering our earlier conversation about making things worse. “Not any kind of worse. I’ll stay away. I mean, I’m still me, so realistically I might still be a bit of a handful for you. But not about this, I promise. I won’t so much as flirt with you. I won’t get you into any trouble.”

  “I’m in trouble already,” he says.

  “Adam, please. You are the only person I trust in this place.”

  A long moment passes, then finally he says, “I’ll think about it.”

  I break into a huge smile.

  He doesn’t smile back.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Saturday morning, I put on my slip dress and some capri leggings and get ready to go to Disneyland.

  Also along for the sober outing are Talia, Jade, Emmy, and a few fellow patients I don’t know very well.

  And Wade.

  And Adam as chaperone. His look is almost festive in shorts and a bright shirt with crazy graphics all over it, but one glance at him and I can tell he’s not in the best mood.

  “You, huh?” I say, coming up beside him as we gather in the drive.

  “Yeah, me.” His eyes slide over to mine, then away. “I drew the short straw.”

  “Are you kidding? Disneyland wouldn’t be considered the short straw by most people.”

  “I’m not most people. Not right now, I’m not.”

  “So, you don’t like it in general, or you just don’t want to go…today?”

  “There’s no point talking about this, Lola.”

  “I’m not talking about—”

  “You promised.”

  “Sure, but—”

  “Lola,” he says in a warning voice.

  “Okay, fine,” I grumble. “I was just…making conversation. You don’t have to read something into everything. I’m going to keep my promise, but you need to chill out.”

  His shoulders slump, and he swears under his breath.

  “I’m sorry,” he says after a few tense, silent moments. “I mean it. This is just…challenging.”

  “It’s all right. I know. I’ll just…” I back away, eyes on his. “I’ll do my own thing today, okay? That work for you?”

  “Yeah,” he says with a sad smile. “You do that.”

  I join Talia and listen to her chatter while waiting for the bus, but I’m not really hearing a word she says because I’m thinking about how this thing with Adam feels like a breakup. All the pain of a breakup but with none of the fun of ever having the relationship. How much does that suck?

  But the fact is, he means business. The thing we have, or could have—he’s not doing it.

  Mr. Irritating Principles.

  Mr. Freaking Nobility.

  So what’s left for me is to jettison the crappy, woeful, pathetic thoughts, forget about him, and have a good time today.

  Because I am going to Disneyland and nothing is allowed to ruin that.

  Exactly.

  Dr. Koch arrives and announces himself as the second chaperone, which seems odd. I’d have thought being a chaperone was far outside his job description and it’s not like he’s hands-on normally. Not to mention he’s far too busy a man to be able to drop everything to spend the day at Disneyland.

  But whatever. Maybe he’s a Disney fanatic and this is his excuse to go.

  Not my business.

  We get on the small bus and I follow Talia to the back. Wade’s hand brushes my bare leg as I pass and what I feel…is the urge to look at Adam to see if he noticed.

  Wade touches me and I think of Adam.

  Not good.

  Especially not good since my chances with Wade currently look much better than my chances with Adam.

  “You are going to get somewhere alone with that boy today,” Talia murmurs.

  “What boy?”

  “Oh, don’t pretend.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, although of course I do, because she’s looking right at him.

  Despite the various romantic tensions, once we get to Disneyland, I’m thrilled. We wander Main Street and then take a carriage ride, the earthy smell of horses mixing with the scents of popcorn, candy, marigolds, and hopeful morning air.

  I breathe it all in and let myself feel like a kid again. Even Adam seems to relax a bit, though I feel him watching any time Wade comes near me, which is often.

  It doesn’t piss me off—his being rather obviously jealous of Wade—in fact, I like it.

  Of course it doesn’t take long before someone recognizes Wade, even though he’s in a baseball hat and sunglasses, and the next thing I know, he and Dr. Koch are posing for giggling tween girls and a couple of families in front of Walt Disney’s old apartment. Then some guy in head-to-toe khaki recognizes me, which doesn’t happen all that often unless I’m with one of my parents or at an event, and I get pulled into the photo op, too. The three of us stand smiling for strangers while the rest of the group wait, looking bored and annoyed, and I think of Dr. Koch and all those photos on his wall and realize this is probably a good part of the reason he’s along as a chaperone today—the freaking photo op. And it makes him feel famous.

  Any second I’m expecting him to whip out his own camera and start taking selfies, but he restrains himself, and soon Adam comes to help move everybody along. After that, Wade uses a bit of the pocket money we’ve all been allowed to bring for the day, and he buys a Mickey Mouse hat and bigger sunglasses, which disguise him better. But clearly Disneyland isn’t an easy place to try to be anonymous.

  Finally, we make our way to the rides, and soon we’ve blasted through Space Mountain, the Matterhorn, Astro Orbitor, Alice in Wonderland, and a bunch of others. We get soaked on Splash Mountain and then dry off while watching the lunchtime parade. We switch who we sit with constantly so I end up riding with everyone, except Adam, because we are mutually avoiding each other.

  There are tourists, characters, princesses large and small. Talia gets a kiss on the cheek from Peter Pan and Jade buys (and puts on!) a pair of purple fairy wings.

  Later, Wade wins a tiny elephant and gives it to me.

  Adam gives me a look as I tuck it into my purse.

  “What?” I say.

  “Nothing.” He shrugs. “Didn’t know you liked elephants.”

  “It’s just a stuffed animal.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s not an inpatient, not an outpatient, not anybody’s mentor…”

  “Lola.”

  “So I can keep it if I want to. Sleep with it in my bed, even…”

  He shakes his head and walks
away.

  “I’m just making a joke,” I call after him.

  “Oh, I’m laughing,” he says.

  In the afternoon we split up briefly, with Wade, Talia, and me going with Dr. Koch and some others to It’s A Small World, and everyone else going with Adam to yet another roller coaster. The next thing I know, Wade has accidentally-on-purpose gotten us on a different boat from the rest of the group.

  We grab the backseat, and right away he takes my hand. At first I let it happen because I’m surprised. And then I continue to let it happen because, well, it’s not like I’m immune to him. He is sexy and charming and sweet. His hand feels warm and solid and weirdly comforting. He smells good. He’s Wade Miller. He’s my first crush, someone I thought I loved, maybe did love, maybe could still love, once I purge myself of this Adam business. So I let him hold my hand.

  I listen to the music and watch the animated dolls singing and dancing and feel him there beside me in the semidarkness.

  “Carlyle?” he murmurs as we pass mermaids gurgling a wordless version of the famous song.

  “Yes?”

  “Come closer.”

  “Closer?” I say, trying not to sound panicked. “Dr. Koch is right in front of us.”

  “I know,” he says, sliding over so his side is right up against mine.

  Ahead, Dr. Koch and Talia’s boat turns a corner. The second they are out of sight, Wade seizes me by the shoulders. Crap, he’s going to kiss me. What flashes through my mind as it’s about to happen is how ironic this is, how sad, how ridiculous it is that Wade Miller is about to kiss me right at the moment when all I can think about is someone else. Such a waste. And yet if it could lessen the ache of knowing I can never have Adam, maybe it wouldn’t be a waste, not a total one.

  He bends in and I know it’s coming, and I let it happen. He leans in and kisses me like he means business, and I kiss him back.

  God, I always, always wanted to be kissed by this boy—really kissed.

  And now I am.

  In the background, there are Polynesian steel drums playing, and it’s dark and perfect and romantic, and he’s a good kisser, not too aggressive, not dead-fish-smooshy like Trevor, just enough of the good things and none of the bad.

  It’s all perfect, except…

  He’s not Adam.

  It doesn’t feel bad; it just doesn’t feel good, or right.