“Nothing,” I said instead, shaking my head. “Your mom and your sister seem nice.”
By the time we had reached my house the sky had turned a milky lavender color, and streaks of pink and orange blended with the clouds as the sun slowly dipped below the ocean. Brooklyn pulled up to the curb and lowered the music so all that could be heard was the steady hum of the engine.
“Thanks for today,” he mumbled. He looked up at me, his blue eyes gleaming in the dusky light.
“I should be thanking you,” I replied with a faint smile. “For getting me out of the house, I mean. I actually had a really good time.”
“Yeah, me too. Plus, I’m sure my mom and my sister are thankful I’m getting out of the house too.” That identifiable sting had come back, spidering through his words like a crack in glass. “Look, I get it, it’s weird. My mom treats me like I’m made of glass, and Stella’s taken on this role as my protector, claws out and all.”
“They just care,” I reassured him.
“I know, I know.” He sighed. “Thanks for reminding me, though.”
“You’re welcome. I know I need to be reminded sometimes too.”
“I’ll remind you, don’t worry.” The space between us began to close in what felt like slow motion, and his voice lowered to almost a whisper. “Just say the word.”
Our elbows grazed on the center console, and I felt completely beholden to the will of my body, unable to rein myself in. Hot air filled my chest as the space between us continued to shrink, and for a moment I swore his eyes flickered down to my mouth. He paused, his lips inches away from mine.
Abruptly, he pulled back, taking all his warmth with him. “Look, I need to tell you something else.”
A combination of words you never really wanted to hear. I tucked the loose strands of hair that had come out of my braid behind my ears and inhaled, bracing myself for impact. “Okay, shoot.”
He rested a hand on the steering wheel and pivoted his body forward so that he didn’t have to look at me so head-on. “They tell you when you’re in recovery and stuff that you really shouldn’t date people. At least not at first. So . . .”
A red-hot blush burst onto my face, and he must have noticed as he fumbled to continue.
“Not that I assumed that’s what this was or anything.” He cleared his throat. “It’s fine if it wasn’t, or even if it was, it’s just that you’re more prone to relapses in the first year, and all kinds of other stuff they talk about in group. I don’t want you to think that Idon’twant to see you again, because I do. But—”
“We’re friends,” I interjected, trying to slow the thought train derailment. “Which is perfectly fine.”
The tension rolled off his shoulders as he let out a deep, relieved sigh. “Yeah, it is.”
Maybe this was what I had needed to cease my internal tug-of-war. I had a responsibility to be there for Nikki, and he had a responsibility to himself. We both had things we couldn’t put down.
“I guess we’ll talk later,” I said as I fumbled to unbuckle the seat belt. I slid out of the buttery leather seats of his Jeep, desperate to escape the choking hot air around us.
“Hey, Nat,” Brooklyn called as I was about to walk up the front steps. “I, um, meant what I said before. About hanging out again. If you want to. As friends.”
“Yeah,” I replied with a smile. “I’d like that.”
Butterflies fluttered furiously inside of me as I watched him grin at me one last time before pulling away from my house, his grungy rock music carrying into the air of the night until it faded away.
A sudden gust of wind dried the sweat on the back of my neck, and for the first time all day, I felt cold.
Hey Dad,
I met with him again today and I might as well tell you his name now. It’s Brooklyn.
We got coffee and talked for a while, and it wasn’t awkward. It was easy. Too easy. He’s funny in this sideways, wry kind of way. He asks about me like I’m interesting and listens like he’s collecting every word. I like that about him. Most people only wait for their turn to speak.
He told me about his addiction and his recovery process so far. I already knew the basics, but hearing him dish out the details to me felt like being trusted with something delicate. He said people in recovery aren’t supposed to date right away, and I get it. I really do. And it’s not like I couldn’t use a friend or two who doesn’t live in the same house as me.
I think what scares me most is how familiar it all feels. How much he reminds me of Nikki—the restlessness, the self-deprecating humor, the way he apologizes for existing before anyone even asks him to. I recognize where the cracks are, and suddenly I think that must mean something. Like it’s my job or responsibility to patch them. Do the things I couldn’t do with Nikki the first time around.
I agreed with him and said being friends was perfectly fine, and IT IS. But maybe the smallest part of me thinks it’s not, and that makes me feel selfish. I shouldn’t be expecting him to mess with his recovery process just because I might have a little crush. Those can be temporary.
Kind of like when I had a crush on TJ Maxwell in the first grade and I chased him around the playground to tell him, and I came home very upset that I was rejected. But by dinnertime I was coloring and it was all better. I’m sure you remember that.
