It’s actually a pretty good memory.
This night should, in theory, be a good memory too. Brooklyn won me a ridiculous Reptar plush after knocking down all the cans in one of those baseball toss games that we’re all so sure are rigged, and for a minute it felt easy to forget that some kid at the booth recognized him for the worst chapter of his life. I watched his face after, how quickly pride curdled into shame, and it hurt me too.
Later, he asked me to ride the Ferris wheel even though he knows I hate heights. “I got you,” he said, and I believed him. Maybe that’s what the reckless part is—believing. Up there, with the lights spread out like spilled confetti and the ocean pretending to be quiet, he took my hand. I liked that.
He asked if he could kiss me. I said yes, and I liked that too.
Here’s the part I’m afraid to say out loud: I think he needs me, and I’m more okay with that than I probably should be. Is that having feelings for someone, or something else? Am I helping him heal, or am I using him to prove I can keep someone from falling this time?
I’ve told myself that I don’t need to wrap myself up in some of the stuff going on with Brooklyn, because friends don’t need to fix each other, that’s not what friends do. There’s part of me that thinks we’ll keep pretending the rules make us safer—no dating in early recovery, no rushing, no naming the thing when it’s still tender. And yet I’m already rearranging my days around the space he leaves. It’s an unfamiliar feeling.
Love, Nat
Thirteen
I recounted the saga at the carnival to Nikki as I made us popcorn for ourLove Is Blindcatch-up binge. It wasn’t that I was so willing and eager to do so, but Nikki had a sixth sense about this kind of stuff, and there was no point in hiding it.
“Oh that is bold,” Nikki said as she hopped onto the couch with Gracie and the bowl of popcorn. “Helovesyou.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I flopped back onto the couch and pulled one of our vintage crocheted blankets up to my chest. “It’s really nothing. People kiss all the time and nothing comes of it, so stop being so dramatic about it,please.”
Admittedly, reality had set in the next morning despite the fact that his touch and his scent had lingered on me. We’d had an agreement that neither of us should be dating, but we had kissed anyway, and now things were about to be awkward, which was probably one of the reasons we had that kind of agreement in the first place.
“Besides, you spent theentirenight with Alec,” I continued. “And you’ve been mum on all those details.”
“Who saysmumanymore?” Nikki popped another piece of popcorn into her mouth.
“People who deflect.”
“Fine, fine, fine.” Nikki shifted in the couch cushions so she could sit up, and Gracie let out a heavy, inconvenienced sigh as her own position was compromised.How dare you?I could imagine her saying to Nikki.
“He’s a nerd,” Nikki said flatly. “He builds robots or something. At some point he might have actually been speaking a different language. His hair is too floppy, and he wears Axe body spray for crying out loud. We’re sonotcompatible.”
Nikki’s phone chimed under the blankets, and she dove for it immediately.
“Really? That’s a shame.” I smirked at her while her head was down into her phone, her thumbs furiously swiping across the keypad. “What are you doing?”
“I’m texting him.”
“Of course you are.”
The one detail I had left out was that Brooklyn and I hadn’t actually texted much since the carnival. I hadn’t gone out of my way to reach out to him, but neither had he, and it wasn’t farfetched to think the same thoughts were floating around in his head too. The same stinging uncertainty.
“Apparently they’re doing ’90s night tomorrow at this roller rink downtown, and Alec invited us.” Nikki kept her head down as she talked, still texting. Her lips lifted into the faintest smile. When she finally looked up and realized I’d been watching her, she scowled. “Do you want to go or not?”
I tried not to let the fact that Brooklyn hadn’t invited me himself get under my skin, and instead focused on what a walking contradiction I’d become by simultaneously being annoyed he hadn’t texted me, while not wanting to text him myself.
“Doyouwant to go with Mr. Not Compatible?” I asked her, trying to distract myself from my own traitorous thoughts.
Nikki shrugged. “That doesn’t mean he’s not nice to look at.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
“What aboutyou?” She shot me a conspiratorial glance.
“I might pass.” I gave her a casual half shrug. “I need to send out a few more agent queries and whatnot.”
That wasn’t entirely a lie—the sudden and unexpected development of my social life had meant the time spent in front of my computer had dwindled. As much as Mom’s words echoed in the back of my mind abouthaving fun this summer, there were moments when I thought I should have been doing more; more emails to agents, more time spent developing a new manuscript, more focus on my future.
