Our hands touch, fingertips brushing against fingertips. We’re testing the waters, letting it ripple before deciding if we should dive in.
“And do you think…we’re moving too fast?” he asks, another question spoken with prudence.
“No, I don’t,” I tell him honestly. It might feel like it when we measure time. Seconds to minutes to hours. Especially when we consider how long we’ve known each other, but it doesn’t feel fast at all. In fact, it feels like the complete opposite. And I think that’s what scares me.
“Okay,” he says. “So, we aren’t moving too fast. Do you feel like we’re moving too slow?”
I silently shake my head, unable to refute that question as strongly. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
I scoot to him, perching myself on his lap. He positions himself to fit me perfectly. My butt on his thighs with my feet tucked in so I’m a little ball of anxiety in his arms. A nervous mess, buthisnervous mess.
“I didn’t come here looking to meet someone,” I say. I look at him, hoping if he sees me like this, vulnerable and honest, he knows I’m not hiding anything. I’m being as truthful as possible. “My mom married my stepdad last year, and up until then, it was always just me and her. She’s my best friend, and watching her find someone and having to share her attention with him was…a bit of an adjustment period.”
He smooths my hair away from my face when I pause. It’s followed by a placating kiss to my temple. An encouraging way to let me know he’s still listening. I have the floor, and he’s there to hear every word.
“I’m really happy for her,” I continue. “I really am. Javier is amazing and he makes her so happy, but I realized I need to stop depending on her. I need to be able to be on my own. I need to find my own place in a world that doesn’t revolve around her.”
“You miss her,” he states.
I nod. “It’s so silly because she’s there. She’s alive and healthy?—”
“But things just aren’t the same.”
I nod again. He gets it. “And when Sylvia told me about this teaching position, I figured it was a way for me to figure out who I am without my mom.
“Anyway, I just thought you should know that. I don’t want you to think that finding someone and settling down was on my checklist or something. But as much as I wasn’t looking forsomething, I really like you.”
He kisses me. It’s soft and gentle. And simple. “We like each other, and that’s it.”
“Yeah,” I agree. Because it’s true. I like him, and he likes me, and that’s it. That’s all that matters. Whatever labels or titles society—or Sylvia—expects us to slap on can go all the way to hell. We’re happy, and that’s all that matters.
Until we’re knocked sideways with the biggest surprise of our lives, and something more important becomes the center of our attention.
CHAPTER TEN
Kendall
THEN
I askedJames to meet me at the Tickled Tea. He said he’d meet me there at eleven, peak brunch time for a typical Saturday morning. I arrived twenty minutes early. I grabbed a table outside and watched the steady flow of foot traffic. I ordered a chai latte, sans raspberry flavoring, and it’s sitting in front of me now with condensation dripping down the side of the cup. I looked up online whether or not chai lattes have caffeine in them, a fact I never concerned myself with until now. Luckily, the Tickled Tea had a decaf option. Silver linings or whatever.
I used the twenty minutes before James arrived to prepare. To settle my nerves and find my words.
“Hey.”
I’m pulled out of my haze by James’s chipper greeting, followed by a sweet kiss on my cheek. “Hi,” I croak.
“Sorry I’m late.” He pulls out the seat across from me and takes it. The unruffled, nearly slap-happy smile on his face makes me want to scream. Not at him, but at myself. Or at the universe for flipping my world upside down. I manage to keep my cool.
“You’re not late,” I tell him with a level voice. “I just came a little early.” Actually, if we’re talking technicalities, I’m the one who’s late.Verylate.
He looks at the long line that’s formed inside. I can see him consider whether or not he should wait twenty-or-so minutes for a drink and a breakfast sandwich. A mundane dilemma considering the bomb I’m about to drop on his lap. Though maybe letting him order some food might help ease the blow. At least he won’t be distraughtandhungry.
“Did you want to get some food?—”
“I’m pregnant.”Fuck it.
