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As a last-ditch solution, I whip my eyes away and distract myself with decor. The toilet is dwarfed by a print of palm trees and yellow sand hanging above it, and that escapist imagery is offset by the dour shagrug thrown in front of an industrial sink with chunky pink toothbrush holders. Eventually I see the shower with three-quarters frosted glass, and then I meet his eyes.
Okay, I don’t. Huan is damp and has abs, so I only meet his eyes when he speaks.
“Sorry. I’ve hogged the bathroom”—his hand grips the towel around his waist—“so let me get out of your way.”
Despite not wearing much of anything, Huan is so politely mannered as he makes for his escape. Before he can accomplish it, I blurt out, “Aren’t you going to ask if I slept well?”
“Did you?”
“That’s a loaded question,” I say, holding the moment hostage, for I’m preoccupied with other understandings. So much happened between us—our kiss and our confessions—but feelings haven’t properly been spilt.
Huan’s admission:When I see you, I forget about my rules.
It was a whisper. He thought I was asleep!
As for me, why can’t I tell him I heard? That right now, I’m standing on the loosest ground I’ve ever felt. I’m soft and sloppy. Why can’t I admit that? Instead I’m asking him to ask me if I slept well…
Argh! Some would call this desperation.
“You look like you have a headache. I’ll grab you medicine.”
It’s Huan turning on Huan-mode. Doesn’t matter what, he cares. But—my eyes flick down—his knuckles on the towel are bone-pale, and the longer we stare at each other, the more our air feels like steam. This morningisdifferent. Tenser and shyer. A new daybreak when you’re not sure the sun comes up or goes down.
“No headache,” I say. “Don’t worry.”
I want to reach out. Say,I see you.How you exist in a quiet guilt mode—about Becca, about doing your job with integrity, about your reaction to me—and I know it only lets up when you problem-solve a crisis.
Then I want to bring his hand to my chest.
Tell him,Me… I can’t bring myself to say anything of what we’ve shared because I find it extremely challenging to be vulnerable and unsure.
I mean, sure, I’m changing on this trip. I don’t feel zipped and hidden in London. My reactions aren’t calibrated based on who I think is around me. There’s no scanning for cameras or fans or tabloids.
No, I’ve allowed myself fun. Yielded control and spilled sarcastic words into the world… well, mostly Huan’s ears. He’s seen me roll my eyes, wander, curse, spend hours looking at historic writings, try to have sex on a toilet, chug drinks, be a little mean, be a little funny. He’s seen me exist as I’m discovering myself slowly, as if I might have options. As if I’m not bracketed by fame, responsibility, and a debt toearnthe lifeI got. A life so perilously given that if I hadn’t smiled that one morning—for mom said it was my smile that moved her heart—I’d be somewhere entirely different.
But even so, nothing permanent has happened in London. I’m flexing parts of my personality I can suck back when I go home through a hole as if they didn’t exist. Nothing has been said that can’t be unsaid. Not like I’ve proclaimed to Huan: I’m making my own choices and I actually wantyou!
Can I ever say that? God no.
Not straight up like that.
Because I don’t make my own choices outside of this trip. And there’s only a week and half to go before even that ends.
But maybe I can phrase my desires in a different way. Maybe my offer is one covered with lust. That would make it retractable, jolly, shrugging. Because getting my heart to officially raise its hand makes me want to throw up or fall to the ground and then throw up.
“You look like you’re thinking and it hurts,” Huan says softly.
“I am.”
He tenses. “What about?”
Glancing away, I chew the corner of my lip, just for something to do. When I look back at him, he’s watching me, and his pupils are intense. His chest rises fast like mine. We’re both sinking.
Huan clears his throat. “After you get ready, what’s on for today?”
“I’ve got ideas”—I rub the back of my neck under my hair—“but do you have ideas?”
“You... Are you asking me? Giving up control over your itinerary?”
