Page 163 of June First

He finally looks away and moves around me, traipsing to the foyer area to slip on his shoes. I watch him. I watch him through bleary, puffy eyes, wondering if he heard my painful truth.

I receive my answer seconds later.

“June…” Brant hesitates with the door cracked open, glancing at me over his shoulder. He taps at his pocket, his keys jingling. He falters. And then he says, “I wish you would have lied to me.”

He walks out and shuts the door, and I collapse with tears onto the stained couch.

“Come to New York with me. Please?”

I sit across from Celeste at the ice cream parlor as we lick our respective cones at one of the outdoor patio tables. The request turns the warm summer breeze into icicles. “You know I can’t.”

This is Celeste’s final day in town before she flies back to her shiny new life in New York City. We wanted to get together one last time before we go back to texting and FaceTime.

“Why not?” She swings her braid over her opposite shoulder with a frown. “I know you needed some time off last year after everything that…happened.” A sympathetic smile peeks through. “But I think it’s time, June. Dancing has an expiration date, and it would kill me to see your dreams expire.”

I look down at the small puddles of melted strawberry ice cream that dripped onto the wooden table. “I’m not that girl anymore. I don’t know what I want to do.”

“That’s bullshit,” she counters, leaning back in her plastic chair. “You were born for this. You were by far the most talented performer in our class, and everybody knew it. Camilla wrote you a shining recommendation letter.”

“Yes, well, Camilla didn’t bury her brother, then fall for…” I trail off, choosing my words wisely. “Someone she shouldn’t have.”

Celeste nibbles on her lip, her eyes squinting in my direction.

She knows about Brant.

She saw that wanton kiss at prom with her own eyes, and so did Genevieve. We’ve hardly spoken about it since, but they both grilled me relentlessly that night.

I’d shut down, though.

I hadn’t known what to think.

And clearly, I still don’t.

“This is about Brant, huh?” Celeste deduces, licking around the edges of her cake cone. “You have feelings for him?”

My cheeks flush. “You could say that.”

“Is it mutual?”

I hesitate.

Is it?

It sure felt mutual on Thursday night when he made a woman out of me, brought me to two orgasms, then held me in his strong, loving arms as I fell blissfully to sleep.

But it’s Sunday now, and we’ve hardly spoken since our heated morning-after discussion. Brant has been working grueling hours at two separate jobs, and in the passing moments between us, there have only been casual pleasantries that border on avoidance.

I worked yesterday at the diner, schlepping around hot plates of food along with my miserable personal baggage. I did the bare minimum for tips because smiles are hard to muster when it feels like your whole world is weighed down by melancholy.

I opt for “It’s a mess.” Truly a mess. “I love him, Celeste…I love him so much, but I don’t know how to love someone I’m not allowed to be with.”

Empathy shines back at me as she tilts her head. “No one does, girl. They don’t write manuals or offer college courses for that kinda thing.”

A sad chuckle slips out. “You don’t seem too horrified by this development.”

“Oh, please. I’ve spent the last year talking Gen off an emotional ledge after she hooked up with her stepbrother, Colton. Her family basically disowned her, then shipped Colton off to the military.”

My blood runs cold.

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