Page 36 of Best I Never Had

“Yeah,” I say. “I can’t really seem to part with it.”

She smirks.

The music starts to fill the cords leading up to our ears, my left and her right. My thumb finally stops on the next song on my playlist, Imagine Dragon’s “Radioactive.” As the music continues to play, Natalia leans further away. Her forehead presses against the cool window,forcing me to scoot closer toward her so the cord doesn’t grow taut between us. As soon as our arms brush against each other, I smell a hint of vanilla.

We stay quiet, our conversation having transitioned to a comfortable silence while the chatter of fellow students surrounds us. We’ve somehow wrapped ourselves in a bubble of alternative rock, muffling the sounds around us like we’re the only two people on the bus.

present

We drive back to the city, sitting in silence as we pass through rows and rows of charming scenic views. I watch Natalia looking out the window with her head leaned up against the window as the day starts to fade into a haze of orange and purple. Trying not to disturb the quiet, I pull out my AirPods and tap Natalia’s shoulder. When she looks at me, I outstretch my hand to offer her an earpiece. The smile that spreads across her face makesmy heart thaw. Not in the sense that it was frozen or hard in the first place. But in the way that her warmth spreads through to all the neglected ridges that I’m not even aware of.

This is the Natalia I remember. Calm and thoughtful. Not full of pain and memories of her heartache. Seeing her like this makes me want to see more glimpses of her. Whether it’s the teenage version that I’ve almost forgotten about or the one that’s grown into a woman that carried bits and pieces of my past in her heart, I want more of her.

She takes the earpiece and nestles it in her ear. The sounds of Neon Trees start to drift between us. I pretend not to notice the tap of Natalia’s index finger against the cushioned seat in the space between us. Or how I’m realizing her presence in my life is one that I look forward to more often than not.

“You want a beer?” Natalia calls from her kitchen. I’m sitting on her couch with my feet propped up on her coffee table as she looks at me over her shoulder.

“Sure,” I answer. I hear the refrigerator door close before she walks back to me to hand me my beer and plops herself on the other side of the couch.

“You sure you don’t want anything to eat? Carmen’s getting food anyway.”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “I should head out in a bit.”

She nods, tilting her own beer back as she relaxes into the soft cushions. “I had fun today,” she comments, smiling as she turns to face me.

“I did too.”

“You make a pretty good date,” she adds, poking her sock-covered foot against my ankle.

“You too, Marquez.”

We sit in silence for a minute, relaxing after a long day on our feet while we wait for Carmen and David to return with takeout. Natalia suddenly shifts her whole body to face me, sitting up to rest her butt on the soles of her feet.

“Can I say something? And maybe you not judge me for being a pathetic ex-girlfriend?”

My brow furrows. “Why would I judge you?”

“Just…” She reaches a hand out as if to stop me, knowing that whatever reaction I have to her next words will be far from judgment but a forewarning is necessary for her to be transparent. I gesture for her to continue.

“I miss him,” she finally says, her shoulders slumping a little as she says out loud what she’s been trying to bury deep. “I really do. But I miss him the most when I’m lonely. Like when I have to eat dinner alone or when I have to sleep by myself at night. Or when I have no one to do things with. Like today.”

My face softens as she shifts in her seat. Her face drops, and her fingers tug on one of her braids. She twirls it around her finger, and it reminds me too much of how she used to play with the ends of her hair when we were kids.

“Is there more than that? Than just missing him?” I ask.

She shrugs. Not because she doesn’t know the answer to my question but because she doesn’t want to say.

“I guess…if I weren’t so lonely,” she answers, her voice low and shy, “I could get over this breakup a lot easier.” She looks back at me with an apologetic look on her face, and she shakes her head. “I know, it’s pathetic.”

“Nat,it’s not pathetic,” I assure her. She rolls her eyes and drinks her beer, avoiding my eyes. “Nat,” I call to get her attention. “Being lonely is a breakup’s worst enemy. It makes you do stupid things.”

“Like calling him in the middle of the night drunk off vodka?” she says sheepishly.

“Did you do that?”

“Maybe…”

“Nat.” My voice grows lower. The way it does when what I’m about to say is meant to be taken seriously. I scoot toward her, closing most of the space between us. “If you ever have the inkling to call your ex in the middle of the night, call me instead. In fact, if you ever feel like you’re lonely and want to be with someone, even if it’s to grab dinner or watch a movie, call me.”

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