Page 3 of Kiss Me, Maybe

My father interrupts the moment with a yawn and stretches his arms over his head. Maybe that nap was more real than pretend after all.

“What’d I forget to pack this time?” my dad asks, rolling over to face us.

“Towels, underwear, your medication, toiletries—” Sensing she could go on, my dad waves her off.

“If this is what I’m missing out on in marriage, I think I’m okay with that.”

My mom laughs and shakes her head at me, but a look passes between my parents that gives me pause.Uh-oh.I know this look.

“We just worry about you being alone here while we’re gone, that’s all,” my mom says, but I can tell it’s not the whole truth.

“You’re not leaving for another couple days. And Julian will be here, too, so I won’t be alone.”

It was my dad’s idea to let my cousin stay here for his final semester of college. The teaching semester doesn’t leave room for many part-time gigs (not that that stopped Julian from trying), which meant he couldn’t renew his student housing lease. That left Julian with two options: his parents’ house or mine.

“No one asked you to flee, by the way. If you’re so worried about me being lonely, why are you leaving for three months?”

I already know the answer—both versions, actually. My mom’s is that she hasn’t seen her side of the family in ages and she’s overdue for an extended stay. My dad’s is that he’s giving me and Julian “space” to do our own thing without the house getting too crowded. But the real reason is that he doesn’t want to answer to his brother if Tío Manuel figures out where Julian’s staying.

My family has never dealt with conflict well. Avoidance is a trait my father and I have always shared, not that it’s served either of us well over the years.

“We just wish you’d go out more. Go on some dates, meet someone special,” my mom says. “Even join a dating app if you have to. We don’t want you to be lonely.”

“Have some fun while we’re gone,” my dad adds. “You and Julian look after each other. Don’t hole up in your room like you have been all winter.”

I bite my tongue before I blurt out that the only reason I’vebeen isolating lately is because of the shame and humiliation that comes with reaching viral fame from the toxic half of the internet. That, and the last historical romance series I binged was so good, the only time I left my room for an entire month was for work.

But maybe I still haven’t kicked that avoidance trait like I thought. The last time I spoke to the internet, I said I was sick of being single. An entire week has passed and my views have since surpassed the accidental thirst trap, but have I done anything about it?

No. Not unless you count talking to my mom about online dating. Because despite how tired I am of being alone, am I ready for all the ways my life will change once I find someone? Or worse—what if I put myself out there, then find out I’m a terrible dater and fail to find someone I click with? What if it happens over and over again?

“When was the last time you saw Marcela outside of work?” my mom asks. “You should go out, get some fresh air. You never know, you might even meet someone.”

My phone beeps before I can reply, and when I glance down at it, my blood freezes. It’s a notification from a group chat that hasn’t been active since my cousin Briana’s birthday a few months ago.Oh no.I’m praying that the video isn’t the reason my cousins have revived the chat, but a quick scroll tells me otherwise.

Esme:What do you mean you’ve never been kissed????? WTF Angela

Esme:*Video attached

Bri:WHAT

Bri:Wait, this is a straight up lie!

Julian:Leave her alone

Julian:This isn’t our business

Esme:LOL Julian she posted it on the internet

Esme:It’s everyone’s business now

I stop reading, heart pounding. Suddenly, I’m back in tenth grade, hiding in the bathroom of my own home out of sheer humiliation, body curled on the cold tile. My dad found me later, and when he asked me what was wrong, I burst into tears. I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell anyone about all the ways my cousins bullied me for being different, but when my parents finally caught on, they wrote it off as harmless teasing.

Which is why I lie and say it’s Marcela when my mom asks who’s texting me. It’s just the excuse I need to get out of there and back to my bedroom. As soon as I hop onto my bed, some strange masochistic tendency keeps me scrolling through all the messages, before going back to the top again. I have to reply, but I have no idea what to say. In the end, I throw my phone across the room and scream into a pillow.

I knew oversharing on the internet would have consequences. I can’t be the real me without my past catching up to me.

Two

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