Page 79 of Kiss Me, Maybe

“Angela, what are you talking about? You did nothing wrong—”

“I did, though.” I take in a deep breath, cutting her off when she tries to defend me again. “Who the hell are we kidding, Krystal? We’re not friends. We never have been.”

“I know.” She hesitates with a held breath. “We’re not just friends, Angela. You’re right. We were only fooling ourselves to think so.”

“You’d think I would know by now where lying to myself gets me.” A sob shakes loose, and I’m unable to hold it back this time. The tears are free flowing, and I’m grateful we’re not onFaceTime for this conversation. I hate the amount of times she’s seen me cry already. But more than that, I hate that I can never seem to hold back my emotions. “I built my entire platform as a twenty-seven-year-old who’s never done anything. Never been kissed, never had sex, never been in love—or at least the closest I’ve ever come to feeling it. Only one of those is true now.”

For a long moment, the line is nothing but silence. I think I hear Krystal’s breath catch, but it could just be static.

“I have to go.”

“Angela, wait—”

But I don’t. I hang up, unable to face confessing a truth I’m not ready for. I haven’t just fallen for Krystal. I’m face-planted on the cement for her. Head over heels, burn it all to the ground and destroy your life in love. And I have no idea what to do about it, because I know she’ll never feel the same way I do.

I’ve known that all along, haven’t I?

Thirty-Six

This is what I want.

I’m reminding myself this three days later at Natalia’s apartment as we’re discussing options for a replacement for the mural that was washed away. Part of me wondered if I should tell Krystal I’ve decided to go on with the scavenger hunt, but I decided against it in the end. Talking about the scavenger hunt would lead to talking aboutus, where we stand, and where we go from here after pretty much confessing that I’m in love with her—all the things I’m not ready to hash out yet.

The only bright side, if any, is that I finally get to see Julian a week before the scavenger hunt as we’re both getting home at eleven p.m. on Saturday. He looks ragged under the porch light. His hair is a mess, and the bags under his eyes are more prominent.

“You look rough.”

Julian rolls his eyes. “Thanks. The bar let me go early for the same reason.”

“Seriously, how are you holding up? This is the second time I’ve seen you so exhausted.”

“You mean aside from waking me up in the middle of the night?” he asks. “That’s the price you pay when you work two jobs but only one of them pays you.” He rolls his neck in small, circular motions. “I don’t know how much more of this I can handle.”

“So, quit.”

He sends me a glare that chills me to the bone. “I can’t. One gives me money, the other gives me a future. Which exactly are you asking me to quit?”

“The bartender gig.” I place a hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re sending money to my parents for rent. They’re tearing up the checks.” It came out when my parents called me last week during my lunch break.

His cheeks redden, but he’s far too stubborn to budge. “I’ll start depositing them in your bank account. I found all the papers in your dad’s den.”

“You will do no such thing.” I shake him this time, but not as hard as I want to. “And I’m locking that room.”

“You have to let me dosomething,” he says, his voice growing more desperate this time. “I’m so sick of being a burden to people. If you don’t want rent, maybe I can help with utilities. Or groceries. Just… let me help somehow.Please.”

“Julian, you’re not a burden.” I grab his arm, practically shoving him onto the couch. “Come on, sit down. Talk to me.”

He sits down, but the words don’t come. Instead, he buries his face in his hands with a long-suffering groan.

“You’renota burden,” I tell him again, more slowly this time. “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. The only thing I really wanted was to spend more time with you, but you’ve barely been home.”

He looks up at me now, brows creased.

“We’re family,” I remind him. “You don’t owe us anything. If the job is stressing you out—”

“It’s not just that,” he interrupts me, blowing out a breath between his teeth. “I still have loans I need to take care of,teaching jobs to apply for, a new apartment to find once I graduate. It’s all coming up so fast. I only have a month and a half left to figure out where I’m going to be in August, and no idea how it’s all going to come together.”

His hands rake through his hair, before forming tight fists at the sides of his head. I thought Julian was better off than me because he knew teaching was what he wanted to do. That it would all work out because he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. How did it take me this long to realize the reason he’s not okay is because he feels like he doesn’t have a support system?

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