Page 109 of Love Sick

“Aww!” Alesha jumps up. “You guys are so cute.”

Grace

DECEMBER, YEAR 2

Dating Julian is far more fun than clashing with him all the time, though it still involves frequent disputes. Julian’s love language is winning our teasing arguments. The satisfied smile on his face every time I concede defeat is an addictive shot of dopamine.

I’m falling, yet floating. Flying high in the sky and sinking beneath an ocean of hectic heat. Somewhere in the space between Julian and me, someone is throwing sutures that connect my heart to him—a row of vertical mattresses in permanent silk, ever tightening.

I never wanted to feel this way again, but here I am.

In love.

I don’t believe in love, do I?

Is there a difference betweenin loveandlove?

He squeezes dates in small crevices of our packed schedules—­restaurants, parks, Christmas light extravaganzas. I try to make him study, but I nearly always wind up beneath him on one of our couches, debating whether I’m ready to let him strip me bare and do whatever he wants to me.

I’m not ready.

I’ll never be ready.

Maybe I’m broken.

At Christmas, three thousand miles separate us as I fly home to my family and he travels to his, but I receive near constant texts from both him and Tori apprising me of their activities.

The most recent picture is Julian at a beachside bar, pointing his thumb at a sign behind him that reads As For Me and My House, We Will Serve Margaritas. Salt 24:7. He captions the picture, “Found this. Made me think of you.”

“What are you smiling about over there, angel baby?” Mom asks.

“Julian. He’s so cute.”

Mom snuggles next to me on the couch, peeking at the picture while she munches on a stalk of celery. My parents are on a cleanse in which they eat only green foods, though my dad keeps cheating with green Skittles.

Mom gasps. “Oh. Heiscute.”

I grin down at the picture. From my peripheral vision, Mom’s stare pulls heat to the surface of my skin.

A soft smile plays at her mouth. “Is he good to you?”

I nod. “He’s—he’s wonderful.”

“Just be careful, baby. After last time—”

Ice water threatens to break through my levees, and I stop her. “I know, Mom. I don’t want to talk about Matt.”

It’s like a slap to the face, this reminder that I’m lacking the portion of my brain that knows how to make good judgments when it comes to men. Julian’s goodnow, but what happens when—

Mom sighs. “Come on. Let’s go make sugar cookies.”

Laughing, I follow her into the kitchen. “I thought you were on a cleanse.”

She waves her hand. “I’ll put green food coloring in it.”

Alone in my room later, I twist the tube of my Inappropriate Red lipstick and meet the eyes of my reflection in the mirror. With a small smile, I redden my lips before stripping off my shirt and red bra and lay facedown at the edge of my bed. Being sure to hide all the scandalous parts, I snap a selfie with the bra dangling by its strap from my fingertip. I hit Send before I overthink it.

Me:Found this. Made me think of you.

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