Page 53 of The Way I Am Now
Her lips are so soft as they part mine, her mouth warm, and as my tongue tastes hers, she kisses me harder. We breathe each other in, heavier and deeper and she’s making those sounds from the roof again, and I can’t even believe how good it feels to be kissing her. Toonlybe kissing her.
My hands want her face and hair and arms and hips all at the same time. She holds on to my waist and pushes against me as I pull her closer, until we’re backing up into the wall, where my elbow lands with a thud. “Oh,” Eden breathes into my mouth as she places her hand between my elbow and the wall. And I have no idea why such a simple gesture should make my heart start pounding uncontrollably like this, but it does, and I want her to bring me back to her room so badly it hurts.
Someone opens their door, and we pull apart just in time to see the older man who lives in 2E poke his head out and mumble, “Get a goddamn room” before shutting the door again.
We look back at each other, and as much as I want to keep kissing her here, like this, for at least another few hours, we both bust out laughing.
“Sorry!” Eden calls in the direction of the closed door. “Not sorry,” she whispers to me.
I shake my head. “Definitely not.”
She brings both hands up to my shoulders and pulls me down just enough for her to kiss me one more time, softly, slowly. Resting her head against my chest, she sighs, and I can feel the warmth of her breath through my shirt. She looks up at me, placing her hand over my heart. “To be continued?” she asks.
I nod, but I can’t speak, can’t move. Even as she backs away and takes her hand from me, I replace it with mine, exactly where hers was, not wanting the feeling of her touching me to be gone. She drifts down the hall, turning around once to smile. She covers her mouth as she lets out the briefest giggle and jogs back to her door. I stand there for at least a full minute, just in case she comes back. But as I make my way up the stairs, slowly, one at a time, all I can think is: this is how it always should’ve been, how it should’ve started between us.
EDEN
I spent all day sending Mara pics of every outfit combination I have in my current wardrobe, which is not that much. She kept saying I should wear the one dress I brought with me, but a dress felt like too much pressure for our very first real date. There’s enough pressure after waiting for this for almost three years, I don’t need to add any more.
So, I opt for the jean shorts I wore the night of the concert. They’re newish and I know I caught him checking out my legs in them that night. A simple T-shirt with tiny yellow flowers. Pretty but not sexy. Sandals. I shave my legs and armpits. Because, just in case. I try to follow this video Mara sent me on cute styles for shoulder-length hair. I manage something with a twist and bobby pins that looks decent enough—from the front anyway. Lip gloss, mascara, bracelet, necklace, earrings.
He picks me up at eight o’clock on the dot, just like he said he would, and he looks and smells so good, I almost don’t want to go anywhere with him except back inside. But then he leans down and kisses me on the cheek, which makes me laugh for some reason. And when we get outside onto the sidewalk, he takes my hand, except it’s so tender and unexpected and honest that it makes me almost want to cry.
We hold hands as we take our time walking, smiling, and glancing over at each other for the entire three blocks it takes to get to the restaurant.
Nonna’s Little Italy is the name of the place. It’s small and dark and cozy, and I could smell the herbs and baking cheese and garlic and oil from the street. If comfort food could be an entire environment, this would be it. The woman who seats us does so with not many words, but she smiles warmly at us both when she hands us our menus. A second, younger man, comes by to leave a basket of freshly baked bread wrapped in the same kind of cloth napkin our silverware is tucked inside.
After we place our orders, Josh says, “So?” neatly pulling back the towel from the bread, like he’s trying not to rip wrapping paper on a gift. “How’s the date going for you so far? And don’t let the fact that I’ve been trying to plan this basically as long as we’ve known each other influence your answer in any way at all.”
“Well, for starters, you showed up on time. Looking very handsome, I might add.” I pause because, did I just sayhandsomeout loud? I feel like I should be embarrassed, showing my hand so easily, but then . . . we’ve waited too long for games. That’s something old Eden would do. So, I force myself to add, “The kiss on the cheek was also a nice touch.”
“Oh, I’m glad,” he says, blushing. “I wasn’t sure that went over like I’d hoped.”
“No, it did,” I assure him. “And this place. You might as well have read my mind. Nonna’s Little Italy might be my new favorite restaurant, and I haven’t even tried the bread yet.”
He pushes the basket toward me, and I tear off a piece, still almost too hot to touch. But the butter melts into it perfectly. He waits for me to take a bite.
“And now that you’ve tried the bread?” he asks.
I take my time chewing and swallowing and open my mouth like I’m going to answer him but then take another bite, which makes him laugh, which makes me all warm and inexplicably soft inside. “Best date I’ve ever been on,” I answer.
“Wow. That’s better than I thought,” he says.
“Well, full disclosure. This is also kind of theonlydate I’ve ever been on.”
“Steve didn’t take you on dates?”
I had sort of forgotten Josh knew about Steve. In my mind, I was thinking more about the plethora of random guys I’d hooked up with after Josh—the ones I met at parties or other sordid drunk and high encounters. Faceless, mostly. Nameless. People I never saw again, let alone went out on dates with. “Not really,” I finally answer. “But not for lack of trying on his part,” I add, in Steve’s defense.
Josh looks down at his plate, and when he looks back up at me, he’s sort of grimacing. “Okay, that’s gotta be like first date rule number one, right? Don’t mention the other person’s ex. Jesus, maybe this is my first date too,” he tries to joke, taking a sip of water.
“No, it’s okay.” But now that it’s out there, I feel obligated to say something. “Steve was a pretty good person. We just should’ve only been friends, that’s all.”
Josh is nodding, and right as he’s about to say something, our food comes. We start eating in silence, and I worry I’ve somehow messed this up, but then Josh finally speaks. “So, does that mean you’re still friends with him?”
“You mean like you and I are still friends?” I ask.
“Sort of,” he admits.
