Page 35 of Lessons in Forgiving
My head shook, which she couldn’t see. Perplexed, I blinked. Which she also couldn’t see. “No,” I said.
My mind raced, eyes flickering through the street, hoping to find an excuse behind Henry’s parked Audi or Athalia Pressley’s apartment on the top floor of the opposite complex.
I didn’t notice when the elevator opened behind me. I didn’t notice a tall brunette boy stepping out of it, a little frantic, until his eyes found me pacing up and down the sidewalk. I hardly even noticed him when he’d opened the only door still between us and watched me.
But I flinched once I finally did, stopping abruptly at the sight of him. At least I managed to swallow my gasp, though. “Why didn’t you come up?” Henry asked, oblivious to the phone by my ear.
My head shook quickly, finger lifting to my lips.
It was way too late for that.
“Are you with someone?” Mom’s tone leveled, like just the thought of her daughter’s social life eased any worry she might’ve had, related or not.
I swallowed thickly, seeing an end to the conversation. “Yes.” I nodded again, keeping my eyes on Henry. “I’m with… friends, Mom. Don’t worry about the article. You wouldn’t believe how common my name is!” I didn’t believe it, either. “Lots of Latinas whose parents had good taste. Te quiero. I’ve gotta go. Call you later!”
I hung up before she could protest, but knew she wouldn’t have. Mom might be concerned about the mysterious Paula Castillo writing articles under her daughter’s name that might wound her future career prospects, but she was way more worried about my social life.
“I didn’t know Paula Castillo was that common a name.” Henry stood in the door, brow cocked in that humored way of his. My hand fell from my ear with a loud sigh, and he interpreted the sound exactly right when he simply opened his arms. It took less than two seconds to take him up on the offer.
I slung my arms around his torso, face pressing into the plain T-shirt he wore that still smelled of linen and citrus, the way his freshly washed clothes always did. He planted a kiss on the top of my head, and I almost melted into the touch—maybe into the feeling of safety and care and love after my mom had unknowingly chipped away at a piece of each. “They found your articles?” Henry asked into my hair.
I nodded, and didn’t complain when he threw me over his shoulder, then carried me like a sack of flour to his apartment.
CHAPTER 15
NOW
I’d been so excited by the prospect of pancakes, I’d forgotten to ask if they were vegan. The thought only occurred to me now, when they were already piled beautifully high on a plate between Henry and me.
And I didn’t want to bethatperson.
The batter had been meal-prepped—of course it had—so I didn’t see him make it. I couldn’t have even tried to subtly smell it for any residual eggy scent, because I’d been feverishly scribbling down the information I hadn’t recorded while he was preparing breakfast.
When I’d still been a frequent visitor in this apartment, I knew he’d always had cartons of oat milk in storage and his pancake recipe was vegan. Now that I hadn’t been here in a year, things could’ve changed. They probably had.
“You’re not eating,” Henry noticed, and he was clearly trying to figure out why. His fork stopped midway to his mouth, and he narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“I—” My eyes flicked to the pancakes on the plate in front of me, the blueberries to one side and the maple syrup on the other. Iwantedto lie. Say I wasn’t hungry and not bother anyone with my personal food preferences. But Iwashungry, and I didn’t think I could go another few hours without turning into hangry Godzilla. “Are they— ?”
“Yes.” Before I’d even posed the question, Henry answered it. “They are.”
I blinked at him. “Vegan?”
“Yes.” He rolled his eyes, smiling. “I knew you’d probably be coming around. So.” Trailing off, he gestured to the stack of pancakes, half of the original pile already on his plate. The other half was now on its way to mine.
And while I smothered them in maple syrup, I tried not to swoon at how thoughtful the whole thing was. Instead, I tried to keep my composure.
Not very well.
“Ah.” I cleared my throat. “Thanks for that.”
Instead of sounding composed, I just felt awkward. A little rude. So, I did the one thing I knew I could and put my metaphorical journalist-glasses back on.
“You haven’t secretly taken up a plant-based diet, then?” I asked, amusement edging into my tone.
He shook his head in answer, swallowing before he sighed, “I know, I know.” His hands raised in mock surrender. “I’m an awful person. I’d love to try it for a month, though. Just to see how it would affect me, my body.” He shrugged sheepishly. “Didn’t really want to risk it right before the draft, though.”
“Fair enough,” I muttered through a full mouth. “I probably get about ten grams of protein a day. Turns out, instant ramen isn’t very nutritious.”
