Page 27 of Kissing is the Easy Part
“Carmen and Josie were so supportive. And Jeremy waited by Zach’s car after school one day. I don’t know what he said to him, but Zach never bothered me again.” That’s why I forgive Jeremy every time he calls me brainless, but this Sean doesn’t need to know. “And Mads . . . we had a fight I barely remember. We didn’t talk for three days. Then one afternoon, I overheard some girls in the bathroom trying to suck up to her, thinking my spot as her best friend was up for grabs.”
Not that I blame them. People want to be accepted by Madison partly because she’s mean, the same way there’s always a huge line outside trendy restaurants where the servers have attitude problems.
“They called me a slut. Said I’d slept with the whole football team.” I roll my eyes. “So disrespectful, right? It wasonlythe captain. You’d think they’d get their facts straight.”
Sean frowns. “It’s okay to be upset, button. You don’t have to joke about everything.”
“And then Mads shut them down. Said she didn’t associate with people who slut-shame, and that they didn’t even deserve to carry my shopping bags. When I stepped out of the stall, she looked so embarrassed, like she didn’t want me to know she had a heart.”
“No wonder you’re so loyal to her, even though she’s terrifying.”
“Yeah, Mads is the best. She said, ‘That doesn’t mean I forgive you,’ and I said, ‘Oh, but you have to! I’m in dire need of someone to carry my shopping bags for me.’ And we never fought again after that.”
Let them think whatever they want.The people who matter know the truth. They were there, and they saw me through it.
“Did you tell your parents about all this?”
“Sort of. Not in detail. They bought me that to cheer me up.” I gesture at the Hermès bag on my dresser.
“They bought you abag?”
“Notabag. AKelly. It’s atrociously difficult to get one. But anyway, that’s sort of the whole charade of my last relationship.”
I exhale. Right after the story rolled off my tongue, I regret oversharing. Sean doesn’t need to hear about the rumors or how my parents solve relationship problems. He won’t get it. They meant well; buying something impossible to get their hands on was their way of making me feel better, to show they cared. But sometimes I wonder if they even understand what made me sad in the first place.
It wasn’t just because it was a story for other people to tell. It was that I let someone in, was open, vulnerable, and got nothing real back. After that, I started keeping things light.
What’s the point of dwelling on it? I’m fine now, and everyone loves me.
Sean pulls me into a tight hug. “I won’t hurt you. Take as much time as you need to trust me.”
I nod against his chest. He’s warm beneath my face. The weight of his arms around me is solid, like nothing bad could reach me. For a second, I almost let myself sink into it. Maybe I don’t have to keep it together all the time. He holds me for a while, and when I feel like I might cry, I squeeze my eyes to will the tears away.
No. That’s not how I want him to see me. I don’t need saving. I’m over it.
Sean needs todesireme, not pity me. Pulling myself together, I raise my head and narrow my eyes, challenging him. “Even if you need to wait for five years?”
He smiles. “I don’t think you can resist me for five years.”
I laugh.
He’s literally perfect.
* * *
November rolls around with one of those rare warm days, the air sharp with the crisp scent of falling leaves. The clouds above are frozen still like they’re painted on. I park outside a coffee shop I found online—one of those places everyone seems to be posting about but that I’ve never actually tried.
Sean’s already there, settled at a corner table with his usual setup. This is his solution to my chronic tardiness: claim a table, order something strong, read, and wait for me. His caffeine addiction is borderline unhealthy.
The sight of him brooding over his laptop fills me with warmth. My heart faithfully skips a beat for him as I pull out a chair opposite him. He glances up and smiles. He’s wearing a charcoal-gray crewneck sweater that makes him look effortlessly put together, even with disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes.
“What are you reading?” I lean over. “CNN?” I check the screen again to make sure it’s not a porn site disguised as CNN, then catch a headline about climate policy.
“I want to know what’s happening.”
“That’s what chat groups are for, you know.”
“No thanks. I don’t need updates on who blacked out at Raymond’s last party.”
