Page 91 of Kissing is the Easy Part
“I’m crazy about you. You know that. But we can’t go on like this.”
“Like what? Being in love with each other?”
“You’re acting defensive before I even say anything.”
“Fine, go ahead. I won’t interrupt until you finish.”
“We have to establish some rules. I’m exhausted all the time. I thought I could juggle everything, but I’ve realized I can’t study, date you, play basketball, and prep for college all at once, on top of getting five hours of sleep every night.”
He does look like he’s drowning in fatigue.Poor kid.My heart plummets from the treetop and hits every branch on the way down.
“My personal statement is a mess,” he continues. “Mr. Miles agreed to write my recommendation letter, but he wants me to draft a brag sheet, and I haven’t even started. Every time I sit down to work on it, I end up too tired to think.”
There it is. Something has to give, right? He plans to sacrifice me.I’m the first junk he throws overboard from this sinking ship.
“Being with you feels like a vacation,” he says, “but a vacation eventually has to end—”
I blink.
“—and it’s time we start building a real life together. Don’t get me wrong. You’re too important. Ever since I got you back, I’ve been thinking about how to make this last, which is why I can’t burn out too quickly. I want you in my life for as long as you’re willing to stay.”
He smiles at me, and how many people can resist Sean like that? My insides turn into mush.
“I hope that’s what you want too . . . you know, a steady long-term relationship,” he mutters, as if it’s embarrassing to admit. “Because if you want a winter fling instead, I’ll undress you right now and you can forget everything I said.”
I laugh. “I want a long-term relationship too.” My face heats up. Somehow, getting serious makes me shyer than getting naked, and it stirs up bubbles in my stomach.
“Great. Glad we’re thinking the same.” His smile lasts for a few seconds, serving as the sweet opening before he gets serious.Using the sandwich feedback method on me, Foster?“First, we should spend less time together and limit our phone conversations. I can’t text you in class anymore because I’ll wait for you to text back. I need to concentrate.”
Getting serious doesn’t seem to offer much, and wait, there’s more.
“I have to finish my homework before we can hang out. And I don’t know if I can meet the early action deadline, so the next two weeks are critical. I need extra time to work on my essays.”
Whenever Sean talks about his dream of getting into MIT, it fills my heart a little more with pride (and mild panic). A few days ago, he let me read one of his essays. If I was the admissions officer, I’d have admitted him on the spot, but Sean deleted the whole thing because “it wasn’t compelling enough.” There’s the familiar fear that sprouts in me, warning me I’m not half as smart or driven as he is. And everything he’s saying is irrefutable.
“Don’t get mad at me when we spend the weekend separately,” he goes on. “I have brunch with my grandad, and I need to hit the gym. I haven’t been in two weeks, and I’m afraid I’m losing these.”
He lifts his shirt, revealing his abs.
I lean forward to trace the faint lines on his stomach. “They’re very much intact, all six of them.”
“I do this for you, you know. You’re very, very superficial.”
“I’m superficial and proud of it.” I raise my chin. “Is that it? Is this the part where we slash our palms and make a blood oath?”
He scratches his chin as he plays along. “I was aiming for written consent, but if you want to go hardcore . . .”
“Why don’t we draw up a prenup while we’re at it? You’re not getting half of my shoes if we break up.”
“I don’t want your shoes. I want you.” His eyes sparkle with a warm glow, like a heated pool on a sunny day. “Thanks for putting up with me. You’re so understanding.”
“No worries. You’re good looking, so you’re allowed to be difficult.”
He sprang the Declaration of Independence on me. For the past two weeks our love has beenfabulous, the kind of montage-worthy romance where our scenes overlap with emotional music playing in the background. A split screen might even show us both on the phone, falling asleep with matching grins on our faces.
I didn’t expect the sappy phase to expire so soon. Flirting with Sean was like standing outside a bakery, breathing in the sweet air, staring longingly at the cute cupcakes in the display window. Now that I’m finally inside the shop, he’s telling me to cut back on sugar and drink a glass of water instead.
Sean stretches, then climbs into my bed. “Can I sleep for a while? I’m exhausted.”
