Tyler glances down and analyzes it for a moment. “I like it.”
“And what are you gonna do when we go home and our parents see it?” I fold my arms across my chest. I’m starting to feel panicked at the mere thought of it. Maybe we could stay in New York. Maybe we could hide here and never go back to Santa Monica. I wouldn’t mind. “How are you gonna explain the reason for it? What then?”
Tyler’s gaze meets mine again, his eyes vibrant and wide. He shrugs. “Then I guess we’ll have to tell them the truth,” he says.
And to my complete surprise, he smiles as though people knowing our secret no longer seems like the end of the world.
16
“Hmm,” I say late Wednesday morning as I study the plate Tyler’s just handed me. Considerately, he’s decided to treat me to a late morning snack of toast. Unfortunately, it’s burnt black. “I mean, it’s . . . edible?” I pick up a slice and tap it against the edge of the plate. Rock-hard. I offer Tyler a small smile. “It’s the thought that counts, right?”
Tyler laughs from the other side of the worktop, shaking his head as he presses his hands over his face. “My mom would not be impressed right now,” he mumbles, chuckling at his attempt. He straightens up and takes the plate back from me, promptly tipping the toast straight into the trash. “I’m gonna try again,” he says as he swivels back around. He grips the edge of the worktop and smolders his eyes at me. “Actually, I might need your expertise.”
I roll my eyes and make my way around the worktop from the living room to join him in the kitchen, nudging him to the side as I reach for the loaf of bread. I place four slices into the toaster and pop down the lever, leaning back against the worktop and folding my arms across my chest. “You’re nineteen and you can’t make toast without burning it?”
“In my defense,” Tyler says slowly, smirking, “I was too busy staring at you.”
I whack his arm, careful not to touch the new tattoo on his bicep, which has started scabbing, and then purse my lips at him. “Can you say something in Spanish again?”
Tyler raises his eyebrows at me suspiciously, his body mirroring mine as he crosses his arms. “Is this all you’re gonna do for the rest of my life? Ask me to speak Spanish?”
“Well,” I say with a nonchalant shrug, “it’s kinda hot.”
He laughs again, and for a moment, I just watch him. Study the expression in his eyes. Listen. Two years ago, he never laughed like this. He never laughed like he meant it. It was always so sarcastic and so harsh back then, but now it’s so gentle and so soft and so happy. I can feel that positive aura surrounding him again, the same way it does each day, the way it never did before. I think seeing him genuinely happy is the most attractive thing about him. From the way he was before to the way he is now, I couldn’t be prouder. I’m grinning, but he doesn’t even seem to notice the way I’m looking at him.
“Me estoy muriendo por besarte,” he says, smirking.
The words somehow sound familiar and I think for a second while I try to figure out where I’ve heard them before. It doesn’t take long for me to realize. “Doesn’t that mean that—?”
“I’m dying to kiss you?” he finishes. Arching a brow, he steps toward me. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.” Before I can even laugh or blush or react in any way whatsoever, he plants a kiss on my lips. Just one. Just quick. And then another, softly, as he places his hands on my waist. “Tell me something in French.”
I glance up at him from beneath my eyelashes. I think his good mood is brushing off on me. Courageously, I decide to murmur, “How about: Je t’aime?”
Tyler doesn’t even flinch. However, the expression in his eyes shifts. “Only if te amo works for you,” he says softly. He’s still smiling, as am I, and I think we both know that neither of us are ready to say it in English yet. Once more, he presses his lips to mine, and just when I think it’s about to develop into a deeper, French kiss, I hear the toast pop up.
Tyler’s pulling away from me and laughing before I’ve even glanced over to the toaster, and when I do, I let out a sigh. The toast is burnt again.
“I think we should just give up on the whole toast idea,” I say. I can’t help but chuckle too. We’re both ridiculous.
“For sure,” Tyler says. “I’ll take you out for lunch to make up for it. Wherever you wanna go, I’m down.”
Just as I’m about to take him up on the offer, my phone starts ringing from the coffee table in the living room. I brush past him and head over. It’s not my usual ringtone, and as I grasp my phone in my hand and peer at the screen, I realize it’s because I’m getting a video call. And it’s from Dean.
Automatically, I go to decline it, but I stop myself short just before I tap the screen. It’s still ringing and Tyler’s eyeing me suspiciously from the kitchen. I haven’t spoken to Dean in a few days, not since Sunday. I know I need to answer, so I throw Tyler an apologetic shrug and accept the call.
“Hiiiii,” I say, as cheerful as I can possibly sound right now without sounding too fake.
It takes a moment for Dean’s face to appear and he stares through the screen at me, perplexed. I don’t think he’s heard me, so I wave to let him know I’m definitely here. Immediately, his face lights up. “Hey, you answered!”
“Sure did,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Just about to head off for work,” he tells me, but I already know. He’s wearing his signature blue jumpsuit, grease stains and all, hair ruffled. “Thought I’d check up on my favorite girl first. How you doing?”
“It’s almost eight there, right? It’s eleven here.” I sink down into the couch, crossing my legs as I hold my phone in front of me, trying to focus all of my attention on my boyfriend. It’s hard to ignore the fact that I can sense Tyler’s eyes boring into me from across the room. “I’m great. Just hanging out.”
Dean arches an eyebrow. “Got anything you wanna fill me in on?”
“Nope.” I can’t look at his eyes, so I stare at his shoulder instead. It’s not like he can tell. I feel too guilty to meet his gaze.
“Nothing new since Sunday?”
“Just chilling out, I guess.” I shrug and slump further back into the couch. Out of the corner of my eye, Tyler’s tossing the new burnt slices of toast into the trash. “How’s everything over there?”
Dean rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Rachael’s having a mental breakdown because her hair stylist cut off too much of her hair or something like that and so now she’s refusing to leave her house, Meghan gets back from Europe next week, Tiffani’s pretty much living on the beach because she’s convinced herself that the sand here is better than it is in Santa Barbara, some new kid has started at my dad’s garage and he has no idea what a wrench is, my mom says she misses having you over for dinner, and my dad says hey. I think that’s pretty much it.” He exhales, laughing. It sounds odd hearing his laugh rather than Tyler’s for once. It feels even weirder seeing his dark eyes when I’m so used to the emerald of Tyler’s. “Hey, what are you doing for the Fourth of July tomorrow?”
I throw Tyler a glance. His arms are folded across the kitchen worktop as he leans forward, a knowing smirk on his lips. July Fourth will always bring back memories. Tomorrow, it’ll be exactly two years since I realized I liked Tyler in the one way I shouldn’t. Tomorrow, it’ll be two years since we got arrested for trespassing. I don’t even remember celebrating our nation’s freedom that night. I just remember feeling the most confused I’ve ever been in my entire life.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I shift my eyes back to Dean. He’s smiling at me. “We haven’t decided yet,” I say, my throat dry. “Tyler wants us to stay in New York, but his roommate wants us to go to Boston. Either way, it’s gonna end up being fireworks over a river. They’ll probably have to flip a coin or something. You?”
“I think we’re gonna check out the display at Marina del Rey.”
I’d reply to him, but I’m suddenly distracted as the video quality adjusts, becoming sharper an
d much less pixelated. I squint at his jaw. “Is that . . . Is that stubble I’m seeing?”
“Maybe.” Sheepishly, he rubs at his chin and dramatically smolders his eyes at me through the screen. “I thought I’d quit shaving for the summer. I know you don’t like it, but you’re not here, so what the hell?”
My eyes are drawn to Tyler again. He’s raising his eyebrows at me as he touches his own jaw, pointing out his own stubble. His smirk has yet to leave his lips.
I fire him a look that makes it clear I don’t appreciate his distractions right now, especially while I’m trying to talk to Dean. I mute the call for a sec, tell him, “I like it on you,” and then move my gaze back to my boyfriend.
“Hey, I think you cut off for a sec,” Dean says, furrowing his eyebrows back at me from three thousand miles away. “What’d you say?”
“Nothing, I was talking to Tyler,” I fire back. The moment I say it, I’m regretting my words. I shouldn’t have mentioned that Tyler’s here. Over in the kitchen, Tyler has shot upright as he glares at me.
“He’s there?” Dean asks. His face seems to light up again. I knew I shouldn’t have told him. He raises his voice louder and says, “Hey, man, come over.” He’s not talking to me. He’s talking to Tyler, who’s shaking his head in refusal from the opposite side of the apartment.
“Uhh, one sec,” I blurt. This time, I pause both the camera and the microphone and spin around to face Tyler, desperate. “Okay, I know I shouldn’t have said that you were here, but please just come talk to him for a second.”
“No,” Tyler says firmly, using hand movements for emphasis. “No way in hell. No, no, no.”
“Pleeeeeease,” I beg. My eyes crinkle at the corners and I purse my lips at him. “If you don’t, he’s gonna wonder why you’re being such a jackass. You’re his best friend, remember? Act normal.”
“Eden, in case you forgot, I’m the guy his girlfriend is cheating on him with,” Tyler murmurs as he rubs at his temples. With a sharp look, he adds, “I’m not talking to him.”
Groaning, I turn back to my phone and resume the video call. Dean’s waiting patiently. “He can’t talk right now,” I lie. “He’s naked.”
“Naked?” Dean looks at me with an odd expression, and Tyler throws his hands up in exasperation.
“I mean,” I splutter, “he’s getting changed. In the other room. Not here.”
My awkward babbling must be worse to Tyler than the idea of talking to Dean, because he comes striding over from the kitchen and grabs my phone straight out of my hand. He holds it up in front of him, a smile plastered upon his lips. “Hey, bro. Sorry, was pulling on a shirt. What’s up?”
I stare up at Tyler in surprise from the couch as I hear Dean say, “Man! Haven’t seen you in forever! I’m great. Missing Eden a hell of a lot, though.”
“I’ll bet you are,” Tyler remarks dryly. “She’s having a good time, though.”
I can tell he’s annoyed at me for making him talk to Dean, but we have no choice. Dean can’t find out yet, especially while we’re on opposite coasts, and I know I need to handle this face to face. In a way, it feels like we’re lying to him right now, but the only option we have is to make everything seem okay, even when it’s not. It would tear Dean apart if he were to find out like this, through a video call while we’re three thousand miles away, so we’re forced into being deceptive, and although it’s unbelievably difficult, it’s for Dean’s sake. I don’t know how we’ll tell him. I don’t know what we’re supposed to say, but I do know that we still have three weeks to figure it out. We’ll fix this. We’ll be honest and sincere, we’ll explain ourselves, and we’ll do it right. Dean deserves that at least.
Tyler settles down next to me on the couch, his body close against mine as he holds my phone up high in front of us, attempting to squeeze us both into the frame. For ten minutes, we tell Dean all about New York and how amazing the Italian food tastes over here, and he fills us in on all the latest drama back in Santa Monica. Some girl who was in my grade is engaged to a guy a decade older than her. Some guy who was in Dean’s US History class is now in jail for sexual assault. Thankfully, Dean ends up having to leave for work and by the time we’ve ended the video call, Tyler’s collapsing back against the couch in a heap.
“We are officially going to hell,” he groans. All I can do is sigh next to him, feeling nothing but guilt and shame. Dean doesn’t deserve any of this. After a second, Tyler sits up and leans forward to glance sideways at me. “This is gonna kill him. There’s no way around it. We just have to be straight-up with him and accept the fact we’ve really messed up. When are we gonna tell him?”
“As soon as we get home. We can’t wait any longer,” I say. I can’t look at him. I’m resting my elbows on my knees, hunched over slightly as I hold my face in my hands. “It’s unfair on him.”
Tyler’s voice is solemn and quiet. “You think he’ll ever forgive us?”
“I think he will eventually,” I murmur. I won’t blame him if he doesn’t, but I like to hope that one day he will. It’s Dean. Our Dean. He’s never held a grudge against anyone in his entire life.
“God, I’m a shit excuse for a best friend,” Tyler mutters.
“And I’m an even shittier excuse for a girlfriend,” I add. It’s gonna be hard to tell him. It’s like he’s losing both his girlfriend and his best friend at the exact same time. Betrayed by both.
Out of nowhere, Tyler moves his hand to my thigh. “Eden,” he says, “does this mean you’re really choosing me?”
The suddenness of his question doesn’t take me by surprise. Instead, his words sink in slowly as I breathe. Feeling calm, I finally look back at him only to discover that he’s staring at me with wide, dull green eyes. He looks almost worried, as though I’m going to say no. “I was always going to choose you,” I whisper.
I can see the relief in his eyes, despite the fact that his features don’t shift in the slightest. His gaze only grows more intense. “And what does choosing me mean?”
“You know what it means, Tyler.” I reach for his hand on my thigh, lifting it and interlocking it with my own, our fingers intertwining. Perfectly. The way it should be. The way it always has been. “It means I want to be with you.” My voice is strong. I’m not nervous. I’m not doubtful. I’m content with knowing that I’m saying nothing but the truth. “Like, seriously.”
Tyler’s holding back a smile as he tries to remain serious, but it doesn’t stop me from seeing the way his eyes are lighting up at my words. “You know we’re gonna have to tell our parents, right?”
“I know,” I say. Once more, I sigh. A long sigh. A sigh I’ve been holding in for two years. Telling our parents is the most terrifying thing about all of this, and it seems like the time for it is growing closer and closer. It’ll be a relief to get it over with. “I’m ready to.”
“And you’re definitely not gonna give up again?” Tyler asks immediately, squeezing my hand in his, expression shifting. His words are fast and enthusiastic as he speaks. “You’re not gonna change your mind when the time comes?”
“Tyler,” I say firmly. “I’m going through with this if you are.” My lips pulling up into a smile, I say, “No te rindas.” Tyler’s words from the roof on my first night in the city. The words he scribbled along the Chucks he bought me. The words that have such a simple yet significant meaning: Don’t give up.
In that moment, Tyler gives a wide grin, his eyes smoldering, teeth sparkling, jaw sharp, positive vibe radiating from him. “Thank God you didn’t.”
17
“. . . and that’s not even mentioning La Breve Vita. I think they’re Italian. She loves ’em. She always closes her eyes when she listens to music, ’cause she’s a little weird like that. I kinda like it, though. Every time I walked into her room, she’d be sitting there, earphones in, eyes closed. Half the time I don’t think she even knew I was even there. She never looked up, but she looked cute as hell. Still weird, though.”
I do
n’t remember the exact moment I wake up. It feels gradual, and I slowly become aware of words facing in from somewhere around me. I’m wrapped up in Tyler’s comforter and I lay there for a minute or two as I adjust. I don’t even fully absorb what’s going on until I hear Tyler’s voice softly say, “Hey, you’re finally awake.”
My eyes flicker open slowly, taking in the brightness of the room, and I glance to my right. Tyler’s by my side and he’s smiling down at me, wide awake, with a camcorder in his hand. He’s pointing it at me.
“What are you doing?” I murmur suspiciously. The red light is flashing.
“Just messing around,” he says. However, he doesn’t turn the camera off. He keeps recording me. “Happy Fourth of July, baby.”
I sit up a little and rub at my eyes, but I’m still aware that I’m being recorded. My eyes drift to the camcorder and I smile at the lens. “Happy July Fourth.”
“The Fourth of July is my favorite event of the year,” Tyler tells the camera as he turns it on himself. He flashes me a dazzling grin. “I think Eden knows why.” Stretching over me, he places the camera on the bedside table.
The curtains are drawn open, so there’s a warm morning glow to the room. The warmth is perfect and calming as Tyler silently runs his hand down my arm, taking my hands in his. He nuzzles his face into my neck as he breathes against my skin, and I let out a small sigh of satisfaction. I could get used to waking up to him every morning. Reaching up, I loop my arms loosely around the back of his neck, my hands resting in his hair, and I pull him toward me. My lips find his, and for once, Tyler relaxes and lets me take control, but it feels so odd that I only end up laughing against his mouth. Smiling back at me, he grips my waist and pulls my body onto his. I sit up on his lap, strands of hair falling out of my messy bun and into my eyes, so I tuck them behind my ears and lean forward again, planting a series of kisses on Tyler’s lips.