“I told Bryan that as long as he recused himself as your mentor, everything should be fine.”
Ah, there was a catch. There was always a catch. Without this class how would I graduate?
Chapter Eighteen
You know when they tell you that you can have your cake and eat it too?
They’re wrong.
You always have to pay the piper. You can’t take the money and run.
As Nicole returned to her home, leaving me with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy, all I could think was Bryan might be free and clear, but there was no way I could come out of this unscathed. Not now at least. Whatever we might be would have to go back on hold once again. I couldn’t have him end the mentorship. I needed to finish school for a million reasons.
I went to the kitchen, feeling a bit like an intruder as I rooted around for two spoons. I’d never been in his place before, and now here I was, for all intents and purposes, taking care of him after a trip to the ER. I found a white wood-paneled drawer that held utensils. I grabbed two spoons, then two cloth napkins from the holder in the island and returned to the living room. Bryan was awake now, reading a book on his tablet. Night had fallen, so the only illumination was the screen. When he saw me, he put the tablet on the table. I surveyed his living room once more. The hardwood floors in his home were a polished blond, and the walls were eggshell, giving the room warmth. There were a few pieces of art on the walls — reproductions of the Magritte with an apple in front of a man’s face, and one of Mark Rothko’s abstract images in solid red. The couch was comfortable and classy in a dove gray color, and the coffee table was made of a sheet of sturdy glass atop two brushed metal blocks. His tablet rested next to his wallet, and I noticed the crinkled edge of a tiny white bag sticking out of his wallet. The bag was well-worn, as if it had set up camp there for years. Something about it felt vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place why.
I joined him on the couch, opened the pint and presented him with a spoon.
“My favorite. How did you know?”
“Nicole knew, silly.”
He tapped his forehead with the spoon. “Still a little slow on the uptake tonight.”
“It’s a good thing you haven’t had the ice cream yet or you’d have a huge chocolate spot on your forehead.”
He dug into the ice cream, and I joined him. We ate quietly for a minute. After a few bites, he put the spoon down on the coffee table. I placed my spoon and the pint next to it. “Did Nicole tell you?” he asked.
“Tell me what?”
“Anything interesting?”
I shifted so I could look at him. “Maybe you should tell me something interesting.”
He swallowed, and the soft sleepiness of the crazy day disappeared. He was Bryan again. Strong and in control. There was no hemming and hawing. No lengthy preamble. He was direct and clear, as he looked me in the eyes. “I’m totally in love with you, Kat.”
I was speechless for a moment. Overcome. This was the movie-like moment I’d wanted my whole life. Only it was real. It was happening. And I was no longer sitting in the theater in the dark, watching. I was the girl in the scene who was crazy for the boy.
And the boy loved me too.
I was a flood of colors. I was the center of a sunburst, as my heart beat faster, and happiness rushed all throughout the freeways of the intersecting veins inside my body, filling me with everything good in the world.
“I’m so in love with you, Bryan.”
He kissed me again. This kiss was deeper, closer. I was careful with him, sensitive to his damaged hand, and the tender spot on his ribs where Wilco had slammed a fist. But the painkillers must have muted all that, because Bryan seemed only to be enjoying every touch, every movement between us. My arms wrapped around his neck, while my hands worked their way up into his soft hair. His good hand pressed firmly onto my back, while his bandaged one rested by his side. I felt hungrier than I had that afternoon many weeks ago at the factory, but maybe that’s just because I hadn’t eaten anything for dinner. Then there were Bryan’s lips on mine, sweeter than the ice cream that would surely turn to a puddle if we kept going like this.
But we couldn’t keep going like this. We had to stop. We had to put the whole thing on ice for real this time. No kissing. No bathroom trysts. No phone calls.
I pulled back. “We need to talk.”
He tensed, but then shifted to a sitting position and to his standard business voice. “Okay.”
I was reminded how quickly he could segue from one mode to another. I wasn’t sure if this was an admirable trait or not.
“Nicole told me the advice she gave you. That we could pursue a relationship or whatever.” I found myself blushing and looking away when I said those words.
He smirked, then flashed that lopsided grin. “A relationship or whatever? Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Relationships or whatever?”
I pretended to punch his arm.
“Hey. I’m damaged goods now. Be careful.”
“Anyway. So yeah. Relationship or whatever.”
“Do we call it boyfriend-girlfriend these days? Or is that too high school? Lovers just seems so weird. Especially, since, you know, I haven’t seen you fully naked yet.”
“Okay. I thought we were being serious,” I said, but it occurred to me that maybe he was avoiding the serious conversation.
“Fine. I’m serious.”
“But we can’t right now. You have to tell her that even if we’re —” I stopped talking. I couldn’t bring myself to say in love out loud. I was too afraid the words were a fragile bubble that might burst.