“Yeah. You certainly did.” He snatches a cookie from the tray in front of me and eats it whole. “Look, you might be confused about what Steffi and Esben did. Get over it. They both did what they thought was best for you. They both wanted you to get through this with as little damage as possible. Steffi would most definitely not want you disappearing into a squalid shell again, and she would not want you ending your relationship with Esben. She wanted the opposite.”
I notice that the cookies in front of me are getting wet. Apparently, I’m crying on them. “Steffi loved me. For real.”
“She did.” Simon presses a tissue to my face. “You know that. Listen to your heart.”
“And Esben loves me. Also for real.” The cookies are about to get drenched.
“Very much.”
“I really screwed things up. So bad.”
“You had a—” Simon clears his throat, obviously trying to be tactful. “You had a bad reaction. An understandable, bad, regressive reaction to a horrific situation, but one that you can fix.”
I look at him in desperation. “What if I can’t fix it? What if it’s too late?”
“My darling daughter,” he says with a smile, “it’s only been a few days. Nothing irreparable has happened. The kind of magic that you and Esben have does not evaporate because of a freak-out. Even a freak-out as dramatic as yours.”
I’m not sure if this is true or not. I’ve never had a relationship bordering on the one I have—or had?—with Esben. Except, I realize, I sort of do. “What about you and me?”
“What about us?” Simon is rolling dough again.
“Did I hurt us? With how I’ve acted?”
“The only harm you’ve done is make me gain a few pounds, which I don’t appreciate because I have a date next week.”
“You do?”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, someone I met . . . on Esben’s feed. A guy who commented.”
I perk up. “One of the people who tagged you with hotdad?”
Simon blushes. “Maybe. Yeah. He’s my age, though. Not some inappropriately young thing. Very handsome man.”
Uselessly, I start patting the wet cookies with a paper towel until Simon takes it away from me.
“Give it up. Those cookies are shot.”
I wipe my eyes. “So, are we okay? I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry for how I’ve been since I got home.”
“We are always okay. Always. And I’m sorry for snapping at you, but I think I had to.”
“Esben probably should have snapped at me.”
“He didn’t?”
I shrug. “Not really. I’m not sure I gave him the chance.” I reach for a lemon bar. “He did say that I wasn’t making any sense. Mostly, he was way too nice. And probably way too scared about what a lunatic I’d become.” I lean forward and set my forehead on the counter. “I’m so embarrassed. And I feel awful. He didn’t deserve a lot of what I said to him. What I did to him.”
“Most of it, probably not.” Simon rubs my back. “But maybe a little. I’m not sure. Again, he was between a rock and a hard place, and there may not have been any right moves. In the end, I think you really know this boy. And you trust him.”
Simon is right. I’m not the person I used to be. I do trust Esben. And I do believe in him and in us.
“Goddamn it!” I suddenly scream. “Dad, how in the hell do I fix this?”
Simon busies himself with whipping up cream-cheese frosting for the carrot-cake cupcakes and doesn’t say anything.
I strum my fingers on the counter, I cry some more, I fret, I vacillate between drowning in shame and then forgiving myself because of the loss I’ve faced. Because I am flawed and not even close to being perfect.
Then a bright spot in this depressing spiral hits me.
I sit up. “I called you ‘Dad.’”
Simon nods but continues furiously whisking the concoction in the bowl.
“I called you ‘Dad,’” I say more emphatically. “That’s big.”
“You did. And it is.”
“When I was in the cab on the way to the airport . . .” I’m rather stunned. “I did it then, too.”
“Yes. I wasn’t sure if you . . . meant it.”
A smile overtakes me. Happiness overtakes me. “I did.”
“I like that.” Simon’s face looks so sweet right now, and it eases my stress and upset.
“I remember asking you to help me.”
“Yes.”
“And you did. You always do.”
“And I always will.”
I fiddle with arranging a series of cake toppings, lining up small containers of sparkles, pearls, and shimmery sugars. There are about ten food stains on my sleeves, but I don’t care. “I know that. I see now that I haven’t ever doubted that. Doubted you. Not really. You’re my father. My dad.”
“Forever.”
So, while I haven’t questioned Simon, I apparently had a massive failure when it came to trusting Esben. I slump forward. God, he deserved more. “Esben stopped texting and calling on Tuesday morning. That’s not a good sign. I could be too late. What if I’ve lost everything?”
“You haven’t,” Simon states with conviction as he pulls a perfectly risen chocolate cake from the oven. “It’s only been a few days. A few days since you lost Steffi, since you blew up at Esben. Pull yourself together, and be rational, okay? And, really, come on now. You perfected the trifle. How can anything bad happen after such an accomplishment?”
“I called you ‘Dad’ and made a trifle that didn’t make anyone want to puke. Two milestones, right?” I ask hopefully.
“Right.” Simon beams as he holds out a spoonful of his cream-cheese frosting for me to taste.
“You’re still driving me back to school tomorrow, right?” I ask.
“Yes, why?”
I lean in and taste the frosting. It’s perfect, of course. “I need to call Kerry. Get advice and girl talk before I get back to school. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. Run off. Be a college kid who doesn’t help clean up the kitchen—it’s fine. I will somehow manage . . . without you.” He feigns distress, and his act is so over-the-top that I laugh. I actually laugh for the first time in days.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, and I will scour this kitchen, I swear.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Simon suddenly feigns casualness. “Allison? If you’d like, you could . . . just take my old car yourself, okay? I have the new one now.”
“Oh, yes. That simple little Porsche. You kept the other one? That I know you don’t need?” I eat another five scoops of frosting and try to suppress a smile before Simon grabs the spoon from my hand.
“Just say yes.”
Technically, Simon didn’t buy me a car . . .
“Okay. Yes.”
I don’t want to make a big deal out of this, but Simon walks over to Bruce and begins petting him like crazy. “Did you hear that? Our Allison is now the proud owner of a car.”
Bruce thumps his tail and pants as though he’s actually excited.
“More importantly, what’s up with Kerry?” Simon asks as he rubs his nose against Bruce’s. “What’s this call about?”
I walk over to them and stroke Bruce’s fur. “I’m going back to basics.” It’s nice to feel like myself again. Or, rather, like the new me again. Confident in what I want, even though I don’t know how everything will turn out. “Hey, Simon? Dad?”
“Yes, love?”
I move over and lean into my incredible father and hug him. “Thank you. So much. For everything.”
“Anytime.”
“Sorry about all this insane baking.”
“We all get a little bonkers sometimes. Better baking than, you know, burning down the house.”
“True.”
I hug him for so long that eventually he laughs and begins patting my back. “Go on. Make your call. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
I step away and smile.
I know
what I want, and I’m going to do what I can to get it.
Bruce Wayne stretches and pushes his nose against me in what I take as a sign of approval. I’ll take positivity wherever I can right now.
CHAPTER 32
TIME AND AGAIN
The drive back up to Andrews College the next morning was interminable, and more than once, Kerry clapped her hand over my fingers as they drummed over the steering wheel. I couldn’t help it.
My phone call with Kerry was embarrassing and awkward and full of my apologies, but she’s on my side. And she’s not particularly thrilled with the fact that Esben wouldn’t speak to her about what happened between him and me, so she was glad that I filled her in. After telling Esben that she was fed up with his silence, she drove back to school with me instead of with her brother.
Now, it’s a beautiful evening in picturesque Landon. Kerry and I sit together on the same bench where I sat last fall. As I did then, I stare at the lake; only this time, I am not trying to escape, to drown.
Tonight, I am trying to live.
She puts a hand on my back to ease my trembling. “It’s going to be all right.”
I watch the ebb and flow of the lake. This past week is too much to take in, and while I have lost Steffi, and I temporarily lost the new person I’d become, I cannot lose everything. The water is beautiful, absolutely beautiful.
After a while, I say, “I am so in love with him.”
“I know,” she says. “Just breathe, Allison. You can do this.”
At six o’clock, I look at Kerry. “Now?”
She nods. “Now. He got back to school an hour ago. He’ll get the notification for sure.”
My hand shakes as I type out a tweet and tag Esben: Ran when I shouldn’t have. If you can forgive me, meet me at 7. Same place, same 180 seconds together. #thiskissthiskiss2.
I couldn’t pull my plans off without Kerry’s help, and she’s convinced this will work. “He’s hurt,” she says, “but he’s mostly angry at himself for his part in this. I know that without him telling me anything. Also? I’ve seen how he’s been since he’s been home from LA. Allison, he’s hopelessly lovesick. You can practically see his heart bleeding all over his shirt.”
“That’s an attractive image.”
She shrugs. “Today’s a good day for drama.”
“I left him there, Kerry. I left him in Los Angeles.” I rub a hand anxiously over my upper arm. “He did everything, and I went totally crazy. I left him. That is not okay.”
“You were strung out. You . . . Allison, you were not thinking clearly. We all get that. Esben gets that. He’s got to. He’s scared right now. Just like you are.”
For forty-five minutes, I neurotically check Twitter, desperately hoping for a reply, for something to tell me that he’s coming, but there’s nothing. There are, however, over six hundred retweets of my post.
“Let’s go,” Kerry says confidently. “Jason, Danny, and Carmen have everything set up.”
I nod, but she has to drag me from the bench.
The short walk to the center of town feels too short, and the cobbled streets, iron lampposts, and cute shops all take me back to September. Kerry leads me by the hand to the blocked-off street that is filling with people on this warm night.
“You ready?” she asks.
“No.” But I force a smile. “Yes.”
“Then take a seat.”
She pivots me toward a very familiar table with a set of two chairs. Slowly, I walk to my spot and sit down. I look around. There’s a bit of a crowd, I notice. In fact, it is a much larger crowd than the first time we sat across from each other. My heart starts to pound, but I can’t help smiling a little. Apparently, my Twitter post attracted a few followers. There are so many strangers here, but I relax a hair when I see Jason and Danny, who both give me goofy faces and thumbs-up signs. They’ve each got a phone in their hand to record this, and my stomach knots. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Carmen waving at me, and she smiles with support. I cast my eyes back over those people who have become part of my life and for whom I am so grateful.
At least this time, I am not alone. I may be even more scared, but I am not alone.
There is a clock at the top of one of the shops, and I see it’s two minutes before seven. I look at Kerry, and she motions for me to be patient.
I adjust myself on the seat and then run my hands through my hair and exhale deeply. I shouldn’t panic yet.
But minutes tick by, and I cannot stop myself from glancing up at the clock repeatedly.
Soon enough, it’s ten after.
Dammit. I shake my head and look down, unable to face Kerry or anyone else.
A few people clap and call my name. I hear someone say, “It’s okay, Allison! You got this! He’ll show!” More encouraging applause lifts my eyes, and I try to smile at the crowd, even though my eyes are brimming.
At seven eighteen, my heart really begins to sink. He’s not coming. Esben doesn’t forgive me.
I think about how awful it will be to never again hold him, kiss him, laugh, or fully live. To never again be allowed to love him.
What if he never again sets his hand on the back of my neck, grounding me the way his touch always does?
What if those amber eyes of his never again sparkle with mischief when they see me?
What if I never again get to trail my fingers over the curve of his lower back in a way that drives him wild? There’s a certain gasp he makes when I eventually inch under his waistband and then stroke my fingers to the front of his body. I want to do that over and over.
What if our bodies are never again joined together, moving seamlessly and smoothly in the way that we’ve learned makes magic and romance and bliss come true?
What if there are no more blueberry kisses tasting of intense cold and even more intense heat?
What if there are no more phoenixes, sand timers, mismatched socks, or microwaveable mac and cheeses?
What if we never again help shelter dogs find homes or reconnect long-lost friends or create princess parties for children? We’ve become a team, and our partnership has strength and healing. We can change the world. We can find more good. I know we can. I do.
And what—oh God—what if I never get to prove how much harder and better I can love him? How I can fall in love even more deeply with this sincere, giving, undeniably everything boy who has rocked my world to its core?
What if this romance has ended?
What if, what if, what if . . .
My heart is filled with terror at all that I might have destroyed.
Seven twenty-five. I’m sure that I look visibly distressed, because people around me begin to chant the hashtag I’d made. “Thiskissthiskisstwo!”
I am done. I can’t take this anymore, and I push my chair back. I glance at Kerry, and she nods in sad agreement. It’s time to give up.
I’m about to stand and end this hell, when the crowd erupts in such applause that I’m scared to even hope why. My heart clenches when Esben flings himself breathlessly onto the chair across from me.
I’m not sure how I manage to speak, but I do. “You’re here.” I make no attempt to conceal the relief or the emotion that rings through my words.
He nods slowly, and I see undeniable love in his eyes. “Always,” he replies through his panting. “Always.” His face is flushed, and he has to catch his breath before he continues. “I saw your tweet. My phone died . . . that’s all. Baby, that’s all.” He runs a hand through his hair as he slowly settles. “So, I couldn’t reply. Then I went to drive here, and . . . my car needed another jump. So I ran.” He swallows hard and tries to slow his breathing. “But I ran to you.” Esben locks eyes with me. “I’m here. I am completely here.”
“That’s all that matters.” I smile at him and take a big breath, calming my nerves that were fried a few moments before. “And you want to do this?”
He smiles back and begins to settle in. “I do.”
He’s sweaty and perfec
t and intolerably gorgeous. He is everything.
Esben will never have to jump through hoops for me again.
After we’ve both found a measure of stability, and when I know it’s time, I raise an eyebrow. “You ready? A hundred and eighty seconds.”
“A hundred and eighty seconds,” he agrees.
I turn to Kerry and nod. She is about to burst, and it’s a fraction of a second before she silences the crowd and calls out, “Time starts now.”
Ten seconds. Right away, Esben is intense, his eye contact direct, and I know he will not flinch, not waver, for even a moment. Unlike the last time, today, I welcome this from him. Whereas I did everything I could to block out Esben that September evening, now my mind and body are relaxed and open, feeding and refueling from this experience. It’s easy to bask in these first moments of reunion, and, based on his expression, he is feeling exactly the same.
Thirty-six seconds. I have missed Esben so profoundly. It’s only been a week since we’ve seen each other, but it’s felt like a century. I cannot believe how bananas I went.
I left him in Los Angeles. After everything he did for me. I give Esben an apologetic look. I am so sorry. I am so goddamn sorry. You didn’t deserve to be treated so terribly. Not at all. I hate what I did, and I wish I could take it back. I press my lips together, and Esben leans a mere inch to the side, then shakes his head almost imperceptibly. He’s telling me that it’s okay, that I was in turmoil, that I was allowed to have a meltdown.
You’re too forgiving, I think. You’re too generous and too good and too patient. But I admire those things about you, and I am learning from them. Slowly, but I am. I won’t screw up like that again, I promise. This was more about hurting myself, about those fragments of my past that still cut sometimes. But now I am stronger. Because of you, because of Simon, because of Steffi. My smile comes from my trust in myself and in the future.
Sixty-eight seconds. Esben’s expression has changed a little. It takes me a while to guess what he’s feeling. While it’s somewhat difficult for me to accept, he wants me to understand that I have helped him also. Our relationship is not as one-sided as I sometimes think. His serious face and his unwavering stare have us frozen together. It’s important to him that I believe him. He needs me as much as I need him. He wants me as much as I want him. I am reminded how long he went without a girlfriend or any kind of real relationship, so I must pay attention to the fact that he fell in love with me. There’s a reason for that, and it has nothing to do with Steffi’s part in pushing us together.