AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Christina pushes her chair away and stands up. “Think I’ll clear the table,” she says to herself.
“Me too,” Ana adds, following suit and exiting the dining room.
My eyes focus back on him. “And that doesn’t hold true. If it did, you would have never asked Abby Martin to be your date.”
“I didn’t have a crush on her,” he says simply.
“Then why did you ask her?”
He fidgets with his napkin. “Because I was afraid to ask you.”
Before I can let that statement sink in, I blurt, “That doesn’t make any sense. We planned on going as friends until you—” It’s then that his words hit their target and my mind starts processing. “You wanted to ask me to prom?”
“I was never going to until Mom said I should, then the idea of really asking you scared the living shit out of me.” He swallows. “I was so nervous you’d see right through me that I asked Abby the next day after math class.”
“You had a crush on me?” I ask, slowly coming to terms with this.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I don’t really know what happened to that crush, but I knew keeping you as my friend was always in the stars.”
So something happened to that crush, which probably means it’s gone, unlike mine.
Chapter 20
August 24th
Angie
My best friend’s admission buzzes in my head like a bee as I curl up in the guest room bed after a shower. It’s after 10:00 pm, which for me these days equates to midnight. When Ana and Christina came back into the dining room to gather more dishes, our revealing conversation came to a halt. Their presence broke the tension that we didn’t want to put back together or explore any further. Why would I want to with him? What good would it do?
Unable to focus on the mafia romance I was reading, I close my Kindle and set it down. Instead, I think about Abby Martin and the wrongful pedestal I put her on all my life. The pedestal with bright showcase lighting demanding I pay attention to everything she was that I never could be.
He didn’t even like her, I remind myself. He had a crush on you.
Even with this new information tapping at my brain, I still can’t erase the years of what his dating habits have shown me. The woman at the store being a prime example.
I can’t believe how jealous I became. What is wrong with me? I’m the one who said we should have an open arrangement. He should be free to see whoever he wants. Hasn’t he been? I recount the months that have gone by since we struck this deal. He hasn’t gone out once and no one has come over, that’s for certain.
I cannot be getting this attached to him; I know better.
From inside my belly, one of the babies kicks, followed by another and another in rapid succession. I giggle, “Okay, you two are right. Mama will stop being so jealous.” My appeal to them doesn’t soothe their headbutting so they continue to party, uncaring that I’m tired and desperate to shut off my brain for the night. They’re usually at their liveliest at night in bed, but tonight, unlike most recent nights, I’m alone. I’ve grown accustomed to Rafael’s body pressed into mine, his big hand splayed out on my round belly, waiting for every kick and tumble these two offer.
Tears threaten to burst when I think about being alone for the rest of the night, and maybe for the rest of my life. Dating is going to be so much harder after kids, as if it wasn’t already hard for me. But am I upset at being alone, or am I upset that after our arrangement, there will be no more Rafael in my bed?
I know the truth.
My phone buzzes from the nightstand and I’m grateful for the momentary distraction. It’s a text message from Raf with a picture of what looks like his old physics binder. Zooming in, I take a closer look at all the notes scribbled in the margins. Notes between the two of us, because of course we sat next to each other in any class we could. Then I see a sketch I drew of Mr. Forton and Big Mean Kitty (the stuffed animal he’d use for experiments) getting married.
I’m helpless against the smile that curls on my face, but the warmth that spreads isn’t enough to distract entirely from my earlier thoughts. Regardless, I stare at the picture long enough to remember the simpler times.
When a soft knock raps on the door, followed by a slow crack, I look up to see Raf’s head pop in. “You awake?”
“Yeah. Just looking at the picture you sent me.”
Opening the door all the way, he steps in wearing only a pair of gray cotton sleep shorts. “Come with me,” he grins, throwing open my covers and taking my hand. “I have to show you something.”
“Okay,” I breathe, then stand with him and straighten my short floral nightgown before following him hand-in-hand to his bedroom across the hall.
Shutting the door softly behind me, he has me sit on the edge of his bed. His room has changed a little bit since he moved out—the dark blue and tan plaid comforter replaced with a warm gray duvet, yellow accent pillows and a throw blanket. Floating bookshelves grid the wall at the head of the bed along with matching modern lamps, once in the shape of different sporting equipment. The formerly mossy green walls are now a matching gray, but they’re still covered with his posters, medals, and artwork.
