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When they finally stir, it’s to nuzzle their nose against the side of my neck. I chuckle as the motion tickles me, and they kiss that same spot.
“I love you.”
It comes out so casually, so easily, like a sigh. Avery doesn’t even seem to know they said it out loud. It was just an errant thought that happened to escape.
It’s not just an errant thought to me.
They really said that. They really blurted that out. And it didn’t sound like it was the first time the thought had crossed their mind.
I tense, and Avery must feel it because they stop their playful nuzzling, languid muscles clenching. A silence stretches between us, and I know I’m supposed to fill it. I’m supposed to say the words, return the feeling, but howcan I do that when I’m not even supposed to be here? I’m not supposed to be touching Avery, let alone loving them. Even when this semester ends, I have no idea what I’m going to be able to give them. This very same night, I was questioning whether I could give them anything resembling a relationship, but love? Actual love? That hadn’t even crossed my mind yet.
Liar, a little voice inside me says.
I swallow hard, choking down the accusations rising up my throat. Some piece of me knows. Some piece of me has always known. But to give voice to that is to invite a hurt I’m not strong enough to bear. This isn’t supposed to be happening at all. At best, it’s a secret we need to keep for months, possibly years. How can I make a declaration likelovein a situation like that?
And what if I go home? What if Ineedto go home? What happens to this then? What happens to Avery?
My heart is racing, sweat slicking my palms. I don’t know what the right words are for this, but I know I’ve already waited too long to say something, anything. The moment has stretched too far, and it’s obvious that I’m not going to respond in kind, that the words Avery’s waiting for aren’t going to happen.
It simply isn’t the right time for that. Everything is so perilous. The future is shrouded in a fog of uncertainty, and I won’t know that we’re safe until we make it to the other side. How could I lead them on when everything isso unsure? How could I give them hope when I might have to shatter it? I couldn’t live with myself if I did that, no matter what words may lie locked behind my heart, sequestered in a place where I thought they couldn’t hurt us. On top of all of that, Avery has no plan for their own future. They’ve said as much themself. They plan to graduate and simply go get a job, when they could do so much more. I want more than that for them, but I don’t know how to say thatandthose words they’re waiting for.
“Avery, I…”
Avery sits up, sliding me out of them so they can clamber off my lap. They smile like they didn’t speak. Or perhaps they’re smiling as though Ididspeak, as though I had the courage to take that leap without knowing whether we’d land safety or crash and burn.
“I’ll grab us a towel,” they say.
Their voice doesn’t waver. They stride away, steady and casual. It’s only because I know them so well that I can detect the stiffness in their shoulders, the slight rigidity in every step. Where they should be floating through their home, they’re marching, and it’s clearly my fault.
This is why I couldn’t say it. Please understand. If I said it now and it hurt you, it would be so much worse than this.
I don’t actually attempt to explain. I just sit there on the couch, Avery’s words ringing in my head, and wonder what sort of disaster I’ve unwittingly unleashed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Avery
THE MOMENT THOSE words left my mouth, I knew I fucked up.
I haven’t repeated them. Neither of us have brought it up again. That night, we cleaned up, watched another movie and fell asleep cuddled up. In the morning, it was like none of it had even happened.
I meant what I said, but I’m not going to push it. Diego either doesn’t feel the same or isn’t ready, and while both answers are crushing, I can’t force someone to love me. Maybe I’m too young. Maybe it’s that I’m still in college. Maybe it’s the fear that’s chased him this entire time. Maybe I’m simply not the type of person he could love.
Ouch. Okay, let’s not think about that last one.
I swear I miss half his class while I’m trying not to focus on what he said, and didn’t say, the other night. I startle when an essay flops onto the desk in front of me. Diego moves on before I can react, distributing the rest of the class’s essays.
I flip through it, mostly because everyone else is. They’re all eager to see their grades, and why shouldn’t they be? I’m the only one who couldn’t possibly care any less about what’s written on this paper.
But when I get to the back, I find a handwritten note.
Please see me during my office hours.
My heart thuds. Is this a TA-Diego note or an at-home-in-private-Diego note? It’s impossible to tell, but I know which one I want it to be. The essay otherwise has very few corrections. The notes in the margins are mostly praise such as “good source!” and “excellent job tying these two concepts together.” I thought teachers made you go to office hours because you were failing, so is Diego just trying to get me alone?
It doesn’t make sense, not after the other night and how awkward things have been since then, but I go the next day anyway, hugging my backpack against my chest to help with the crackle in my nerves as I enter the liberal arts building and climb to the second story. I was so much more excited about this the first time I visited Diego during his office hours. That was only a month or so ago, but it feels like a whole different lifetime. Back then, Isimply wanted to flirt with my hot TA and see how he’d respond. So much has changed, however, that I genuinely don’t know if I’m marching to this office for a breakup or an academic advisory or something else entirely.
I tap at the door and Diego calls for me to come in. I do, but with way less enthusiasm than the first time.
