I Want It That Way. Ann Aguirre
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after eight, nearly dark. I cracked the balcony doors for a breeze; it wasn’t hot enough to run the air conditioner, and it would only get cooler from here. Through the sliding glass doors, the last of the sunlight glimmered over the treetops, like a farewell, and I watched until the shadows lengthened completely. As soon as they did, I made a cup of tea, but I was a wild woman and chose orange Ceylon spice instead of the usual infusion. I also took a pack of peanut butter cups from the Mom stash. With the doors open and ears straining, I heard when Ty stepped out.
Smiling, I lined the basket with a paper napkin, then set a tea bag atop it, along with a gingersnap and a peanut butter cup. Maybe I should’ve acted like I wasn’t waiting for him so obviously, but I had never been good at pretending I didn’t want things when I did. So I stepped out onto the balcony, maneuvered around the lounge chair and carefully lowered the basket toward him. He was just staring, as if willing me to appear. Sparks crackled to life inside me.
“What’s this?” he asked, steadying the gift drop as it came to him.
“My mom sent treats. I’m sharing them, so we’ll both have delicious things.”
To my surprise, he didn’t argue, and his smile flashed, visible in the shadows. Part of me wondered why he didn’t ask me downstairs to talk, but his reticence must relate to Sam somehow. The basket lightened when he took his share of the goodies.
Then he said, “Let me heat some water. I could use a cup of tea.”
“Sure.”
I settled into the Adirondack, waiting for him to return. Peace stole over me, along with gladness that we hadn’t gone with a place closer to campus, all full-time college students. I would never have met Ty. Because it seemed polite, I didn’t eat any sweets and only sipped at my tea, cooling on the arm of my chair. He must’ve used the microwave because it didn’t take long enough for a kettle to boil.
“Back.” The wicker love seat creaked as he settled onto it.
“Cookie first.”
In silent harmony, we devoured them. I loved the combination of sweetness and the spicy bite on the tongue afterward. I could taste the molasses, remember the scent of the kitchen while Mom was baking. A pleasant homesickness swept over me. This summer, I was so busy, saving up for lean times through the fall and winter, I hadn’t gone home at all since it was a sixteen-hour drive. I’ll make sure to see them at Thanksgiving. With any luck, the Toyota had a few more road trips in her.
“Phenomenal,” he said.
“Gingersnaps are my favorite, though at Christmas she does a peppermint-and-white-chocolate cookie that’s a serious contender.”
“Sounds like you miss your family.”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you from?”
Ah, an actual question. That means I can ask one back.
“Nebraska, toward the South Dakota and Wyoming side, if that helps.”
“I’ve never met anyone from there.”
Michigan was a long way from home. “I usually get ‘not in Nebraska anymore’ jokes, and then I have to decide if I’m going to remind them that’s Kansas or play along.”
“What do you usually do?”
“Play along.”
“You don’t like conflict, huh?” He sounded normal tonight, as if talking to me wasn’t an unpleasant chore anymore.
That was a relief since I’d come to look forward to these moments with him so much. More, maybe, than I’d like to admit. Right. Friends. I distracted myself by considering his question. “Not if it can be avoided. I’m not what you’d call pugnacious, no. But I like to think I don’t back off important issues. What about you?”
“No.” His voice was bleak and quiet. “I don’t. Even when I should.”
Wow, that took a dark turn.
If I could’ve jumped onto his patio without breaking an ankle or waking Sam, I’d have been down there like a shot. The distance between us seemed intolerable, and from the knot in my throat, I didn’t see how I could live another second without touching him, finding out if his hair was as soft as it looked or what he smelled like. I wanted him in a way I never had before.
In high school, I had a boyfriend who played basketball, and we broke up when I left the state. It was a rational decision, and I didn’t miss him that much once I was gone. My freshman year, I went out with a lot of different guys, one date here, two dates there, but I never clicked with anyone enough to focus on them. Sometimes there were hookups with no strings, no expectations. Classes, friends and work seemed a lot more important. The intensity of this attraction was foreign and frightening, if exhilarating. I might already be backing off if I had the faintest sense that Ty was jerking me around on purpose.
Wish he didn’t make me feel this way. It’d be so much simpler if I could friend-zone him.
I realized I still hadn’t touched his verbal grenade. “We all have things we’d do differently in hindsight.”
“What is it about you?” he asked in a wondering tone.
“Huh?”
“You make me...better. Calmer.”
“Like a sedative?” I snickered. It was the least sexy thing a guy had ever said to me, including a junior high squeeze who said my face wasn’t actually that bad.
He laughed, too, a sheepish sound. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just...I’m worried pretty much all the time that I’m dropping the ball somewhere, about to face-plant, but when I come out here and hear your voice, everything backs off, like, ten steps. I can breathe again.”
God. I swallowed hard, unable to speak for a few seconds.
“I’m glad you look forward to this as much as I do.” The darkness made me brave enough to add, “I wasn’t trying to intrude that first night.”
“I know. But the unit had been vacant for a while. So I guess I forgot I wasn’t alone anymore.” The way he said it summoned a rush of heat, though he couldn’t mean it like that.
We’d only just met then, and I doubted I’d made a great first impression, dropping couches, falling down stairs. It was a wonder he didn’t think I was a danger to myself and others. On the other hand, this was the longest we’d spent together without him retreating, so maybe I was accruing more hash marks in the make Ty want to stick around column.
“Nope,” I said. “You’re stuck with me now.” It occurred to me that I ought to warn him. “By the way, we’re having a party tomorrow night, at least thirty people, and the way word gets around, it may be more like fifty. I hope it won’t be too loud for Sam to sleep.”
There was a long silence. Finally, he said, “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Are you mad?”
“No, I’m problem-solving. I’ll put him to bed with headphones on. Don’t worry, you’re not the only people with social lives around here, and most of them don’t check in with me.” Rueful tone, as if he was aware he had no right to expect it.
“I’d invite you to come, but—”
“Another time,” he cut in, surprising me. “My folks watch him the last weekend of the month. They tell me to get out, have fun, but I usually just sleep as much as I can.”
“And that’s the only time,” I muttered.
“I heard that.” Incredible as it seemed, I could actually sense the smile in his voice, and I sat forward, peering over the railing to confirm.
My heart skipped when he leaned into the light, a golden glow from his living room, and our eyes met, more of that hungry-looking. I felt the skim of his gaze over my bare shoulders, on the curve of my cheek