"I'm chaperoning prom again this year," he tells me in early May.
I want to tell him he doesn't have to worry about me, but I'm not sure that's ever been less true. I force a smile instead. "Harper will bethere, too."
Those next couple of weeks are a whirlwind, anticipation leaving all of us to hold our breaths. Things are about to change, and it feels like sparks are flying in so many directions. As much as everything about them is beautiful, I'm worried about how soon they'll start a fire.
As it turns out, the answer is the morning of prom. Someone I've known for a while offers me the only way to hurt Mateo more than I did one year ago, and I take it.
I tell myself I don't have time to dwell on my decision when I've promised to take Harper to brunch. We relax there, and I hear more about the group of friends—a dozen adorably platonic pairings—who will share limos and a dinner reservation. She reminds me of their plans to spend the night at Lizzie's house after they’ve danced for hours, her parents braver than I am. We run a few errands after that, picking up last-minute accessories she swears she needs before she goes anywhere tonight. When we return home, she blasts music and showers while I fuck around on my phone, looking for headlines I won't find until Monday. I consider calling Kai, but he has the bar to deal with. I think stopping by to see him tomorrow morning will be better for both of us.
"I'm gonna go. We're getting our hair done in, like, twenty minutes?" Harper says, hurrying down the stairs. She's holding a garment bag and a small suitcase because Danielle never taught her to pack light while I was on the road. "You've been crawling out of your skin all day, so do you need to have a whole 'dad moment' about this, or can I promise to send you a million selfies to calm you down?"
I ignore the observation and answer the question. "A million selfies will do. Text me when you get back to Lizzie's after the dance. Text me again whenever you wake up tomorrow."
My phone is still in my hand when she drives away. I think abouttalking to Mateo before his night gets as busy as Harper's. Unfortunately, I'm no braver about that than I am about hosting a prom night sleepover, and I decide therapy is probably a smarter option. Within the next several minutes, I'm in my pool, swimming laps that once healed me.
I hate that I need them now, while the sun is shining on what should be one of the best days of my life. I'm close to staying underwater too long just to feel my lungs burn.
As long as I don't come up for air, I can't speak another word.
I'm not sure how long I swim, but eventually my body is worn out and my stomach demands to be fed. When I'm dry enough to raid the kitchen, I grab my phone and thumb through the pictures Harper's sent so far. I'm pretty sure there are meme references being made way above my head, but I'm just happy she's smiling like she is. I catch myself smiling too, because I deserve that much.
It's a really, really great day for me.
It really, really is.
Then Mateo texts me, and my smile changes, and the leftover lasagna I've just reheated will have to wait another minute. He's sent me a picture from his bathroom, where he's facing a foggy mirror wiped enough for me to love several things at once. The wet strands resting against his shoulders until he pulls them back for the night. The beginning of a mustache and beard I don't expect him to shave. The enviable hair on his chest, more than I've ever had, calling for my touch. The happy trail disappearing beneath the towel wrapped around his waist.
That's calling to me, too.
You're a tease
Mateo responds quickly.Hardly. You know you're welcome to come over and watch me get dressed.
And then have to watch you leave? Sounds terrible
The thing is, Iwillgo to his apartment later. I don't tell him that now.
You flatter me.
Do I get to see what you're wearing tonight?
Ah you want me to put clothes ON? You flatter me less.
I don't say anything else then, shoveling food into my mouth before my stomach turns more than it already has. I pour myself some wine too, my unannounced visit still hours away. In another ten minutes, I’ve received enough pictures to be sorry I asked.
Mateo's wearing a dark blue suit and a burgundy button-up, his tie and handkerchief bringing both colors together. His hair has been pulled into the bun I expected. His grin is full of mischief he'll have to smother when it's time to be the responsible adult. He's so fucking gorgeous. And it's been almost four years.
I just choked on my pinot noir
The flattery is back.
Neither one of us texts after that. The time suggests Mateo should be on his way to the hotel hosting tonight's festivities, doing whatever the chaperones do until the students arrive. I get more pictures from Harper, all dressed up and on her way to dinner. Thenatdinner. Then at the dance. I get a warning after all that, telling me she's done with me until it's slumber party time. I sign off with a simpleI love you.
I'm lonely—and yes, crawling out of my skin—until midnight has come and gone, and I can go to Mateo's to tell him about my day. I shower and change into black joggers and a dark green henley. Then I roll my eyes because nothing I’m wearing matters. I'm shaking, probably obviously so, and that continues when I arrive at his apartment before he's returned. I sit on the ground with my back to his door, and I wait and wait and wait.
We've done so much of that. I wonder if promises can becomeindefinite things.
There's plenty of ambient sound, but I swear I know his car when it purrs through the parking lot and comes to a stop. The chirp of his key fob comes next, and I know that, too. Then I see him, and he sees me, and I imagine our expressions change a dozen times when we take each other in. Mateo's suit jacket is in his hand now. I'm thrown off by the sight of suspenders hidden from me before, his tie and top couple of buttons undone. That I'm here at all throws him, but I push to my feet and don't wince when my leg unfairly reminds me of things I could never forget.