Again, But Better(79)

“Why, though? What happened? What happened to the Swing Bearers?” I smile.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I got busy. Senior year was tough, and I had a lot to juggle. It’s not like people were really listening.”

“We were listening. You could have made them listen! I could have helped. I can help. You can start a YouTube channel! I was a blogger, I’m internet savvy. YouTube can open up so many other opportunities. I’ve seen it happen! We could kick it off with a ‘Wrecking Ball’ video, and then you can just perform your originals after it goes viral.”

He grins at the ground.

“Do you miss it?”

“Of course. I mean, I still play sometimes on the side.”

“Do you miss writing?” I ask.

He slows to a stop and looks at me hard, with his lips mashed together. Heat flashes down my neck.

“Do you?” he asks.

I hold his eyes. “Yeah I really, really do. I didn’t realize how much till I went to class on Wednesday. I’ve been dragging myself through the motions of what I thought I needed to do for so long, I forgot how great it feels to do what I want to do.” I shake my head slightly. “I miss that feeling you get when you create something, you know?”

He drops his gaze, and we start moving again. He nods slowly. “I do know.”

We emerge into an open square—to my surprise, rising before us in the night is the Pantheon. I suck in a breath, taking it in. It’s colossal and extra-impressive without the usual sea of tourists. I stride ahead, skirting around the fountain at the center of the square to stand right before the hulking structure.

Pilot’s jacket brushes up against my arm a minute or so later. I smile at him. “I wish I had my camera. I could get some damn good night photos right now.”

He walks off behind me and takes a seat on the wide steps that encircle the fountain. I shuffle over to join him, crossing my ankles straight out in front of me and leaning back on my palms.

“We haven’t really talked about what happened in the café the other day,” he says quietly.

My cheeks warm. I try and keep my eyes on the Pantheon.

“How many guys have there been since study abroad?”

I resist the urge to scoff. “Why are you asking?”

“Because you’ve been with other guys. You’ve had other crushes. You don’t still feel … that way,” he says hesitantly.

I turn to him. “What?”

“Don’t pretend you’re not attractive and smart and funny and…” He trails off. “You don’t still feel that way,” he repeats insistently.

I meet his eyes, which is difficult, because a windstorm of anxiety just materialized in my chest. How do I explain how rare it is for me to feel so ferociously about a crush?

“Pilot, I’ve dated people, but I’ve had one actual boyfriend … Melvin. And I don’t feel the way I’m supposed to.” I pause, picturing Melvin at the kitchen table, that last morning we spent together, going on about his latest medical research project while I fiddled around with the poached eggs he made me. He was trying to do something nice, making breakfast. But we’ve been together for four years. Why doesn’t he know I don’t like eggs? “I’m gonna have to break up with him when I get back.” I curl forward and hug my legs to my chest. How do you break up with someone you’ve been with for so long?

Pilot’s quiet.

“Of course, I’ve had other crushes, but I’ve never randomly shown up at their place of work.” I stare at a stone on the ground and loose a bemused huff. “I’m a mess. I can’t believe I randomly showed up at your place of work.”

“You’re just going through some stuff. Come on, you’re about to graduate at the top of your medical school class. That’s unbelievable. You’re going to be a real, live doctor.”

“Yeah, but do I even like being a doctor?” It comes out like a plea. Panic sweeps through me.

I don’t allow myself to think things like that, let alone say them aloud. It’s a second before I feel like I can breathe again. “I don’t know. I thought I was okay with it. It makes my mom really happy, but I’m, I don’t know. I thought it’d make me happier. But I feel like I’m losing myself a little bit.”

I stare blankly at the Pantheon. Pilot doesn’t respond.

“So, in conclusion, yes, tons of other guys,” I add.

He grins, shaking his head. “I don’t believe you.”

I exhale a breath and let go of my legs, relaxing back into a normal sitting position. As he meets my eyes, a memory resurfaces. An embarrassing, repressed, secret chapter of my Pilot chronicles.

“There was this one guy I met the summer after study abroad.”

He raises his eyebrows, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Oh yeah?”

I heave in a load of oxygen. This has been locked up for a while. “Me and a high school friend went to visit our friend, well, more her friend, Matt, at college. The three of us went out to this bar. We got a table, and one of his friends from college ended up meeting us there.

“And my jaw dropped when he walked in, because he looked just like you. I clammed up for a second because I was so confused when he came over to our table and started talking to Matt.”