Halfway to You(30)

Without hesitating, he said, “You.”

My blood whooshed and warmed in my veins.

He was still gazing at the view, but some of the darkness in his eyes dissipated. I knew he was drunk—we both were—but didn’t that make us more honest?

“I have felt really lost these past few months, but with you and Keith . . .” I trailed off, wondering if my words were too vulnerable. But he was looking at me now, all his attention on me; his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. I decided to finish my thought: “With you and Keith, I don’t feel so alone.”

His face was mere inches from mine—yet I still sensed a great chasm between us. “Copper, there’s something you should know.”

I didn’t want to talk anymore, not with his breath—sweet smelling and sex-hot—on my cold cheeks. I craned my neck, closed my eyes, and closed the distance. For the briefest of moments, our lips brushed, and I saw stars and sunsets and love across my eyelids.

But then he pulled back.

Not just with his face, but with his whole body. He recoiled, chest twisting to break contact with my back. I toppled, drunk and humiliated, onto the grit of the rooftop. Shame and hurt blazed across my face.

“What are you doing?”

I clutched my own elbows, urging myself not to cry. “I thought—”

“You thought . . . wrong.” He stood, and the blanket fell in a heap at his feet; he brushed the dust off his pants. “I thought we talked about this.”

I felt stupid—so stupid—but I also felt duped. The attraction couldn’t just be in my head. The way he’d smelled my hair, the way his breathing had shallowed. Had he paused against my lips before pulling away? How could I be his favorite part of the trip if he didn’t want this?

“I’m confused.” My voice sounded small and tattered.

There was an edge in his. “You’re confused?”

“Yes, Todd,” I said, gaining steam. “How can you not think there’s a connection here?”

“It’s not like that,” he said. “I don’t feel what you feel.”

His words only angered me. He was lying. I stood up, the world tilting. In my inebriation, I felt off balance on that roof. “How can I be the only one who feels this . . . this heat between us?”

He stomped his foot. “Damn it, Ann. I told you what this was!”

“No, you told me what you wanted this to be. And then you gave me mixed signals!”

“What signals? I couldn’t have been more clear.”

“What signals? How about just now, for instance: snuggling up, smelling my hair. How about the fact that you just said that I was your favorite part of your trip? How about every morning having coffee together while Keith slept in? How about all the million little times I’ve caught you looking at me? All the times you’ve touched my arm, or my back, or my leg? That’s not platonic, Todd. Not in the slightest. You’re delusional if you think it is.”

His jaw was clenched, eyes darting. I knew I’d penetrated a wall; my words had the weight of a wrecking ball.

“You’re being immature,” he mumbled.

“Immature?” My volume rose. “For what, feeling? Fuck you.”

“Oh, now you’re going to curse?”

“Yeah,” I shouted. “Fuck you for not seeing what this is. Fuck you for trying to make me feel stupid for being honest with my emotions.”

Our argument had roused a homeowner nearby, who yelled from his stoop in Greek. We didn’t need to speak his language to understand that we were being a disturbance.

“Come on, Keith is waiting for us,” Todd said, his voice low.

Drunk as I was, I didn’t care if the whole neighborhood heard. “No,” I shrieked. “We aren’t done here. I can’t ignore this anymore. I want to talk it out.”

“You’re reading into nothing.”

More complaints in Greek didn’t stop me from shouting, “Nothing?”

“Why are you doing this? We were having a good time.”

“God, I’m sorry,” I said sarcastically, “for thinking we’d be good together. I’m sorry for falling—”

“Don’t.”

“—in love with you.” My voice cracked, and then tears were streaking down my face in quick, warm lines. Why was he angry with me? Why was he resisting? Our chemistry couldn’t have just been in my head.

But he didn’t come closer. He didn’t wrap me in the embrace I craved. He didn’t even apologize. All he said was, “I don’t love you.”

A pause spread between us like the spreading of space, slow and steady but also vast and empty, stretching and stretching until I couldn’t stand being in my own skin anymore. My own beating heart was alien to me.

“I’m leaving,” I finally managed, wiping at my face. I rushed past him along the roofline and slid down to the path.

“Ann, wait.” Todd tripped on the heaped blanket at his feet. He grunted as he lost balance—top heavy in that drunken way—and tumbled off the roof.

Panic surged through me as I imagined him falling onto the ocean rocks far, far below. “Todd!” I screamed.

I ran to the alley behind the building. Beyond a flimsy gate, Todd was sitting upright on the ground, looking stunned. He’d toppled perhaps five feet; the house we’d been arguing on top of was nestled into the cliff face and framed by a steep pathway. His face was red and his eyes swam. I realized how drunk we really were, and maybe that was a good thing, because falling off that roof had probably hurt less in his state. I unlatched the gate and went to him, stopping a couple of feet away, hyperaware of the argument still simmering between us. His elbow was bleeding. He tested his wrist, twisting and flexing the joint and wincing.