Underwater(51)

Evan tries to pull me back, but I twist away from him and hurry down the hallway. My flip-flops flap furiously underneath my feet as I dash past the paintings that haven’t been hung and the boxes that haven’t been unpacked. Evan trails behind me, muttering something under his breath. I burst through the screen door and into the night. Outside, the air feels cool against my face, and I know it’s because I’m flushed. Bright red. Mortified.

“Morgan, stop. It’s okay.”

The screen door slaps shut behind Evan. He stands still in bare feet, his board shorts slung low around his hips. A loose string from the hem of his thermal shirt trails down his thigh in a curlicue.

“Oh, my god. It’s so not okay. That’s the most embarrassing thing ever.”

He pulls me toward him to kiss my forehead. “Don’t worry. My mom’s not weird about stuff like that.”

“Evan, I was just straddling you on your bed. All moms are weird about stuff like that.”

“Well, she doesn’t know you were straddling me.”

“Evan.”

“What can I say?” He laughs. “My mom’s weird about not being weird.”

“I gotta go.”

He hugs me and won’t let go. And then his warm breath is in my ear, ticklish and tantalizing all at once. “Hey, I’m not embarrassed, okay?”

“I am.”

“Don’t be.” He kisses me once. Gentle. Chaste.

“Yeah, right.”

He leans back to look at me. His lips poke up into a teasing smile. He makes me want to smile, too.

“Stop it. Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make me laugh.”

He pushes back to lean against the balcony railing. The moon is a bright crescent high in the sky behind him. The breeze sways swiftly, picking up his fluffy curls in its wake. Like he’s posing perfectly for a photograph.

“Morgan, don’t you know? Making you laugh is my greatest accomplishment.”

I roll my eyes, trying not to snort-laugh like Ben. “Don’t be corny.”

He shrugs. “Sometimes the truth is corny. Sometimes I’m corny. But you know that’s why you like me.” He smiles a smile that takes over his whole face, pressing his dimples deep into his cheeks. He pushes forward from the balcony railing and grabs for the handle of his screen door. He turns to me before he pulls it open. “Turn that phone back on, okay?”

“Okay.”

I tiptoe through my apartment and down the hall. I do everything I can to keep the door to my room from creaking when I open it. I trip when I get halfway across the room because Ben has managed to kick off all his sheets so they’re in a pile on the floor. My feet get tangled up in them as I grope through the dark to get to my bed. I slip off my skirt and pull my bra through the armhole of my T-shirt, then fall backward on top of my comforter, clutching Evan’s old phone in my hand. It buzzes as soon as I turn it on.

Evan: So actually not just a room.

I have to stifle a giggle.

Me: Smartass.

Evan: Smartass. Boyfriend. Whatever you want to call it, I’m happy. See you tomorrow.





chapter thirty-five

“So I have a boyfriend,” I tell Brenda as we stroll around the block, past dilapidated doorways and beaten-up bus stops two days later.

“Evan?”

“Yep.”

I wait for her to say it’s not okay. To say I’m not ready. Or I will ruin him. She takes a sip from her iced coffee, the sweaty condensation dripping down the sides of the cup and coating her fingertips, then looks at me thoughtfully.

“Morgan, I think that’s positively wonderful.”

“You do?”

She tweaks her neck in a double take. “Well, of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Maybe because it was only last week that I set foot out of my front gate again?”

She sips. She sighs. “Getting out the front gate isn’t the only thing that matters here. I know it might not always feel that way, especially with me, but it’s true. Being open to new experiences and relationships is important, too.”

I want to believe her. I want to trust her trust in me.

“Tell me about him,” she says. “Evan.”

It feels weird talking about this kind of stuff with Brenda. She’s a grown-up. Right now, I miss Sage. I miss sitting at the lunch tables underneath the swaying palm trees while sharing play-by-plays of conversations and kisses.

“He makes me laugh. He doesn’t sugarcoat things for me. He doesn’t expect me to sugarcoat things for him. He doesn’t tread lightly. He gets me.”

I leave it at that because I can’t tell her the other parts, like how it feels when Evan kisses me or itsy-bitsy-spiders his fingertips along my spine.

“It’s a remarkable feeling, isn’t it?” she says. “When someone gets you?”

I nod. A few feet ahead of us, a toddler becomes tangled up between his mom’s legs. I push forward to catch his fall, but he rights himself just in time. Brenda doesn’t notice. She’s focused on me.

“I think Evan is good for you. And it sounds like you’re good for Evan, too.”

“Wow. Nobody has said anything like that to me in a long time.”