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Flirting has always been easy for me, but flirting with Nova is a goddamn delight. Her whole body comes alive under the attention, like a flower tilting toward the sun. I’m greedy for her reactions. For the way pink lights up her cheeks.
“I’m asking if you’ll come home with me.” My face twists in confusion. “Sure, Nova. I can walk you home.” “No, you idiot. I want you to come home with me.” I stare at her blankly. “For snacks?”
But with Nova, I want to be a choice. Not a whim. Not a regret.
“And at least you’ll be thinking of me.” “In your dreams,” she breathes. “With alarming frequency and incredible detail,” I answer back.
“Because if that’s something you want, that’s what I need to hear from you. I’m not laughing at you. I’m not making fun of you. I need you to be sure. I need to know that it’s me you want and not a random roll in the sheets.”
CHARLIE: Did I tell you how beautiful you looked in that silver dress? I can’t remember. CHARLIE: Sometimes I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I bite my bottom lip and tap my thumbnail against the edge of my phone case. CHARLIE: Also, one hundo percent down for a night of hot, passionate sex. For the record. CHARLIE: With you. If that wasn’t clear. CHARLIE: Ready when you are, Nova girl.
“Charlie,” she says, her voice a honeyed rasp, “would you like to stay for a night of hot, passionate sex?”
I swallow hard and shift in my chair. “I would. Thank you for asking.”
“How to accept things without wondering what you’ve done to deserve them.”
I take up too much space, I want to tell her. I’m loud and sometimes I don’t know how to stop talking. I’m a lot and I know that. I can’t figure out how to make myself fit, but I’m trying. I promise I’m trying.
I wish it were easier to believe in myself.
Why do I put…all of this pressure on myself to be perfect in every single way? Why do I feel like if I want too many things, I’m going to lose all of it?
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look like that.” “What? Stupid?” “No,” she says. “Happy.”
I’m trying, and maybe trying is enough.
I want some of the chocolate-covered peanut butter pretzels she’s started to keep at the top of her pantry. She keeps telling me they’re on sale when she goes to the grocery store, but I’ve been to the grocery store, and they have never once been on sale. She buys them for me, and it’s adorable that she feels the need to lie about it.
“It’s just yours,” I whisper to Charlie. “Yours to have and yours to keep. You don’t have to earn anything. You belong here. And I…I wanted to give you this flower because I want you to know that you don’t have to be anything other than exactly who you are. I know you’ve been hiding, Charlie. But I see all of your colors. The bright ones and the dark ones too. I see how you’re always tilting toward the sun. Forget-me-nots were always my favorite, and—well. You’re kind of my favorite too.”
“I’ve never been anyone’s favorite,” he whispers. “Well,” I say, feeling defensive. “You’re mine.”
“Nova,” he whispers, somewhere against my mouth. “I don’t think my feelings are business casual.” I sigh into him. I hold on to him wherever I can reach. “I don’t think mine are either.”
“Hey, Mr. Mayor.”
I want him to have all of it—my friendship, my trust. The good moments when I laugh so hard my stomach aches and the hard moments when the voice in the back of my head is louder than I’d like. He lifts me up when I need it and holds me steady when I need that too.
