Don't Be In Love

by Liana Cincotti

For the ones who deserve to be loved but haven’t. Just hold on. It’ll come.

“It’s safe! One of the Townsen students posted about it!” she defended herself but still tightened her grip on her purse. “I’m not turning this opportunity down—invite-only—do you hear me?” “I’m pretty sure cults are invite-only too.” I narrowed my eyes.

“Write something nice in my obituary while you’re at, will you?” “He had a lovely accent, terrible manners, and was always full of himself,” I recited. “You think I have a lovely accent?” he asked, only a small curve to the corner of his lips. “Don’t be fooled, everyone around here has a nice accent.” “Well, I think you have a lovely accent too,” he commented, his eyes bright. Whimsical and boyish.

“Do you fancy him?” I slowly lifted my head up. “Are you kidding? Oh my gosh, you’re not.” I rubbed my temples and stood up straight. “I’ve spoken to James maybe three times. I don’t even like that he knows about us.” I waved my finger between us. “James is practically a saint. I’m not sure he’s ever lied in his life. A church confessional’s nightmare, truly.” I didn’t need Dorian to convince me otherwise. The last time James and I spoke, we had a fifteen-minute conversation about how scarves were his favorite piece of clothing. Saint was encrusted in the shape of his smile.

“Is this the student you’re helping?” Beatrice asked. Everyone seemed to move forward in their seats. I pinched the bridge of my nose. ​His brow arched in curiosity. Talking about me, huh? I rolled my eyes. “Yes. This is Dorian.” “You didn’t mention he was handsome,” Cora whispered conspicuously. He bit his lip, catching a laugh before it could escape. “Are you two dating?” Lottie dug for more information. “No!” I interjected. “Leave the poor things alone,” Dotty attempted to quiet them down. “Why aren’t you two dating?” Evelyn asked, knotting the end of the thread. “Because we’re not interested in each other like that,” I blurted out. He bit the inside of his cheek, crossing his arms. Oh really? ​“That can’t be possible,” Evelyn shook the idea away. “Isn’t she pretty?” she asked Dorian. ​“She is very pretty.” He nodded. His eyes met mine. It was so earnest that it was painful to absorb. Brown orbs swirling with a palette of golden watercolors that threatened to pull me in. ​“And isn’t she smart?” ​“Incredibly smart.” He nodded. I couldn’t read his face. It was quiet but full of thought. A closed book full of wisdom written in foreign languages, disguised with a simple cover. Only, his face was never simple. ​“Well, why don’t you ask her out!” Evelyn argued. ​I lost hold of his gaze. He turned to Evelyn. “I have. Unfortunately, she’s uninterested in me.” Oh.

“Does that mean I’ll get to see you?” He glanced over at me. “From afar,” I said pointedly. “What if I happen to bump into you on the dancefloor?” “Dorian.” I glared at him. “I like it when you say my name with your cute accent. It sounds better your way.” He smirked, and it was tumultuous. The boyishness charm in his cheeks was deafening. I wanted to capture it, box it up, and hang it on a keychain so I didn’t have to face it again.

Then someone moved, and there was Dorian. I saw the silver rings on his fingers first, and the crease of his dark brow next. His navy blue jacket was off, thrown over a chair somewhere. Shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing two tattoos. His smile was abundant. A painting of joy. His eyes were closed with heavy laughter. Strands of hair fell forward like branches as James held onto his arm trying to finish a story. It was how I found him the night we met, but wildly different in so many ways.

I hadn’t realized how long I had been staring until his laugh ceased and his gaze caught me like an arrow to the chest. Shit. Should I wave? Turn around and pretend like I hadn’t been staring? The dinosaur trick? Maybe I— His face bloomed into something earnest. I was expecting discomfort. A sweeping glance in the opposite direction. But he stared right back at me. Silver rings rubbed at the side of his neck. Placing a hand in his pocket, I watched as his lips mouthed one word: Wow. I shook my head, as if to say, Do you ever stop? ​He rolled his tongue in disbelief. You don’t believe me? ​I know you. ​His brows rose. Really? ​Yup. ​Maybe I know you. Do you? I bit the inside of my cheek. He tapped his watch. You’re already ready to leave. I pressed my lips together. Point taken. He hid a smile. The lines beside his lips softened like butter as his smile dropped altogether. Opening his mouth, I read the words he shaped out. You look beautiful. My heart thudded against my chest. Thank you, I mouthed back. His face was peaceful. No crease or smirk or fidgeting. It was romantic, in theory. It seemed genuine, in theory. Being told you looked beautiful could confuse anyone. It warmed you from the inside out like a sip of mulled wine running down your throat on a night where the windows were frosted over.

I groaned in frustration. “I can’t believe you’ve somehow convinced someone to be your girlfriend.” I took ahold of the phone. “Victoria?” His brows furrowed. “No, my neighbor Maureen. Yes, Victoria.” “Victoria’s not my girlfriend.” “Really?” He sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“I. Can’t. Deal. With. Your. Cat. Hair,” I huffed with every poke. I wedged my foot between the railings to prop myself up. My lower stomach squished against the baluster. “Go. That. Way. Come. On!” I gave him one more final push and— I screamed as my feet left the balcony and the cement of my windowsill flew towards my face. I squeezed my eyes shut and threw my hand out as fingers latched onto my hips, tugging me in the opposite direction. “Jesus Christ, Adelaide, what are you doing?” Dorian breathed out a sigh full of disbelief. My chest churned out air like a broken air mattress pump. “I,” exhale, “Kurt,” inhale, “room,” exhale. “Someone was in your room?” He was horrified. I shook my head. “No, no. The neighbor’s cat, Kurt.” His stomach deflated. I fell deeper into his chest. If I could count his breaths, it was time to get off. I pushed away from him, stepping to the other side of the balcony.

I hated how much I had her memorized. I hated how much overtime my brain was running to remember her while I slept, injecting it into my dreams.

mahogany

“We have a deal, I haven’t forgotten,” I said, and flattened his tie. His hand wrapped around mine on the fabric, forcing me to look up. “Just because we have a deal doesn’t mean I don’t respect your boundaries.”

My mind was whirling with thoughts of her. Talking to her. Watching her lean over me. Feeling her hands on my chest. Having her in between my legs. She was like an intricate piece of Fine China hidden in a vintage shop made up of complex swirls and patterns that I couldn’t perfectly recreate in my mind. And every time I saw her, I was more enamored, finding more things to explore. From the way she tilted her head when my words were unexpected to the way she brushed hair from her face when she was impatient. I wasn’t one to study. But I knew the wave-like ups and downs of her voice as if I studied them for centuries. I could predict the meaning of each one with my eyes closed if asked.

Dorian in a suit. Dorian checking his watch. Dorian holding flowers. Holding peonies. His presence strung me like a violin bow and kept me still as if I was captured by a haunting melody. Then I was staring at him too long and he was turning, his eyes instantly catching me. His posture corrected. I immediately became aware of the shortness of my dress and the chip in my nail polish and the small strand of hair that wouldn’t rest on top of my head. Wow, he mouthed. I rolled my eyes. Typical. You like it, a full smile that squeezed out his dimple said. I couldn’t help but smile back. Right as I took a few steps forward, he followed, the two of us meeting in the middle.

Ahhhh love!!!!!!

“It’s nice to see all of you again,” he responded, pulling out two chairs, gesturing to the one on his right. Oh. I quickly accepted the seat before I could analyze the situation. With that, he sat beside me and listened intently to Lottie complain about her daughter’s new boyfriend. And then he laughed with Evelyn as she told stories about the time she turned twenty-two. And he understood Cora’s complaints about the rising prices of oranges at the grocery store. I was so focused on him that I forgot I was even here, and not just watching him from afar.

“Are they watching?” I asked, my back facing the tables. “Oh yeah.” He nodded, looking past my shoulders. “What are they doing?” “Making snogging faces.” “You’re kidding,” I said in horror, twisting so I could see our table. Not a single one of them was looking at us. “You’re the worst.” I shoved his shin with my boot, replacing his satisfied smirk with a scrunched brow. “Christ.” His leg faltered for a split second before he was meeting my eyes again. “It was a nudge, not a kick,” I argued. “Says the one with a working shin.” “You’re a baby.” “Am not. You’re stronger than you look,” he defended himself. “And I’d know because you try to lead when we dance.”

In my heels, I could see him so much better. Sitting across from him three times a week in the dim light of the backroom removed any chances of taking in the true brown of his eyes and the stubble he consistently shaved above his lip. “What are you thinking about?” His head had a slight tilt. The shape of your brow. The scar close to your scalp. The broadness of your shoulders. The way you say my name. The light that’s cupping the right side of your face.

“The word for when artists depict light in a painting,” I responded. His brow rose. “Chiaroscuro.” “Of course you’d know that.” “Of course that’s what you’re thinking about right now.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine, what are you thinking about?” “You don’t actually want to know. You’re just asking because I asked.” “True, but now I want to know.” “I’m thinking about how you’ve stepped on my foot three times already.” “No, I haven’t.” I backed up anyway. He pulled me back in. “Maybe I lied.” He winked.

“Are they looking at us now?” he asked. I ripped my gaze away from his lips and glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, actually. They’re all staring at your ass.” He twisted immediately without loosening his grip. “You liar,” he narrowed his eyes. But a charming smirk escaped his lips. “It’s concerning how much you enjoy humbling me.” “If not me, then who?”

“God forbid I ask the same thing. Fine, what’s something you like about me?” “I find the tomato tattooed on your upper thigh incredibly hot.” He turned away to laugh but I didn’t miss the dimple appearing in his cheek. “Dorian Blackwood, are you blushing?” “You would too if someone’s hand was on your arse,” he admitted. “My hand is not on your ass!” I lifted my hands off his body immediately. Laughter shot out of him like a canyon. “I was referencing the older woman behind me. Now who’s blushing?” He took my hands and returned them to his shoulders.

“I always have something to say.” “Well, what is it?” “Well, it’s really not appropriate at the moment.” “I just said your thigh tattoo was sexy; I think we’re past appropriate. You have to tell me.”

“I think you look beautiful, that’s all.” I never understood what people meant when they said words carried weight, because people almost never meant what they said. But right now, I got it. Because his words felt so full, so serious, that if they were physical entities, I could hold them in my hands, and they’d pull me right down. I cleared my throat. “How’s that inappropriate?” “I gave you the censored version, that’s why. I also don’t think you’re supposed to find your friends beautiful.”

He nodded and dug something out of his pocket. Walking right underneath the balcony, he tossed the item high in the air, catching me off guard. I threw my hands out and cupped the item between my palms as if I was trying to grab a guppy leaping from a pond. ​Stepping back under the cover of the balcony above my head, I opened my hands and found a telephone booth keychain. It wasn’t the red ones I passed every day on my way to campus though. This was painted a blue-gray and had small streams of green that ran from the top to resemble vines. It matched the keychains hanging from my purse. ​You did this? I let it dangle from my fingers and stared at him in awe. ​It’s just something small. He scrunched his nose. My chest filled with earnestness. I was a teddy bear stuffed with handknit hearts. I twisted, glimpsing at my purse. Before I could second guess it, I grabbed one of the keychains off my bag and ran out of the apartment, retracing my steps to his outside. “What are you—” I cut off his question with a suffocating hug. The umbrella shuttered above us. Then, it fell altogether at our side as he wrapped his arms around me. I breathed in the cold rain smell coating his hair and let the side of my face absorb the scent. My hands found the back of his neck and my heart found his. I squeezed, and he squeezed back. “Thank you. So much,” I whispered. “That was the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

With one hand secure on my lower back, his other smoothed out my hair, twirling strands at the bottom. “I’m so glad,” he exhaled. “I’m so glad.” I could remain here all night. The rain could dissipate my clothes, soak the leather of my boots, and prune my fingertips. I didn’t care. My toes ached as I pushed up on the balls of my feet to hold onto him. Pick me up and kiss me, I wanted to tell him. Swallowing one more gulp of this moment, I reluctantly pulled my hands from his hair. But not before clipping my Red Sox hat keychain onto his belt loop. I kissed the side of his neck, felt him shiver, and ran back inside. I practically floated up to my bedroom. From my balcony, I watched him pull the umbrella back over his head. In a haze, he stared at the keychain attached to his hip. Then he looked at me. He opened and closed his mouth before shaking his head like a flustered kid. The smile on his face was no longer shy. My heart raced as if I was struck by some shock of electricity. ​Happy Birthday, Adelaide, he mouthed. And then he left. His figure was slowly taken by dark sheets of rain, like a tugboat tethered to a ship in an ocean. I felt myself leaning forward.

I think I like you. I think I really like you. I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.

I turned to watch. The live-action Cinderella was playing. Cinderella stood at the top of a grand staircase in her blue ball gown. Then it cut to Prince Charming looking up at her in awe, meeting her at the bottom of the stairs. ​“I want that. That’s my dream,” she whispered. You already have so much, I wanted to tell her. Parents, comfortability, security. How’s that not already a dream? “It’s a movie, Brina. Just a fairytale.” I brushed her bangs out of her face. “I know. But someone wrote that movie. And that writing couldn’t have all been fictional. Something real must’ve inspired it.” I closed my mouth and watched the scene with her. Prince Charming pulled Cinderella in and out of his chest, letting her sparkling skirts spin around her ankles. “One day, I’m going to have a husband that looks at me like that,” she thought aloud, words muffled by the cushion. “And we’re going to have kids and live in a beautiful house with blue shutters. We’ll make pies together, take the kids to flute recitals, create Christmas traditions, and compile new stockings when we have grandkids. We’ll grow old together, and even when I’m eighty, he’ll still look at me like that.” She exhaled, her eyes falling shut again. “It’d be perfect if Dorian turned out to be that person.”

“Why aren’t you in Italy with James right now?” she asked. “Do you really need me to answer that question?” “Maybe I wanted to hear you admit it.” “Admit that I wanted to be around you? I didn’t think that was something I had to disclose.” I adjusted her hat. It didn’t need to be adjusted. But I was restless. She made me restless.

There was something between us. And I was going to tell her. Tonight. No excuses, no redirection, and no flirting that curbed the truth. If she said Sabrina was the only problem, then I’d explain on Adelaide’s behalf to her friend. If she mentioned Victoria, then I’d tell her it was over. I’d explain how I stopped at Victoria’s earlier (before dreadfully hitting the pub) to tell her I was done. That I loved someone else. If Adelaide didn’t feel the same way, then … I guess I’d spend my holiday pretending that my heart wasn’t slowly bleeding out.

“She said I’ve been acting differently: isolating myself at these events, going out when her and Mia are busy. Drinking coffee. Maureen even mentioned the cute guy that walks me home.” Shit. So much for doing a good job at upholding my end of the deal.

“You said you weren’t sleeping either.” “That’s not a question.” She continued, “You said you understood having nightmares. So what’s keeping you up at night?” “Why do you want to know?” “Can’t answer my question with another question,” she rebutted. “I imagine all the paintings in my home being stolen or lathered in peanut butter beyond repair.” “Are you ever serious?” She narrowed her eyes. “Some would say damage to artwork is the most serious enigma of them all.” She exhaled in annoyance and turned for the door— I caught her elbow and stopped her. “Fine, fine.” I took a breath. “You.” “Me?” “Yes, you.” She froze. “What about me?” “I dream about you.” She stared at me in disbelief. “You’re really going to make me say it again?” Her eyes darted across my face. She didn’t believe me. But she wanted to. Or else her elbow wouldn’t be in my hand still. “Yes,” she repeated. With the slightest force, I tugged on her arm. She obliged, taking a step. Her eyelashes were still wet, pulled into sharp points like the tip of a detailed paintbrush. I let my hand travel down the length of her arm before stopping at her fingertips, holding on. “You keep me up every night. I dream about August. And I dream about the night before Halloween when we kissed. And I dream about seeing you kiss someone else. I dream about things that haven’t even happened.” The tightness in my throat made it feel as if I just ran five miles. I was capturing air from the contained space to keep from saying anyt...

“Dorian,” she responded. Then her fingers found my chin and pulled my gaze down. My throat bobbed. A pathetic apology for what I was so close to doing. “I’m not answering that question,” I said firmly. “You haven’t even answered mine.” I was beyond flustered. “If this is your way of torturing me, it’s working. Because I lose all ability to lie when it comes to you—” “Do you ever stop talking?” she exhaled before grabbing the sides of my coat and pulling me down, crashing her lips against mine. The rain seemed to cheer behind us as my shoulders fell backward into the glass. My inner conflict immediately collapsed. A fortress built block by block left in disarray, and all the rubble sat in Adelaide Adorno’s hands. I shoved more of the debris into her grip by taking her jaw between my palms and kissing her back. Her hands found my shoulders, my neck, my hair, my jaw. She was shaping me like a sculptor. My skin felt hotter than the surface of stove after a pot of boiling water. I tried to take it all in. Absorb it. But I couldn’t stay still. With a hand on her hip and another at her neck, I switched our places, pressing her against the glass. I didn’t pull away as I peeled off my coat. She took the wrists of the fabric, tugging it off the rest of the way. I didn’t waste time finding her again, my hands catching her waist and pulling her into my chest. I couldn’t get her close enough. I couldn’t get enough of her. How is this real? How is this real? She parted my lips as if dem...

My body and mind were building up like a wall of bricks, fortifying our wall, just as they always had. A wall so thick that it had become numb. Overgrown in vines and moss. But right before the last brick could go in, all the tears slipped out. It wasn’t until I was back in my flat that I realized I had been clutching his scarf.

“Did you know it was my idea to keep that last scene in? Your father didn’t like—” The man’s mouth was moving, but I wasn’t hearing the words. I could feel her in the room before I saw her. Standing at the top of the staircase somehow looking more gorgeous than the first day I met her. It was her, my heart pounded. She was here. It was like seeing your favorite painting for the first time. This strong urge to feel it, wrap yourself in it, cover every wall in it. She was my favorite painting.

“I try not to make a habit of hitting my skull off my headboard, thank you for caring though.” “Oh no, I was more worried for the status of Victoria’s bedframe.” She smiled. “You have a lot to say for someone who got to do all the talking last time,” I argued, but the chandelier light bouncing off her merlot-painted lips made it much more difficult to maintain my frustration. “Not my fault we had a lot to catch up on. If I was prancing around London with other men, I’m sure you would’ve had more to say.” “Is Adelaide Adorno admitting jealousy?” “I hate you,” she seethed, squeezing my palm. “I don’t believe you.” “You’re a pig,” she scoffed. “That’d probably be more believable if you weren’t looking at me like you wanted to kiss me.” She looked away. “You’re predictable.” “At least I’m not jealous.” “Better than being obsessed.” “Obsessed? You think I’m obsessed with you?”

“You could’ve pulled your hand away. Not dance with me.” “It’s not like you would’ve listened to me.” “Adelaide, we both know I hang on your every word. I couldn’t ignore you if I tried. If you said no, then I would’ve let go.” My heart reached my throat as her eyes shifted to my face. I wanted her. Every fiber of my being craved her. I swore it was written all over my face in permanent ink. I love you. I love you. I love you.

The words on my tongue dried up. I didn’t know what to say. I was nauseous; my heart outside my body and the air trapped between us. He was supposed to understand. To understand how my brain and my heart worked. That this never worked for me. He wasn’t supposed to get this close because I couldn’t give him that.

“Finally, I found you. We need to go— Adelaide, what’s wrong?” I sniffed and wiped the wetness from under my eyes. “Nothing, I’m fine.” I hated that every time I looked at him, I saw the boy in the telephone booth, before I saw the man who preferred Victoria. “Love, look at me,” he said, and I shivered. He stood on a step below, leaning down. I sat rigid, trying not to give in as his hands consuming my jaw with concern. His entire being overwhelmed me. “Are you hurt? Tell me what’s wrong,” he urged.

The words began tumbling out of my mouth without a second thought. “I don’t love her, I love you, and if you had stopped making up your mind before I had a second to finish explaining myself, you would’ve realized that this entire time I’ve been trying to give you the space you wanted. I’ve tried to get over you each time you told me you weren’t interested so I could hopefully salvage some shred of my dignity, but all I could think about was you. All I ever think about is you. You’re all I paint for God’s sake.” Exhale. Inhale. “The problem was never that I loved her, because I didn’t. It was always that I loved you.” She stared at me with cheeks completely flushed. Rain filled our silence. I wanted her. I wanted her. I wanted her. I had never wanted someone so strongly before and it terrified me. “You can’t just make me fall in love with you and take it all back,” I whispered. “Say something. Please.” Her eyes were dewy. “Are you sure?” “What?” I asked dumbfounded. “Are you sure that you love me? Because if you take it back in a few months or a few years, I don’t know if I’ll survive it when being in love with you has already been this treacherous.” “Did you just say you were in love with me?” “Treacherously so, yes.” Her eyes darted across my face. “So tell me Dorian Blackwood, are you sure?” “I was sure the first night I walked you home,” I exhaled. A smile finally kicked up on her face. At last, I let myself touch her, my hands going to the sides of her jaw. “I adore y...

Don’t Forget to Enjoy Life — Adelaide

My chest began to tighten. Small, thin papercuts dove for my heart as I looked at all the mothers and fathers and siblings. I spotted Sabrina’s dad in the balcony to the left, in front of the windows. While Mia’s mom and dad and sisters and brothers sat just a few rows to the right of them. “Adelaide!” The shout swiveled my focus to the right, where in the first row of the balcony stood a group of women flailing their arms with excitement. Iris, Dotty, Cora, Evelyn, Jane, Beatrice, Lottie, Maureen. And Auntie Laila. They were holding cards. For me. She came all the way here, for me. My entire nervous system bubbled with unexpected, unfathomable, joy. I couldn’t contain the tears springing to my eyes as they applauded and blew me kisses.

Watching them, I realized exactly what it must’ve felt like to have a scrapbook made for you. Because I was looking at one in motion. Maybe life wasn’t all about protecting yourself and trying to push away pain. Maybe forgetting was all about forwardness. To remain steady on the path forward while trying to pick up as many stones filled with gratitude and joy and hope so that the resentment that fueled the lack of forgiveness didn’t overwhelm the present. There was something beautiful about falling in love with the uncertainty of life.

“You’re a terrible liar.” He leaned in closer, his lips hovering above mine. I could smell the mint on his breath from the ice cream we shared earlier. I wanted to be consumed by it. So I let my lips part and I— “Dorian!” I shrieked as the sandwich in my hand was replaced by salty ocean air, finding it in his conniving cheeky mouth instead. “You’re evil!” He ran away from me with sharp laughter and a mouth full of bread and cheese. But there wasn’t much space to run in Jasmine’s guest bedroom, so we ended up in circles, the bed becoming an obstacle to jump on. “Dorian Blackwood let me attack you!” I hissed, trying to keep my voice low before jumping on the bed again. “Fine.” He stopped abruptly, letting me bump into him, the sandwich already gone. In one turn, he pulled me over his shoulder and threw my back onto the mattress, his fingers running up and down my torso, tickling me. Laughter bubbled up and down my throat. I tried swatting him away but then he’d pepper my neck with kisses. “Despite the fact that you wouldn’t share your sandwich with me, I want you to know that I do still love you,” he said. “Très, très bien.”