“He’s been trying to call me nonstop,” he says, “from phone numbers that I don’t have blocked. So he could tell me to get Julia to call him back.”
I gawk. “I don’t understand.”
“Turns out they’ve been talking,” he says. “Which I’m guessing she didn’t tell me because she knew it would stress me out, waiting for him to fuck her over again. Which he did. He figured out where Jules worked, because she still lets him follow her on social media—which I warned her about—and he told our mom.
“She showed up at the restaurant. Upset Julia bad enough that she walked out. Got fired, blocked my dad, and got on an airplane here—not necessarily in that order—and now he’s harassing me to try to get her to forgive him.”
“Oh my god, Miles,” I say. “That’s terrible.”
“I’m sorry.” He rubs the bridge of his nose.
“Why?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t want to dump this on you.”
“You’re not dumping it on me,” I promise.
“I’m used to keeping all of this separate. And nothing is, with you. You’re my roommate and my best friend and the woman I just slept with.”
My eyes burn. I try to blink away the feeling.
He’s looking at me like he’s trying to strain something out of me. “Daphne?”
“You’re my best friend too.” It comes out as a throaty whisper. “That’s why today was so hard, when my dad left.”
My throat twists, my voice wobbling: “Because you saw it. And it makes me feel pathetic. Even more so because the truth is, if he turned around and came right back here, I’d be thrilled. I’d forgive him again and again, just hoping that eventually I’d actually mean something to him. I’d call and beg him to come back, if I thought there was a chance he’d say yes. But I can’t, because I know he won’t. And I don’t want to hear that. I don’t want him to prove that I’m . . .”
I’m trying to find alternate words.
Because just saying these feels like codifying the truth into existence.
It’s painful to push them past the knot in my throat, but holding them in all these years hasn’t made me feel better, hasn’t made them less true, hasn’t stanched the bleeding or numbed the pain. “That I’m not worth it.”
“Hey.” Miles’s arms come around me, his heat and spicy ginger scent soaking into me.
“A part of me is just waiting,” I rasp, “for the moment when you see whatever it is that drives people away. And I don’t want that. I don’t want you to stop wanting me around. I think it might break my heart to be someone you don’t like.”
“Fuck. Daphne.” His hands come up to my face. “Do you want to know why your dad doesn’t stick around?”
Tears sting the back of my nose, but I nod. It’s the question I’ve never been able to stop asking, no matter how badly it hurts.
“Because you see him,” Miles says. “And he can’t stand it. And Peter’s the same shit with a different outfit, so bored with himself he convinced himself that being with someone like Petra would turn him into someone else, without, like, having to be brave enough to try acid.”
“He was bored with me, Miles,” I say.
“If it was about you,” he says, “he could’ve ended it. Instead he blew up his life. That’s about him. I’ve been that guy, a dozen times, with a dozen people I didn’t deserve. It’s easy to be loved by the ones who’ve never seen you fuck up. The ones you’ve never had to apologize to, and who still think all your ‘quirks’ are charming.
“It’s easy to be around people who don’t know you. But as soon as someone starts to figure you out—as soon as you can’t be perfect—it’s easier to move on. Find someone new to be the cool, fun, laid-back one with.”
“So that’s it?” My voice crackles. “I make people feel like their worst selves.”
“Daphne, no.” He pulls me in against him, his face buried in my neck. “God, no.” When he draws back, tense dimples have pricked his scruffy jaw. “Look, I’ve always wanted to be that fun, easy person with no baggage, even with Petra. But after a while, someone either finally sees you or they don’t, and either way it fucking sucks. Because if they see you, and it’s not what they signed up for, then they’re out of there. And if they never see you . . . it’s worse. Because you’re just alone.
“And I loved Petra,” he says, “but deep down I knew, as soon as things stopped being fun, she’d be gone. And she was. She found something more romantic, more perfect, just more. I think you’re the first person who’s really seen me. Past what I want people to see.
“You make the people you care about feel like . . .” He pauses. “Like you want all of them. Not just the good parts. And that’s terrifying to someone who’s spent a lifetime avoiding those other pieces of themselves.”
“I don’t want to scare people off,” I say, throat aching.
He shakes his head. “It’s worth being scared. Trust me. You’re worth it.”
He kisses the center of my palm. Heat gathers in my belly. It builds between us. Just standing here in the kitchen with him is in the top three most erotic moments of my life.
I lift my face, and he brushes his nose back and forth against mine. “You’re worth it, Daphne,” he says, hand soft on my jaw and eyes closed.
“Miles?” I whisper.
“Hm?”
“I do,” I say. “I do want all those parts of you.”
His eyes open, molten, warm. “Good,” he says. “They want you too.”
Then he kisses me. It’s perfect.
No, better than that. It’s every part of him, at once.
“My room or yours?” I ask him.
“Yours,” he says. “First, yours.”
29
SUNDAY, AUGUST 4TH
13 DAYS UNTIL THE READ-A-THON
I sleep late on Sunday, and when I do wake, Miles is still in my bed, one arm over me.
I stretch my sore limbs in every direction, and he stirs. Through a smile, one eye open, he croaks, “Hey.”
My heart flutters drunkenly. “Hey.”
He snuggles closer, setting his cheek against my stomach. “What time is it?”
“Noon,” I tell him.
