“Night, sweetie,” my mom says.
The words I’d looked forward to hearing in person all semester—spoken through the phone each night before climbing into my dorm’s bed—bring little comfort tonight. Instead, they only bring me closer to the conversation I’m terrified to have.
I shut my bedroom door behind me, my hands slick from nerves as I wipe them quickly on my heavy flannel pajama pants.
Okay. We’re going to do this. We’re going to ask Cole to explain himself. We’re going to ask him once and for all if he was the Sinclair brother who I met in the bathroom freshman year—and if he was, why he let Caden take credit for it. Then, I’m going to ask him where we stand now, because, honestly? I’m beyond confused. I’m nonplussed. Baffled. Bewildered. And out of synonyms.
My knees buckle. A wave of dizziness crashes over me. My mind turns like a warped record revolving on a high speed, the music a chaotic blur of unintelligible lyrics and jarring notes, a cacophony signifying nothing.
Tessa told me to stop overthinking it.
That’s such a joke. I’ve never known a moment’s peace when it comes to my brain.
A few weeks ago, when I imagined sharing my childhood bedroom with a Sinclair for a week, I expected to feelnervous, but I thought it’d be the kind of nervous that comes with anticipation—the hopeful kind. Not this… this mess of uncertainty, the kind where everything I thought I knew about the last three years is suddenly in question, and nothing makes sense anymore.
Is it hot in here?
I tug at my thermal pajama sleeves, trying to calm myself, but it’s no use. My eyes flick to the one spot in the room that isn’t a respite for me. It’s a poster of a cat hanging on a tree branch that covers the spot where I thought it’d be a great idea to write “Dillon and Natalie forever” in balloon letters with a hot pink Sharpie. I’ve painted over it a dozen times, but the faint marks still remain.
It feels like a metaphor.
No matter how much I try to cover it up, I’ll always be the girl who wasn’t enough. The girl who needed to be hidden away. The girl who chased after a boy who never wanted to be caught. A boy who never wanted to catch me in return.
My stomach twists. I’m faintly aware of Cole saying something about sleeping arrangements, but I’ve receded far too into myself to respond to any of it. IfColewas the person I ran into in the bathroom…that means the entire foundation of my friendship with Caden is a lie.
Caden. My one friend.
Plus, if Cole was the man in the bathroom—a man I thought I had such a strong connection with for a moment I believed in my mom’s story about soulmates—then he must have been so repulsed by our short time together that he let his brother take credit for it rather than deal with my enormous mess.
His brother Caden. My one friend.
Sweat beads my forehead as “my one friend” cycles on repeat in my mind. Do I even want to be friends with him anymore?
Yes? No. I don’t know. He’s lied to me since day one, and it seems like that’s an intrinsic part of his character.
So no, I don’t want to be friends with who he really is. But I’ll miss who I thought he was. So much.
What will I do when we go back to campus? I love Tessa, but we do great existing parallel to each other, I can’t depend on her like I did with Caden. And I?—
I don’t want to be alone again. I’ve been so lonely for most of my life. My chest tightens. My breaths start coming in shallow.
Panic. Panic attack.
“Natalie? Hey! Are you okay?” Cole wraps an arm around me as my vision darkens and my legs buckle under the weight of everything I’m feeling. “Woah, there. Don’t tap out yet. You’ve got twelve more days of being in love with me to go.”
“It’d be a merciful ending if I did,” I quip, wrapping my arms reluctantly around his waist. I listen to the rhythm of his breath, matching mine with his, slowly finding steady ground again as the panic ebbs.
“There’s my girl,” he murmurs into the top of my head.
Smoke from the wood barn at White’s lingers in Cole’s shirt. It mixes with his signature cedar and lemon, and I burrow myself into the smell to steady my breaths some more.
“Sorry for the dramatics, I swear I’m fine.”
“You sure? Because it kind of seems like you’re about to pass out on me.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Really,” I say, again, even though I’m not. I keep my face buried in his chest, trying to hide the blush creeping up my neck and the erratic thump-thump-thump of my heart. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
