Xander ignores my question in favor of pulling out another T-shirt, this one with the stoner turtle fromNemoon it. It’s got the words “Crushing It! UCLA Bruins” written on it. He makes a funny face. “UCLA did a collab with Disney?”
“UCLAisthe leading arts and cultural center in the western United States,” I say, like when I was back in my childhood bedroom reading the brochure that came with the acceptance letter word for word.
“Come for the degree. Stay for the performing arts,” Xander says, quirking an eyebrow.
He holds the T-shirt up to me and studies it. I shake my head, letting him know that a Disney collab eleven years postgraduation is not the T-shirt he’s looking for, even if he hasn’t told me exactly what he’s looking for.
Xander takes my cue and puts it back. “Does it matter whether I like it or not?” I ask.
“Sure it does,” he says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. To me, it’s another stirring of the feels.
“Surely it doesn’t,” I counter.
He shakes his head with a single laugh like I told the world’s wittiest joke and continues to search the racks for who the fuck knows. And so I continue to flick through the racks of T-shirts.
UCLA Proud Parent. UCLA Mom. UCLA Dad.
As if anyone’s parents would be caught dead wearing this.
Xander looks over my shoulder. “My mom wouldn’t stop wearing hers for my entire first year.” Okay, so I guess thereareparents who would rather die showing their support.
“Found it!” Xander says, and just when I feel hope that we can wrap this up, I see him holding out a light blue UCLA T-shirt with the wordLAWstamped on it.
I freeze.
That’s the exact T-shirt I stole from Xander the night we …
The exact T-shirt that’s sitting in a cardboard box in my storage unit, along with my graduation certificate and other random university mementos. Untouched for years. Leaving me completely unbothered. Until now.
Standing here, staring at the exact replica has me remembering the details of the night and the next morning that I’ve forced myself to forget …
We’re sitting at the bar of the Mexican hole-in-the-wall like we’re part of the furniture, which we basically are after a month. Xander and I are still relatively fresh when it comes to our friendship.
Every moment we spend together is a lesson in each other. As it nears midnight, our final drinks are made. Miguel, the bartender, teases us that this’ll be the most lethal one yet. We laugh. He’s right. We stumble off the bar stools and wander back to campus. We talk about our favorite songs. I confess my love for One Direction. He starts singing “What Makes You Beautiful.” I give him one of those side hugs that’s perfectly designed to continue walking. He asks me what my favorite power ballad is. I tell him it’s “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” by Aerosmith. He spins me around and we dance while we sing the lyrics slowly and softly until we break apart and air drum and karate kick our way through the dramatic final bridge and scream the rest of the lyrics until our voices are raw.
After our rendition of “I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing,” Xander stops, breathless. He grabs my hand and turns me to face him. “You’re incredible,” he says. The tone of his voice changes. It’s low. It’s slow. It’s gentle. Even with all of Miguel’s margaritas, I know this is an important moment. A defining moment. A moment where Xander is going to push this to a new level. And I’m scared shitless. Because I want the same thing. Because Xander is the most incredible person I’ve ever met. No denying it.
But I also know that even though from the moment Xander walked up to me in the quad it was like signing our names in blood that we’d be inseparable, it doesn’t matter. It would never work.
Love and sex can’t coexist.
And still, in the middle of the quad with Xander smiling at me, I start to think maybe I’ve got it all wrong? For a split second I think we’re going to kiss and it’s going to be fireworks and rainbows and unicorns. I look into his eyes and we’re staring at each other and my heart beats louder, faster. It’s spinning off its axis, gravitating toward Xander. My gaze drifts up, grazing his big hazel eyes. And his single curl that won’t be tamed. And his perfect smile you know he wore braces for in high school. I want him so bad. I want to change my surname and believe in the social construct that there is “The One,” and he’s right in front of me.
And then we kiss.
It’s like a kiss that’s always meant to have happened. Like the whole entire universe rearranged itself for this moment to happen. It’s slow. It’s sexy. It’s love. Love and chemistry. Xander presses his entire body into me, and I press back. My hands cup his face. It’s practically game over for me. I’m done. Call me Mrs. Miller.
I end up in his bed that night. Rules be damned.
The next morning, I hear Xander in the kitchen. And I know I need to leavenowbefore he sees me. Because I know if I see him, I will stay. And I can’t.
I remember patient zero from my mom’s book: my dad. And how fucked everything was after The Cheating. And I know I must protect my heart at any cost.
My head is having a drunken brawl with my heart. My heart thinks my rules are fucking stupid. My head thinks my heart is fucking stupid. See what I mean when I saydrunken brawl? The eloquence. My heart tells me to go into the kitchen and just see him. My head tells me to avoid contact at all costs. My heart tells me we could work. My head runs off statistics about divorce. My heart tells me what we have is beyond math. My head tells my heart how we would end up cheating on each other. My heart hurts. My head wins.
So I search his room, high and low, for my own T-shirt and come up short. That’s when I see his crumpled-up T-shirt lying on the floor. And so I take the opportunity.
I pull it over my head, refusing to let his sweet and salty scent convince me to stay, and I get on my hands and knees and crawl.
