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Agustin is quiet from the moment we leave the house. Not a word until we hit the freeway.
Finally, he asks, “Are you hungry?”
“No” is my nervous reply. My stomach feels like it’s turning inside out. No way I can eat now.
I sneak a peek over at him when we’re finally home, the two of us sitting quietly in his Range Rover. He’s gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles white. Swirling ripples of silver streak across the sky. Splashes of water hit the windshield with each passing of the cars on the street. The sky hangs low with deep gray blanketing the darkness behind it. Despite the unsettling feeling buried deep inside me, the sound of the rain is somewhat calming. A reminder of the day Agustin came into my life.
I’d been seeing him around for months on campus. “You come here often?” he asked, then broke into a fit of laughter. “Worst pickup line ever, right?”
I smiled and reached for the wine I’d been drinking, my eyes on the painting in front of me that if you asked me, looked like a kindergartener had been given a set of oil paints for Christmas and their parents are now charging fifty thousand dollars for it.
“That was pretty cheesy,” I told him.
Agustin blew out air, relieved. “Well, now that I have the pickup line out of the way, can I buy you a coffee sometime?”
To this day, I can’t tell you why I agreed. Sure, Agustin was attractive and knew how to perfectly pair his accent and charm together, but what was really drawing me to him? I don’t know the answer. Maybe it’s me trying to live a life I think I need.
Is that it?
“Do you want to go inside?” I ask, bringing myself back to the moment, my voice timid and unsure of what he might say next.
At first, he sighs, blinks, but doesn’t say anything. Fear pricks my skin. “Who is Roan to you?” He shifts in his seat and turns, facing me. I search his eyes. Dark, pleading, curious. If I had to guess, Agustin has a version of me in his head and if I looked closely at that girl he thinks he knows, she’s nothing like the one I really am.
I bite my lip, try to think of a lie, a way around the truth but I can’t. “He was my first… everything.”
“And the other one?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Tiller?”
He nods, his jaw working back and forth. This guy, I don’t recognize him. I’ve only ever seen the sweet, caring man who wants nothing but for me to be happy. I sneak another glance at him, the only sounds in the car our breathing and the rain hitting the roof.
Blinking back tears, I breathe in, then out, and finally offer, “I really don’t think we need to have this conversation.” I reach for the door handle. We’re parked on the street in front of our condo in Brentwood. “It was a long time ago.”
But was it? Not really, not at all.
“I saw the way you looked at him,” he adds, raising an eyebrow.
“Because Tiller’s insane. It’s hard not to look at him like he’s crazy,” I say teasingly, trying to bring some humor to the conversation I still don’t want to be having.
He tilts his head. “I wasn’t talking abouthim.”
Of course he isn’t. I knew that. “I’m not exactly sure what you’re looking for here, Agustin. It’s in the past.”
His stare tells me he knows more than I’m giving him credit for. “It’s not for him.”
The idea that it’s not, the reality, sends a kick to my chest and skip to my heart.
“I have to go pick my sister up at the airport,” he says, starting the car again.
“Oh, do you want me to come with you?”
Without making eye contact, he shakes his head. “I won’t be long.”
With my hand still on the door handle, I search his face, his eyes, crooked nose, chin. Nothing indicates his mood. While I can usually read Agustin, this time he’s a mystery. If this was Roan, I’d say he’d be going after the competition, but not Agustin. No. He’s the kind of guy who sends his mom flowers every Monday just because and buys coffee for the person behind him every time we stop at Starbucks.
“Okay. I guess I’ll see you later then?”
Before I open the door, his hand slides across the console and he reaches for my hand and kisses my knuckles. “I love you,” he whispers, and then slowly his eyes lift to mine. He’s waiting for my reply, knowing if it doesn’t come, I lied.