Page 51 of Unhitched

Chapter thirty-three

Kace

Mya and I didn’t speak most of the drive home from the expo last night, and shortly after, she went out with Chloe.

It’s like she couldn’t get away from me quick enough–and I only know because there was a note on the counter when I got out of the shower saying she was having a sleepover.

Despite never sleeping in the same room at home, I felt her absence.

I thought taking her out would be a good thing for our friendship, but we feel even more distant than before.

But fuck, if that didn’t make me realize how much closer I want to be.

I can’t stop thinking about the Olive Theory.

Mya thinks it’s about opposites making sense together–I could eat her tomatoes and all would be right in the world.

That’s not what it really means though. It’s about being willing to make sacrifices for someone because you love them.

It’s about wanting to support them and being willing to put your small preferences or discomfort aside for their happiness.

Seeing Mya light up over every detail in the expo was worth the chaos of kids and the blinding colors.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her, entranced by her energy and the way she moved from room to room like she was exploring heaven.

She felt a little off toward the end, but it wasn’t anything that felt too worrisome.

But this morning, she still wasn’t home by the time I hit my lunch break.

Gripping the metal door handle to Little Conejo, I turn at the sound of “I’m Too Sexy,” belting from Dave as he comes to a slow stop on his bike.

A chuckle escapes me as I release my hold on the door. “Hey, Dave.”

“Kace!” He steps off his bike and leans it against the patio picnic table, the Charlie Brown tree leaning from its place in the milk crate strapped to the back. “Are you feeling sexy today?!”

“Not as much as you are,” I tease, thankful he’s able to ease the tightness in my chest from my impending therapy session.

“Well, that’s a shame. What’s got your confidence in a chokehold, dude?”

I shake my head, hoping it comes off as nonchalant, and glance at my watch. “Would you like lunch?”

His nearly toothless grin widens. “I’d be honored to have lunch with you.”

I nod toward the table. “Be right back.” I make my way inside and order eight tacos before rejoining Dave. I straddle the picnic table bench, twisting enough to face him on the opposite side, the breeze brisk against my cheek. “How’s life treating you?”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” He shrugs off his jacket, worn and hardly recognizable as green. “Tell me about the girl.”

Kicking my feet onto the picnic bench, I lean against the connecting wall of the building. “What girl?”

“The pretty little thing who picks up dinner for the two of you sometimes.”

“My roommate,” I clarify. It’s technically true.

“Uh huh. She always buys me a torta, you know?”

My eyes widen. “She does?” I’m not surprised at her kindness, I just didn’t expect my two small worlds to collide.

“A true angel, that one. One time, she even humored me with a duet. ‘Build Me Up Buttercup.’ Do you know that one?”

I crack a smile. “Yeah.” I shift my glance to the waitress long enough to take our food tray from her and say thank you.

“Thought ya might. I saw the video.” He wiggles his eyebrows as he reaches for a taco. I slide the metal tray closer.

“What video?”

“The buttercup one,” he says, his punctuation feeling more like a duh .

I raise a brow.

“Little Miss made a music video on her fancy phone. Dancing around and singing.”

I nod, pieces of the memory fusing.

“Have you seen it?”

“I was there, but I haven’t watched the video.” I can feel Mya on my lap, cuddling into me like she didn’t realize it was too intimate for how little we knew each other at the time.

“Ah. So you didn’t see your cameo?” He continues when I don’t respond. “At the end, she’s dancing toward you. The way you’re watching her… I don’t think she notices, but I can see it.”

I raise a brow. “See what?”

“That you love her.”

My pulse ticks up a notch. That was the beginning. I sure as shit didn’t love her then. But now? There are two one-syllable words on the tip of my tongue, battling between truth and denial.

“It’s pretty clear she feels the same.” Dave pushes back the stray piece of hair that’s fallen from his ponytail.

I reach for a birria taco and take a bite instead of responding.

He shoves the second half of his taco into his mouth and reaches for a napkin before sitting back and waiting.

There’s no way. It’s absurd enough to think someone else can see I love her, when I haven’t even accepted that myself.

But if someone else can see it in me, surely I’d be able to see it in her.

“I don’t think she loves me.” The thought steals my appetite.

He narrows his eyes. “Does she have someplace else she could go? Besides your apartment?”

“Yeah…” I’m not catching his drift.

He reaches for another taco. “But she stays.”

“Her life is here. It’s convenient.”

“Convenient to live with a grump and recluse?”

I roll my eyes. “I come here to be around people every day.”

“Your best friend is a forty-eight-year-old homeless man,” he counters.

“What’s your point?” I finish my taco and reach for a second even though my stomach is churning at the conversation.

“My point is that people don’t stick around when someone is at their lowest if they don’t think said person is worth it.”

“Yeah.” I end this particular conversation, not convinced that’s why she hasn’t left.

The rest of lunch is full of bullshit. He distracts me with gossip from the RV camp, acting like he’s annoyed even though I know he loves the community that’s formed there.

He digresses into a few rogue stories about his days overseas.

I try to hang onto every word and stay present, but my mind continuously drifts to the pretty little thing I want to be so much more than my roommate.

Thirty minutes later, I walk through the therapist’s door, not much more confident than I was the first time.

“Kace. It’s great to see you again.” Angela welcomes me into the room and sits in the armchair opposite the couch where I take a seat.

“Thanks for making time for me again.” I lean forward, forearms on my knees.

She crosses a leg over the opposite one. “What brings you in today?”

I take a breath. “Mya.” My stomach flips at the thought of her. “What we’re doing isn’t working.”

“I’ m sorry to hear that. Did you start spending more time together?”

“Yes.” A confession is waiting to escape, but it’s terrifying as fuck. She must know it because she waits. “I want to be with her and stop pulling away.” I exhale, running my fingers through my hair.

“When did you come to this decision?”

I sigh. “I think I’ve known for a while. But I guess it really hit me yesterday.”

“What happened yesterday?”

“I took her to an art expo I knew she’d like. It’s something I would have dreaded going to with anyone else.”

She leans forward, her arm resting on the leg crossed over the other. “And why is that?”

“Anything with her is just different . More fun. I don’t know.”

“You enjoy being around her.”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. I’m tempted to kiss her whenever she’s close. Hold her hand. Stare at her like she’s fucking magic.” I scoff at myself when I realize that this probably sounds insane to someone who was led to believe that Mya and I are already in a relationship.

If she catches on, she doesn’t show it. “Why do you think you keep pulling away?”

“I know why. My ex cheated.” It occurs to me that I’m not as disgusted by the fact as I usually am. If Ruby didn’t cheat, I wouldn’t have Mya.

“Do you want to share what else you just realized?” Angela observes.

“I know Mya isn’t Ruby. She’s a better person and a better fit for me by far.”

“But…” she prompts.

“I can’t let go of the fact that she’s a runner by nature. She can’t seem to stay in a relationship. I don’t want to be a name in the middle of her list.”

“You want to be the last one.”

I freeze, my eyes bouncing around the room as I consider my answer. “I think so.” The realization hits me square in the chest. This isn’t a short-term vision for me.

She holds her stare for a moment. “Can I ask you something?” I nod. “What was the first job you ever wanted?”

“Uhh.” I scan my memory and chuckle. “When I was a kid, I wanted to get paid to play video games.”

“And after that?”

“I was set on designing a new game console for a while. Then I wanted to code websites.”

“Now what do you do?”

“Cybersecurity.”

“How long have you been doing that?”

“Almost a decade.”

“Do you love it? Or wish you had stuck with one of the other avenues?”

“I can’t see myself doing anything else.”

She hums. “Interesting, don’t you think?”

I raise a brow.

“That you had many short-lived dreams before you landed on the one .”

Her point feels like the colors of a Rubik’s cube clicking into place.

A grin slips out as she continues her explanation.

“Kace, life is made up of trial and error. The likelihood of finding the best option on the first try is small. There’s too much variety in life.

Not to mention, with each decision we make, the path being right or wrong is dependent on age, knowledge and situation.

The knowledge especially–of what we love, hate, need –that doesn’t come without experience…

without trial and error.” She pauses to gauge my reaction.

I press my fingertips together over my knees. “I’m following.”

“What if you are to Mya, what cybersecurity is to you? The end of a long road of trying, discovering, searching. ”

“What if I’m not?” My stomach flips at the thought, my lunch threatening to come back up.

“Is it worth sticking around and putting in the effort to see if you are?”