Page 75 of Love and Other Goals

Mateo laughs and says we should go to dinner. He tries to separate himself from me, but I cling on more tightly. “Nope, not hungry,” I insist, refusing to release my grasp around him.

Naturally, my stomach growls again, and Mateo pinches my side. “Your stomach says otherwise, Lana. Literally,” he says with a wink.

“Finnnnnnnne,” I moan with feigned frustration. Mateo quickly transfers his duffel bag into the house, and we drive to dinner, clasped hands resting on my knee.

We stuff ourselves with pasta and tiramisu as we recap the rest of our winter breaks. We compare schedules for the semester to figure out when we’ll have overlapping free time to see each other. I’m still committed to volunteering at The Hangout, because there’s no way in the world I would bail on the girls for my final semester here.

“Over break, I found the email for The Hangout director on their website and asked about volunteering there too,” Mateo says. My heart skips a beat.

“For real? You’re going to start coming on Tuesdays?” I ask, hope and gratefulness and pride welling up in my heart.

“Of course for real,” Mateo answers, smiling. “I’ll mostly be in the rec area playing soccer or basketball with the guys, but at least we’ll be able to see each other there.”

I don’t know why exactly, but my eyes fill with tears. I reach my hand over to grab Mateo’s across the table. “Why are you always so amazing?” I say with a sniff. Mateo pulls my hand up to press a kiss against my knuckles.

Playfully yet gently, he responds, “Well, you started it.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

On the day classes resume, I’m looking at my schedule and starting to feel anxious. While I’m grateful that my course load was lighter last fall while I was applying to law school, I’m slightly regretting leaving myself with such an intense schedule for my final semester.

After sitting through two classes of syllabus readings, I walk to my final class of the day, a Theories of Human Communication elective. I’m a few minutes early since my previous class ended before the scheduled time, so I find a seat in the middle of the room and pull out my phone to distract me till the professor arrives.

A few minutes later, I hear my name in a familiar voice. I look up to see Aaron standing in front of me, and I drop my phone in surprise.

Aaron picks my phone up off the floor and hands it to me as he slides into the desk next to mine. “So, Human Communications, huh? I suppose you would be doing a lot of communicating with humans as an immigration lawyer,” he says, coming across surprisingly nonchalant compared to our previous recent interactions.

“Yep, you got it. And you’re in this class because…?” I ask, much less nonchalantly.

“It’s one of the electives offered for business and marketing. I figure marketing is a form of communication, so can’t hurt to better understand how people communicate,” Aaron explains.

My heart is still pounding, and I hope no one else notices the copious amounts of moisture the sweat glands in my armpits are now producing. I’m bouncing my foot and rehearsing “Perfect” with my right hand on my desk, trying to divert my nervous energy without being obviously awkward.

I’m clearly failing though, evidenced by Aaron turning toward me and reaching his hand over to still my fingers tapping melodies on the desk. My eyes flit over to his, and he clears his throat.

“Listen, Lana, I know I’ve acted super weird with you and put you in some awkward positions over the past few months, and I’m sorry,” he begins in a quiet voice, although we’re still the only two students in the classroom. “I feel like I need to just put my cards on the table, since not being clear is what caused me to miss out on us in the first place.”

My skin is clammy and I’m holding my breath as I wait to see where he’s going to take this train of thought. Another student comes in the room, and Aaron pauses as she walks past us, but resumes when she takes a seat on the opposite side of the classroom.

“I can’t lie, Lana, and say I’m over you, ‘cause I’m not. My feelings for you haven’t gone away, but I recognize that you’re…you’re with Alvarez, and I do respect that,” he continues before clearing his throat again. “Just because I missed out on a relationship with you doesn’t mean I want to miss out on your friendship. I really would like to move forward as friends, if that’s okay with you. Especially now that we’ll have class three days a week together.”

He looks at me patiently, his bouncing knee the only tell that he’s nervous. I decide if we’re going to put cards on the table, I may as well go all in. In a low but firm voice, I begin, “I am okay with that, Aaron. We’ve known each other for a long time, so I do want to be friends with you, as long as you recognize that being my friend means hearing me talk about Mateo. I care about him a lot, and he’s a big part of my life, so you can’t act uncomfortable every time I bring him up. Are you okay with that?”

Aaron doesn’t answer right away, instead leaning back in his chair and popping his knuckles as his knee continues bouncing. But he eventually turns back toward me. “Okay, yes. I will be—I’ll make myself be okay with it, Lana, if it means being your friend again.”

A student excuses himself to walk between our desks to sit behind me, giving me a second to close my eyes and exhale.

Aaron leans closer and whispers, “Friends share notes from class, right?” I snort a laugh, and he grins, clearly happy that he successfully lightened the mood. “You were always a better student than me,” he adds as he straightens back up when our professor begins her introduction.

Later that night, I’m sitting with Amaya and Teegan at dinner. “So he agreed not to be a weirdo every time you say Mateo’s name?” Amaya asks as she twirls fettuccine around her fork, one skeptical eyebrow raised.

I shrug and answer, “So he says. I guess we’ll see if he follows through or not.”

“I hope he does, for your sake. Otherwise, seeing him in class three times a week on top of Arrow meetings is going to be miserable,” Teegan adds.

I pause before concluding, “I hope he does for his sake. It doesn’t make me feel good about myself that Aaron’s still holding on to feelings for me—I really do want him to move on and be happy, as happy as I am with Mateo.”

“That’s sweet of you, Beef,” Teegan says, patting me on the shoulder. “Are you going to tell Mateo about this conversation?”

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