Page 55 of On My Side
“Oh, Ren.” She slides closer to me, and my heart inflates. She’s touched. Honored.
I turn to face her. “Yeah?” I try to keep my voice steady, so as to not give away how giddy I am.
“I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this…” She picks my hand up and squeezes it. “I know.”
I stare at her. “I mean… like I had a crush on you as a kid, not just in the present,” I clarify.
She smiles sympathetically. “I know. We all knew. It was a little creepy, to be honest.”
“Creepy,” I echo hollowly. This cannotbe happening.
“You were nine and wouldn’t stop staring at me, or playing love balladswhilestaring at me. You insisted on learning how to play that song fromTitanicand would sing and stare at me whenever you practiced. One time, you muttered, ‘I love you,’ at Sunday dinner.”
“Ah, yes, see, that was a misunderstanding. I was quotingThe Empire Strikes Backand hoping you’d finish the quote for me,” I defend myself—quite convincingly, I think.
She tilts her head and raises a brow.
“Fine. I was literally in love with you,” I say quickly. That look she gave me could get me to reveal the things I kept secret even from Father Gilligan when I still went to confession.
She laughs and I decide it was worth making a fool out of myself to hear that again. “You’re lucky you grew up to be so handsome,” she says.
I grin. “You think I’m handsome, sweetheart?”
Her eyes widen. “I didn’t say that.”
“You just did! And if you were to check the transcript, the record would show…”
She playfully shoves my shoulder. “You’re an asshole.”
“I cannot believe you had theaudacityto callmecreepy when you somehow got into my apartment buildingandfigured out which apartment was mine. That’s like, proper stalker behavior.”
“I mean, if you want to gettechnicalabout it…”
I laugh, and I try to pretend I don’t notice how her eyes brighten, like she loves the sound of my laughter as much I love the sound of hers.
That’s dangerous thinking.
“What do you want to happen next?” I ask her.
“I don’t know,” she responds quietly. “I mean… I know I want that to happen again, obviously.” I’m pretty sure my chest puffs out with pride, like I’m an exotic bird. “But I don’t think I’m relationship material.”
My chest deflates like a balloon, complete with the squeaky sound and everything.
I’ve had sex outside of relationships before, because I thought I had to, or because the other person was showing interest and I felt like I had to return that interest. I felt weird, because while most of my friends were having casual sex, I found I truly didn’t evenwantto have sex if I wasn’t in a relationship. One of my friends mentioned they were demisexual, and I remember being intrigued, because what they described, attraction only occurring when there’s an emotional connection, was something I relate to. After some research, I realized I’m pansexual, too. Someone’s gender has never hindered my ability to be attracted to someone, and it felt freeing to find labels I identified with.
After that, I only had sex in serious relationships, or at least what Ithoughtwere serious relationships, in Taylor’s case.
That relationship did such a number on me that I’ve refused to even download an app to try to get back out there.
I should tell Audrey it won’t work. That her needs are valid, but I can’t be the one who fulfills them. That sex can never be purely physical for me.
But I want her, any way I can have her. And who am I kidding? She’s already holding a delicate, breakable part of myself in her hands.
“Ren?” she asks slowly, somehow dragging out my three-letter name.
“Audrey?” I respond.
“Would you… want to be friends?”
