Page 2 of Delayed Intention
My heart melts when he’s like this—a little like he’s shy, which is crazy because he’s so confident. Of course, my heart melts for him for just about any reason. Then it hit me, what he’d said.
“Oh. Just me?”
My face must have blanched because Josh appeared alarmed for a second. Before he can change his mind, I blurt, “The two of us, yeah, that’d be cool.”
“Okay. Let’s go.” He still has a funny expression… maybe from the alcohol. I leave it behind on a table as we head out the door.
The night feels warm but pleasant as we set out together for his house. There’s no breeze, but the air is lacking the awful humidity we have back home in D.C. We follow along a winding driveway that leads from the clubhouse, leaving the sounds of laughter and drunkenness behind in exchange for a chorus of a thousand crickets. Walking down the dark road, there’s nothing but sky and flat fields as far as my eyes can see. What would look like brown and gold grasses in the light just appears to be an endless smudge of dark green until it meets a sudden wall of stars.
The walk will take at least half an hour, but I don’t care. I’m just happy we’re together. We aren’t talking much, which is kind of how this summer has been. It’s mostly been fun, with a bit of awkwardness on the daily. I mean I’ve had a bunch of crap in my mind I’m trying hard not to think about, and Josh has his drama. His parents have split up, and I heard his mom complaining to my grandmother that Josh’s dad isn’t doing much to stay in touch, even with Josh and his sister.
As much as my parents, especially my mom, are kind of terrible, I’m glad neither of them up and abandoned me. Although I’m ashamed to say, sometimes, when I’ve made my mother angry, I’ve wished she’d disappear. That’s the kind of secret I can tell Josh. He knows my parents and understands how I feel. There are some thoughts I do keep from him, though. The big one is that I want to marry him and live happily ever after. I have other secrets; who doesn’t? One is so ugly—I don’t think I could ever tell him. In fact, I don’t talk aboutitwith anyone.Nope, not going to think about that…
I’ve decided this summer that when something unspeakable happens to me, and I don’t want it to be true, I have the right to push that memory out and rewrite my history. This thing that’s happened is already a done deal, so the best thing I’ve figured out is to wish it away. When I try hard enough, I can pretend it’s not something real, like it’s a story about someone else. I mean, I tried to tell my mom the truth about what was going on at the time, and she didn’t believe me, so now… I’m not going to believe me either. Problem solved.
Back in the now, Josh’s walking alongside me, and I sigh, wishing I could be the kind of girl Josh would be into; that I could just take his hand.He’s so hot.Even though he’s only a year older than me, his sixteen years feels so much older than my fifteen. He has wavy, brown hair, tall—but not too tall, muscular shoulders, and perfectly sculpted legs. He has the most brilliant blue eyes I’ve ever seen. I could stare into his eyes for hours. He’s the most magnificent combination of casually and classically handsome. And his smile. God, when he smiles, I swear my breath halts in my chest. He’s relaxed with himself in a way that makes me weak in the knees.
But it’s been imperative that I hide my real feelings. If he knew, it could cost me our friendship. A guy like him is never going to go for someone like me. And the fact is, I don’t have many friends. He’s the only best friend I’ve ever had. I don’t want to ruin that with feelings.
In my bedroom, I’ve got posters of Jack White and Ryan Gosling on my walls. The posters are there as a cover because my one true crush has always been Josh. Honestly, I don’t find anyone else attractive. I keep a picture of him in my nightstand drawer—taped underneath the top so my stupid siblings don’t find it and tease me. Or worse, tell Josh.I’d die if that happened.
The picture is of the two of us at my bat mitzvah. I’m in a tea-length forest green dress, and he’s standing next to me, smiling, looking like a runway model. Of course, I have my eyes closed in the picture, which issome. My hair was awful, straightened, only to be put up in a beehive, courtesy of my mother. She insisted I would look back on my photos and appreciate “a classic look.” That day has not arrived.
Finally, we arrived at Josh’s house. He unlocks the side door, and we head inside. It’s kind of weird to be here without any adults at home, and I feel a flutter in my belly. Maybe it’s just the effect of the drink I abandoned at the reception.
It’s so quiet that when he speaks, I jump.
“I’m going to find us something to drink—go on and head to my room?”
“Okay, sure.”
I walk to the back, where Josh’s room is, and kick off my flats.
He walks in with a small brown bottle and two shot glasses.
“Can I borrow something that isn’t a sundress?”
As his eyes travel up and down my body, I feel a heat rise in my neck and ears under his gaze. He clears his throat.
“Yeah, of course,” he puts down the glasses and bottle and rummages in his dresser for a T-shirt and sweats.
“Here.” He hands me a Grateful Dead T-shirt and navy sweats.
“Thanks.” I grabbed the clothes and went into his bathroom to change, leaving my sundress hanging on the hook on the back of the door.
When I come back, he’s setting pillows up around the floor at the end of his bed. He’s changed into a faded David Bowie T-shirt and grey sweatpants. He might as well be wearing a tuxedo, as far as my physical reaction to him is concerned.
He has a tray and has already set up some shots. I hesitate, looking at the lineup of drinks before us.
“I hope this tastes better than the screwdriver,” I mutter.
He laughs, and I smile at him.
Raising a shot of peach schnapps to my lips, I freeze, struck by the idea that Josh may want to kiss me.No way—he wants to be friends, nothing more—right?He doesn’t see me that way. But it occurs to me that whatever happens next, I’m throwing back shots with my crush. I’ve hung out with Josh a thousand times before—but tonightfeels different.We don’t drink like this, for one thing. It feels like anything could happen, and my sense of anticipation intensifies.
Like, I’m getting a little drunk with this boy that I’ve worshiped for my entire life. And it’s just us in his room, without parents at home. My heart thuds in my chest for more than one reason—if he did want to kiss me, would I panic? Will I become invaded by thoughts I don’t want to have right now?
Josh clears his throat again.
