Page 77 of I Did Something Bad
“So—” I try to begin, only to make the huge mistake of making eye contact with my friends, and then I feel the corners of my lips dragging downward.
“Are we still not allowed to make this a thing?” Thidar mumbles out of the corner of her mouth.
“I don’t know,” Nay mumbles back, voice high-pitched. She grabs two tissues, handing one to Thidar. “But I hope she does this quickly because my nose is already getting stuffy.”
Despite my attempt at staying stern, I laugh at my ridiculous, wonderful, absolutely bonkers best friends. “I put off this housewarming because when I first moved here, I didn’t want to accept that this was my home now,” I say, this time embracing the stinging tears. “Living alone again wasn’t part of the plan. I was embarrassed and bitter and, more than anything, lonely. I didn’twantthis place”—I gesture at the space—“to be warm or even a home, because I was like a petty child, adamant that thiswasn’tmy home. But I also didn’t have myoldhome anymore, so I thought of this merely as… a shelter. A shelter during a really terrible, shitty storm. Just a life raft to cling to while I waited for the shore to reappear.” I swallow, not realizing how fully I’d feel the weight of my words.
“But you know what?” I shoot Nay and Thidar a wry smile. “Itturns out that despite all of my pouting, you guys havealreadyturned this place into my home. Because it’s true what they say. A house is only a home because of the people in it, and how can I stand here and look at all of you and still insist that thisisn’thome? Youaremy home.”
“Oh no, there I go,” Nay whimpers right before a loud sob claws out of her. “Sorry,” she says, sniffling as Thidar shoves another tissue at her. “Continue. We arenotmaking this a thing, we promise.”
“Youare, though,” I say as a wet laugh bubbles out of me. “Home, I mean. And making it a thing, but mainly home. And you’re the best, sturdiest, safest, most loving, warmest home I’ve ever known. And no matter what happens, no matter where I go—” My voice breaks, but I don’t bother to fix it. These are my people. My people who have seen me at my lowest, and still chose to remain my people. “You willalwaysbe my home. Always.”
The rest of the night is a jumbled collage of drinking games and non-drinking games, of outdoing one another to see who can add the weirdest song to the playlist blasting on the speaker (thank god for soundproof walls), and, for some reason, trying to attempt the world’s highest ice-cream sundae. Tyler and May suck the helium out of the balloons and have a Tina Turner–themed sing-off, and I’m accused of being biased when I crown Tyler the winner.
After my first beer, I inconspicuously keep topping up my champagne glass with soda water—an old college trick—because I want to remember everything about tonight.
“Hey,” Nay says and lifts her head while in the middle of trying to plank on the back of my couch. “This isn’t aweirdsong. Who ruined the vibe?”
At her comment, my ears perk up and my gaze lands on Tyler, who gets up, walks in a remarkably straight line for someone who has hada lotof alcohol, and extends a hand.
“Why?” is what my fuzzy brain and roti-stuffed mouth ask as I stare at his hand.
He steps closer, close enough so that to everyone else behind us, it looks like he’s simply leaning in to brush my hair behind my shoulder. “Because,” he whispers, voice holding a million watts of energy that make me shudder, “it sounds like falling in love.”
He escorts me several feet away, and there, in front of the faraway Yangon skyline, under a giant gold glitter banner that saysI LIKE TO MOVE IN MOVE IN, against the sound of fake retching and “Get a room” jeers from our friends, I have my first dance with Tyler Tun.
“Blame it on the alcohol tomorrow?” I ask as I sway in his arms, feeling safe and happy and free.
He nods. “Absolutely the alcohol.”
No one asks twice when Tyler says he’ll stay behind to “help with the cleanup,” but no one leaves without shooting us sky-high,Could you guys at least pretend to be subtle?eyebrow raises either. Maybe itisbecause of the alcohol in their case, or maybe because I haven’t been able to hide my splitting grin the whole evening, but even Thidar and Nay give me short, approving nods as we hug goodbye.
And then we’re alone.
I spin around and flatten my back against the door. “Hi,” I say. Heat circulates through me like I’m a closed-circuit loop, making me scared and exhilarated and sweaty and dizzy all at once.
Smiling like he has the whole night, smiling atmelike he has the whole night, like I am just the most mesmerizing thing he’s ever seen, Tyler approaches me with long, deliberate steps. “Hi,” he says.
“You stayed,” I say.
“I did.” Then, “I said I would.”
“Do you always keep your word?” I ask.
He closes the distance, and braces his hands against the door, around my shoulders, but doesn’t touch me. “Yes,” he says.
“Tyler—” I breathe.
At the same time, he asks, “What are we doing, Khin?”
I swallow. “What do you mean?”
“I thought we agreed that we can’t do this.”
“We did,” I confirm.
“Then why—” He tilts his head and smiles, as thoughnowhe’s got a better angle of my face. “Did you ask me to stay?”
