Page 23 of Chasing Stars
When I was a teenager and I felt lonely or left out, I would plop on the couch, sighing dramatically and say, “What can I say? I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.”
My mom would smile, eyes twinkling and say, “No, you’re not. But that’s because you’re champagne.” Then she held open her arms and hugged me until the ache went away.
I close my eyes now, sinking into the memory, letting it wrap around me like one of her hugs.
God, I miss her so much.
What I wouldn’t give for one of those hugs now.
Then just like that, I see her again—not as the frail, sick woman in the hospital bed—as herself. Strong, warm, stubborn as hell. That last night, I sat by her side, holding her hand untilshe went. Just before she closed her eyes for the last time, she’d turned to me, her gaze watery.
“Promise me that you’ll never let the world convince you that you’re anything less. You’re not their cup of tea because you’re champagne. Don’t you forget it.”
My eyes sting. I close them and then with a shaky breath, I slowly look in the mirror. I hardly recognize the girl staring back at me, but I know I’m in there somewhere—trying to claw my way out from under this mountain of grief.
I step into my leggings and pull a soft black T-shirt over my head—no bra, but who could tell?Hopefully Miles.Then I run a brush and some product through my damp hair, letting my natural texture do its thing. I twist back my bangs and secure them with a hairpin.
With one last look in the mirror, I remind myself, “You’re champagne.”
Then, I open the door.
I findMiles in the kitchen, a flat top griddle on the counter, warming our tacos. There goes my heart again.He probably didn’t want to eat cold, soggy tacos either. This means nothing.I have to keep reminding myself of this. Not ten minutes ago, I stood in front of Miles in a tiny white towel. He could have taken me right then and there, but he didn’t.He’s just not that into you,my inner mean girl whispers.
“Smells good,” I say, taking a seat at the counter where Miles is working.
“They better. I slaved over them all day,” he jokes, turning toward the fridge. He comes back and sets a Corona in front ofme. “Tacos and Corona. They belong together.” He picks up his beer and takes a long drag of it.
I’m not feeling much like giggling at his jokes right now. We had such a great day, but I would be lying if I said my ego wasn’t bruised.Why don’t you want me?I scream internally. I haven’t let myself think beyond this week—after all, I’m not staying here—but rejection like this serves as a stark reminder that I am really and truly alone in this world. I have no one to depend on but myself. I just want a little pity sex to cheer myself up. Maybe if I remind Miles that I’m not staying, we can just have our fun. Maybe then he’ll change his tune.Now that’s desperate.Miles removes the tacos from the griddle and shuts it off.
He makes me a plate of tacos and sets it in front of me. “Spicy chicken, carne asada, coconut shrimp.” He points at each one as he says it.
“Thank you.” I force a smile and pick up the chicken taco first. We eat in awkward silence for a few minutes before Miles clears his throat.
“Jenna, listen.” He scratches his jaw, his voice uneven.
I hold up my taco juice covered hand and shake my head. “Miles, don’t. It’s okay,” I say, even though it’s not and I’m not. He doesn’t need to know that.I avert my eyes and pick up my beer, taking a long sip.
“No, I’d really like to explain.” He looks down at his hands and then back at me. I sigh and wait for him to continue. “I was never serious with anyone but my wife. And even then, I must’ve kept her at too much of a distance, because she left me. I couldn’t make her happy. I tried so hard, but I couldn’t make her stay.”
“Miles…” I utter, but it stops there.
He shakes his head. “No. Just let me get this out.” He runs his fingers through his floppy waves and then looks back at me. “Since my divorce, I haven’t been…monogamous. Erin broke my heart.” He runs his hands down his face, and I wonder if he’sself-conscious. I keep listening. “It’s just easier not to commit. Find a companion for a week or two, scratch the itch…then move on. That way, nobody gets hurt.” He winces as he says it and I wonder if he knows how bad it sounds.
I start to open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off. “I was content doing that. Not feeling anything, keeping myself closed off.” He pauses, licking his lips. Then he looks me in the eyes. “Then I met you. I don’t want to be closed off anymore.”
“Miles,” I breathe. “You don’t have to feed me the bullshit. It’s cool. We’re cool. We’re friends, okay?” It’s not just him I’m trying to convince.
“No,” Miles says, more firmly than I expect. He walks around to my side of the counter and pulls out the stool next to me. “No, Jenna. That’s not what I’m saying. I like you. I’m having a ton of fun getting to know you. Do you know how often that happens to me? Never.” Miles takes my hand, and I let him, not knowing what else to do.
“So, then what?” I ask, shrugging.
“I need to just take my time here,” he admits softly.
“Why? To make sure you don’t get bored with me in a week? I may not even be here that long.” It comes out harsher than I mean it to.
Miles flinches, like I just slapped him. “No…I—” He grimaces and then shrugs, defeated. “Maybe,” he admits. It’s only then that I realize this is hard for him too. Something softens inside me.
“Well, I can respect your honesty, I guess.” I sigh, spinning back toward my once again cold plate of tacos.
