Page 25 of Last First Kiss
Lala smiles, her eyes full of grandmotherly love. “I’m glad you like it.”
No one says anything else after that, and we eat in comfortable silence. We are halfway through our meal when Lala breaks it.
“Well now, you two,” she says, eyes twinkling. “Tell me everything and don’t leave out a single detail. I’ve been waiting for this day for ages, you know. How did it all begin?”
Fuck.
Alejandra and I still haven’t talked about what we’re going to say. We’d meant to, but we’d both gotten so caught up in work that it had slipped our minds.
Alejandra and I exchange a panicked look, and I can tell we’re having the same thought:We’re fucked. My chestknots, and my vision blurs. I’m not good at lying on the spot, and anxiety is already taking over.
Alejandra’s hand finds mine under the table, and she squeezes a little too tightly.
“Come on, don’t be shy,” Lala says. “How long have you been together?”
I clear my throat, trying to steady myself, offering the best smile I can muster. “Well, uh ...” I start, then trail off.
“A few weeks,” Alejandra says as I blurt out, “A few months.”
My eyes go wide.Yeah, we are so fucked.
Lala’s eyes narrow.
“What we mean is officially a few weeks, but we’ve been working it out in secret for a few months,” Alejandra says, trying to save the lie.
Lala hums. “And how did you figure this out?” she asks, one eyebrow arched. “What made you decide to try?” Her tone is full of curiosity, but there’s also a hint of doubt. She’s not buying it.
Alejandra and I stare at each other, both probably scared to say something that might contradict the other, so the silence grows awkward, and Lala’s gaze intensifies.
“Oh, you don’t want to hear about that,” Alejandra laughs sheepishly.
“No, I would love to.” Lala smiles, her eyes still narrowed.
Alejandra gulps, and I watch her Adam’s apple bob in her throat.
“Well,” she says, looking at me and holding my gaze. “I got back from a terrible date a few months ago, and Clara said something really sweet, and that’s when I realized I wanted to be with someone like her instead.”
“What did she say?” Lala asks, all traces of doubtgone. Now there’s a twinkle in her eyes. If there’s one thing we know about Lala, it’s that she’s a hopeless romantic—but she likes to correct us and say she’s ahopefulromantic. So Alejandra and I need to lean into that hard to sell this.
I take Alejandra’s hand, set it on the table where Lala can see, and start tracing small circles on her skin with my thumb. I watch her closely, making it appear as if I’m hanging on her every word. Then my heart starts racing and I realize I am. I want to know what she’s going to say, maybe even let myself believe that when I held her a few months ago, she felt the same pull I did, that she was falling for me the way I’ve been falling for her.
“She said, ‘Ale, you deserve to be with someone who thinks you invented love. You laugh with every part of your soul. You wrap the world in your hugs, making everyone feel like they’re everything—the sun, the stars, the whole universe when you look at them.’ And in that moment, something inside me shifted. I knew—without a doubt—Clara wasthe one. That I wanted to be loved the way she loved me, to be seen the way she saw me. I knew, with all my heart, that I could never want anything more.” She smiles at me, and a soft warmth spreads through me as I remember the conversation.
Alejandra had come home devastated a few months ago when she and Mia had ended things for good. She had been so broken over not being able to fix things with her that her whole perspective on herself had shifted in a single night. My usually confident and lively best friend had looked small and tired.
I don’t remember the exact words Mia said that night to make Alejandra feel so bad about herself. I tuned it out. All I saw was red.
The only thing I remember is the way Alejandra collapsed into tears, her face crumpled with heartbreak.
I held her for hours in my room, whispering every kind truth I could think of, reminding her over and over that she was fucking impossible not to love and that the right person was out there waiting to meet her. Her sobs came in waves, and I tried to stay steady through each one, running my fingers through her hair, wiping her cheeks, letting her break apart in a place where I’d always hold the pieces.
“Why can’t she love me the way you love me?” she whispered into my shoulder, her voice cracking and trembling.
I didn’t know how to answer without breaking a little, too. Because I knew—Iknew—I could give her everything if I dared to try.
But I settled on the truth.Mytruth.
“Because no one will ever love you as unconditionally and wholeheartedly as I will,” I whispered in her ear, as my own tears slid down my cheeks.
