Page 53 of The Love Interest
Dyl. I kissed Dyl, and it was possibly the best moment of my life.
“Does it matter?”
“It does, man. I want to be your friend and I know none of your romantic history. So fill me in! Who was she? What did she look like?”
His use of the word “she” makes me flinch. He said it so confidently, like I would only ever want to kiss girls. I know that’s not the case, and that wanting to kiss another boy is perfectly normal, but he doesn’t seem to know that. What am I supposed to do, contradict him and make this a big thing? I could never do that because I’m a Love Interest, but the fact that he didn’t even give me the option to be gay makes me want to throw something at him.
“I’d like to know too, Caden,” says Natalie, her tone soft, like I’m pathetic even thoughthey’rethe ones who started this conversation. They brought it up, and now they get to judge me because my answer is unsatisfactory to them? Why is that fair? “If you want to tell us, that is. It’s cool if you don’t. Have you ever been in a relationship?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.” I step backward out of the room. “Sorry.”
I return to the kitchen. Richard is reaching up to the cupboard above the stovetop. His body is fully stretched out, but he can’t seem to reach the saucepan he’s trying to grab.
“Here,” I say. I walk over and quickly grab the saucepan. Then I pass it to him.
“Thanks, Caden. Daphne wasn’t really thinking when she designed this place. She figured since she does the most cooking it wouldn’t matter that I can’t reach the pots!”
I chuckle. “Do you need any more help?”
“If it’s not too much trouble, there’s one last thing. Can you chop up this celery for me?”
A gigantic piece of celery is sitting on a wooden chopping board. I walk toward it and pick up the silver knife. I cut off the head, then slice the body into thin slivers.
Hey, Caden, it’s Kaylee. Sorry I was slow, I had a date, but I’m here now.
“You and Juliet seem to be getting along,” Richard goes on. The celery crunches beneath the knife. “Is there anything you want to ask me? I’m here now.”
“We aren’t dating, if that’s what you’re asking. We’re just good friends.”
He blinks. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting you to be so blunt.”
“Keeping secrets isn’t my thing.”
“That’s a rare quality. And if you respect me enough to be honest I will return the favor. I think you’re a good young man, Caden, I really do. And I think you would be kind to Juliet. But you must understand, it’s my job to make sure she becomes the woman she was born to be. She’s destined for greatness, you must know that, and, well, all boys your age hurt girls eventually. You just do. So I want you to think hard about what your relationship with Juliet is, because—”
“Dad?” Juliet is standing in the doorway, glaring at him. “What are you doing?”
“I was talking to Caden about—”
“I can’t believe you! Caden and I aren’t even dating and you’re already freaking him out!”
“But you will be soon enough. I see the way you look at each other. I’m not as smart as you but I’m not an idiot, Juliet.”
“You can be sometimes, Dad. Seriously, I don’t know what you want from me. You want me to get married, yet you don’t want me going anywhere near boys or, God forbid, having sex! It’s like you want me to be alone but are also judging me for not having a serious boyfriend!”
He puts the pot he was holding down on the counter. “You’ve got so much potential, Juliet. I don’t want you throwing it all away for the first hot boy you see.” He turns to me. “Not that I think you’re hot, Caden. I’m using lingo to try to relate to her. I read it in a book.”
“Dad, seriously,pleasestop talking.”
“I’m just trying to protect you, Juliet. That’s all. You’ll probably thank—”
“Caden,” interrupts Juliet. “Come with me. I’m done. So done.”
I follow her out of the kitchen into a small hallway. The walls are lined with framed photos from holidays she and her family have been on. In the one closest to her, Juliet is standing in front of the Colosseum with her arm flung around her mom’s shoulders.
Right now, she’s leaning against the wall, her head pressed limply against the plaster. I lean on the wall opposite from her. Our legs are inches apart.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry about him. He’s dramatic. We both are, in a way. It’s embarrassing—you probably think I’m a brat. A spoiled, rich brat.”
