Page 61 of Mixed Signals
“No. No, it’s not like that. She is a—what does mama always say? Cangrejo enojón?”
I snicker. Adriana is the textbook definition of an angry little crab.
Alex grins at me and then flattens his mouth into a straight line. “I just mean, make sure you see this for what it is. You said this thing was temporary, yes?”
I nod.
“I think it’ll be important to remind yourself of that,” he says gently. “So you don’t get your hopes up.”
“Yeah.” I picture Layla’s face cupped between my hands, her eyes closed as raindrops painted her skin in sweeping strokes. The dazed smile on her lips and how she swayed into me at the bottom of her porch steps. I rub at my eyes and try to wipe that image away. “Wouldn’t want that.”
I glance down at my feet, at the puddle of water I’m leaving on the hardwood. My grandmother called everyone over here because she thought I needed emotional support. Adriana laughed in my face about my hopes for love. And my little brother is giving me a pep talk about boundaries. Resigned, I scrub my hand over the back of my wet hair. “I should go change.”
“Caleb—”
I wave Alex off. “I’m fine.”
I am. I’m fine. Perfectly and completely fine. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to this thing with Layla. It was my idea. I can kiss her in the rain without catching feelings. Well. I guess I can kiss her in the rain without catching any more feelings than I already have. I can give her all of the things she deserves without doodling our names together in tiny little hearts in my notebook.
I’m an adult. She’s an adult. I don’t need to be coddled. I can handle the repercussions of my own damn actions.
I hand Alex the rest of the forks without looking at him and poke my head into the kitchen to let Sofia know where the salad bowl is. Instead I’m distracted by my parents, off in their own little world by the refrigerator. I watch as my dad tucks a lock of long hair behind my mom’s ear, a whisper pressed into the skin just beneath. She laughs, loud and happy, and he sweeps her away. Her arms drape over his shoulders as he steps them into a light and easy rhythm, spinning around and around the tiny kitchen floor. She tips her head back and laughs even harder, my dad’s eyes fixed intently on her.
Something in my chest squeezes, just shy of painful.
“Don’t let Tio Benjamín know we have tequila,” I mumble to Alex. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
I slip away before he can say anything else, clomping up the stairs to my room. My phone buzzes in my hand again and I swipe to open it, the glow bright in the darkness of the hallway.
I drag my thumb over the outline of her name before tossing the phone on my bed and peeling the damp clothes from my body.
I can finish this month with Layla without my feelings spiraling out of control. I can be everything she deserves without hurting myself in the process. Wasn’t that the whole point of our arrangement to begin with? I’d give Layla a positive dating experience, and she’d give me some feedback on how to be more realistic.
Everything is exactly where it should be.
My heart included.
FOURTEEN
LAYLA
“How long hasshe been like this?”
“I don’t know. I got here about half an hour ago.”
I ignore the two people on the other end of the counter, carefully plucking a bright purple bloom from the edible flowers scattered across the metal surface of my counter. These things are delicate and I keep messing them up on the transfer.
“Is her face stuck?”
“Beckett.”
“What? It’s an honest question.”
Evelyn sighs. “No, I don’t think her face is stuck.”
“You know I can hear you both.” I straighten from my bent position and dig my palm into my lower back. Every inch of my body is aching. I glance around the kitchen. Almost all of my counter space is dedicated to the results of my photoshoot preparation. Tartlets and custards and miniature cannoli. Breads and brioches and bagels. An interesting interpretation of a soft pretzel. It looks like Candyland exploded back here.
“It’s possible I overdid it.”
