Page 12 of Shapes of Love
“It’s mint. Mint!” Mia points her spoon at the screen. It’s one of her favorites, the golden one we stole from an award ceremony I took her to.
I can’t help my smile. For a minute, it’s like we’re in high school, and Mia, Kai, and I are doing homework over FaceTime, fighting over who got the equation right.
Something in my chest warms, and I feel more alive than I have in the past two years.
CHAPTER 4
“Don’t be a stranger?” I tell Kai, my voice uneasy as he pulls over in front of my house. I slide off the bike and feel the rough pavement under my shoes.
“You have a visitor.” The look in his eyes is cryptic. It’s not until I turn that I spot Marissa, standing by the doorway, her arms crossed as she studies us. “Bye, Sash. See you around.” With a nod, he revs the engine and lowers the visor on his helmet.
My heart thuds when Marissa throws me an accusatory glance. I don’t want to hear about how running from the meet and greet wasn’t responsible. I know already. And even if I didn’t, this is stupid. She works for me, and I texted her to say a friend had picked me up. But she remains silent until Kai has driven away, the roar of his bike fading into the distance.
“So, there’s an explanation.” I brush past her into the house, tossing my shoes by the entrance.
“Does your explanation have a name?” she asks, walking in without taking her shoes off again. “Who is he?”
“Kai.”
“Your… ex Kai?” The lines on her forehead almost knit together.
I exhale, the tension in my shoulders releasing in a slow, measured breath. “I ran into him.”
“Before or after you escaped from the meet and greet?”
“I had nothing to do with the fire alarm going off. I got soaked, and I didn’t want to get photographed like that. Kai did me a favor and drove me away from there.”
It’s half the truth. But at least it’s not a lie.
Marissa pauses, her expression hardening. “Does he know… about you?”
About me? It takes me a moment to get what she’s asking.
Does he know you’re aroace? Is he going to be a problem?
“Yes, he does. But no, he won’t need an NDA. If he wanted to out me, he’s had two years to do it.” I don’t know why I feel so annoyed at her. I told her that Kai and I had dated. I told her how difficult it was for me to come out. Maybe that’s why her reaction this morning hurt me.
Wait a couple of years, and if you still feel the same…
I don’t like it when people assume being aro or ace is temporary. Sexuality is fluid, sure, but it’s the inherent subtext that aromanticism and asexuality are something that should be changed. Like, there’s no telling if I’ll ever fall in love, or experience sexual attraction—some people on the aroace spectrum do—but I shouldn’t have to think of it as a wish or a relieving expectation. Something that will make me fit in better. If it happens, cool. If it doesn’t happen, cool.
Marissa trails behind me into the kitchen, her usualchattiness replaced by uncharacteristic silence. “If you say we can trust him, I trust him,” she says finally, but her voice lacks warmth.
“Really?” I cock an eyebrow. This is new. The first advice she ever gave me was not to trust anyone in this industry.
“Don’t pull that disappearing act again, though. It could cost us concert tickets. You know, our goal is still for you to go on tour next year.” Her voice is firm, and I guess this is her way of saying she was worried about me. Before I can stop her, she pulls me into a hug, shoulders slumping against my frame. “You know I’m just looking out for you, right? It’s my job.”
“I know,” I say. She only wants the best for me.
“All right. I’m leaving, but I left some sushi in the fridge in case you get hungry. I know you’re too lazy to cook.” She attempts to lighten the mood, but the comment still stings.
“I’m not lazy.” Sometimes my brain just shuts down, like a computer that’s about to overheat, and simple tasks like cooking become hard to do. A few years ago I used to be obsessed with cooking. I would try out different recipes and make dinner for Sonia while our moms were at work, and I’d help her with homework before studying, showering, doing the laundry, and working on my music, but lately it’s like my brain won’t cooperate.
“Don’t take it personally. It happens to everyone in this business. Laziness is a side effect of fame,” she goes on. “If it bothers you, just try harder.”
“I already am.” My hands curl into fists. I want to eat healthy, I want to cook, and I want to take better care ofmyself, but I can’t conjure up the energy. I feel like my soul is so exhausted, resting makes no difference.
Take showering. It’s supposed to be relaxing, but there are so many little related tasks that it drains me. Change clothes, get in the shower, go from dry to wet, then wet to dry. Moisturize, dry and style my hair, clean my hairbrush, put on new clothes and discard the old ones. Put everything away and mop the floor. Plus the feeling of wet hair touching any part of my body makes me want to crawl out of my skin. By the time I’m done, I’m even more tired than before.
