Page 67 of Movers and Fakers

That liminal feeling followed us out of the car and onto campus. I had Mac drop us off on the opposite side from Aurora’s apartment, and she didn’t protest. If my heart is a solar panel, Aurora is the sun, peeking out from behind cloud cover every now and again, shining rays of hope onto me. Her demeanor tonight increases my courage, but it’s still difficult to get the words out.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Aurora comments in a teasing tone as we wind the concrete path, shuffling through fallen leaves beneath the yellow light of streetlamps. Her hand is in mine, and I resist the urge to squeeze it when anxiety knots my stomach.

I’ve never felt like this before about a woman. Not once in my entire life. I flirt, go on dates, maybe share a kiss or two, then repeat the cycle. I remember taking a psychology class my freshman year and laughing when the professor brought up fear of rejection. Now I wish I would have paid more attention.

“I figured if I don’t say anything, I can’t ruin tonight,” I reply.

Aurora huffs a little laugh, glancing up at me with curious blue eyes.

“You’re happy,” I murmur as my explanation. “And I’m certain it’s got nothing to do with me, but I’m selfishly enjoying witnessing the phenomenon.”

Her shoulder bumps into mine.

“You make it sound like it’s rare to see me happy. That’s not true, as much as my parents beg to differ.”

I notice the shift in her tone and worry that I did exactly what I said I didn’t want to. But at the same time, I want her to open up to me. I want to be someone she trusts. If that means my confession is put off for a little while … what’s the harm?

“I don’t think you’re unhappy—I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant that I like seeing you so relaxed and open.”

She hums but doesn’t reply. I rake my free hand through my hair.

“I’m sorry for phrasing it that way, I—”

Her hand squeezes mine.

“It’s okay, I know I’m not the most emotional person.” She exhales a laugh, but it sounds hollow. “My parents and even my brother don’t really get that. They’re so loud and bright and expressive. So are my friends, in different ways. I’m not like that, though, and I don’t know how to be.”

“You don’t need to be.”

Aurora lets out a derisive snort.

“I’m serious,” I continue. “You may not talk all the time or smile every second of the day, but I think it makes when you do all the more meaningful. I like that it takes more to earn your laugh.”

“I’m comfortable with the way I am, but I worry that the people I love don't know I love them.” I see her face screw up as we pass under a streetlight. “I don’t know why I’m saying all of this. It sounds ridiculous.”

In the distance, I spot the tunnel of twinkle lights. We’ll be there soon, and then after that it won’t be too much longer before we’re at the door to her building. My time with her is running out. I wish I could find a way to replace the sand in the hourglass.

“It’s not ridiculous, and I think they do,” I reassure her in a quiet voice. “Your friends interrogated me while you went to take down your hair.”

“What?” she asks, disbelief evident.

“Yeah, they asked me questions about my intentions and how I felt about you. They’re all protective over you, especially Marigold.”

Aurora’s brows pull together. I can tell she’s thinking about what that means and how it relates.

“Marigold said you’re always caring for and protecting them, so she was returning the favor,” I add. “That sounds like they know you love them.”

“She really said that?” Aurora looks up at me.

I nod. “I don’t think you need to worry about people seeing that you care.”

She looks at the path ahead of us.

Her voice is barely above a whisper when she says, “That’s good.”

We walk in silence for a little while; the only sound is the rustling and crunching of leaves.

“What did you tell them?” Aurora breaks the silence. “When they asked how you felt about me.”