Page 68 of Unbound

Bennett carries me to the shower, washing my hair and brushing it like he’s done a thousand times before. My tears never seem to stop, but he doesn’t say anything, and I can hardly bear to look at him.

He gives me a well-worn sweatshirt to slip into, the sleeve chewed up by my mouth, I know. It swallows me whole, and it smells like him.

And then we lay back atop the sheets of his hotel bed. He kisses my fingers, whispering, “Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands,” into my palm. His arms tuck around me, pulling me to lay on his chest as he recites his favorite verses—E. E. Cummings, Pablo Neruda—into my flushed skin. “Your mouth, your voice, your hair.”

My chest aches as I watch him silently.

“You should stay,” he says, hands winding through my damp hair. “Just for tonight. You can go back in the morning.”

“Bennett . . .” I start, my voice hesitant and somehow too loud in the quiet room.

A chuff of laughter, and then, “It’s all right, P. This doesn’t change anything, I know.”

I wait until he’s sleeping to leave and feel more rotten than usual at the quiet abandonment.

Chapter 31

THEN: Freshman Year, October

Paloma

There’s another poem in my food, taped again to the inside of the Tupperware lid.

He’s done this before, dropped food for me with a hidden letter—always a poem or song. But this one feels different. Not only because it’s one I’ve read several times—Mary Oliver’s “Wild Geese”—but because he’s annotated it, marking it up with rhyme scheme and metaphors, as we usually do in class.

Beneath the last stanza is his carefully handwritten note.

This one reminded me of you.

Don’t ask me to explain.

-Bennett

The note is simple as it always is, nothing too heavy or heartfelt, but it stabs me right in the chest anyway.

Before our next meeting, I carefully wash out the container and add my own note to the interior, fashioned in the exact same way. I can’t keep back the sly smile as I hand it back to him, thankful he doesn’t open it before we part ways.

Normally at the end of our time together, he’ll wait for me to exit the study room first before following behind. But this time, I step forward, pushing nearly into his space and biting my lip, backpack strap tight in my right hand.

“So, you never asked me on a second date.” I don’t give him time to say anything before nervously prodding with, “Was the first one bad?”

Bennett’s eyes go wide. “No. No, I was going to, but I didn’t . . .” He trails off, letting out an irritated breath. “I couldn’t figure out the best way.”

It isn’t a lie. I can imagine him sitting in his room, hand through Seven’s fur as he thinks about the best way to ask me to go out with him again. The thought stirs up something giddy within me.

“Okay, well, I’m asking you out, then.”

“Yeah?” He smiles, small with no teeth showing. I match him.

“Yeah. For coffee again, same place?”

He hesitates, mind working furiously behind ocean eyes. “No. We should . . . it should be better than just coffee.”

I reach for his hand, and he takes both of mine in his grip. It feels odd and stiff, like a reluctant couple at the altar.

“Bennett, coffee is good. And comfortable. And it’s close to where I swim.” His face is still twisted up, brows furrowed. “I like going there with you. Can we do it again?”

“If you’re sure.”