The Way I Am Now (The Way I Used to Be)

I’ve been waiting to be alone with her all day, trying so hard to play it cool and not force anything or make it awkward, but now we’re finally here and I’m not sure what to do.

“Well,” Eden says. “She wasn’t wrong about the sunset.”

I turn to look at her, how she’s watching the sky, the way it’s casting this golden creamsicle light over her, but the only thing I can think of as a response is “Yeah.”

She sighs and leans back, bringing her legs up onto the seat and crossing them beneath her. Turning her head from side to side, she sits up straight, then curves her back and starts kneading her shoulders with her hands. “God, I’m really out of shape,” she says with a small laugh.

There’s nothing I can think to say about her shape that will not incriminate me in some way, so I just sit here, trying not to look at her.

“I guess I’m not used to all the lifting and carrying,” she continues, rolling her shoulders forward and back.

“Oh, right,” I manage.

“Josh?”

When I look up, she’s stopped moving around and is now staring at me. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” I ask. “Yes, why?”

“I don’t know. You’ve been really quiet all day.” She pauses. “Did I do something? Are you not happy I’m here?”

“No.” So my playing it cool has completely backfired. “Oh my God, no. I’m happy you’re here; I’m just trying to give you space.”

“Why, do you want me to give you space?”

“No,” I almost shout. “It’s not that at all. You just got here, and I don’t want you to feel like there’s any big rush to figure out what we’re doing.”

“Oh.” She nods, seeming to think about this for a few seconds. “Yeah, I didn’t get that at all.”

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I probably should’ve just come out and said that, huh?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the good communicator in this relationship?” she says with a short laugh, but then quickly adds, “I mean, not relationship- relationship—you know what I mean.” She reaches around to the back of her neck again, squeezing the muscles while turning her head.

“Guess I’m slipping.” I feel slightly more relaxed after getting that out in the open . . . and seeing her fumble through the word relationship. “Do you need a hand?”

“Yes, please.” She pivots on the seat so her back is facing me. “I thought you’d never ask. It’s like, right here”—she runs her hand from her neck to her shoulder—“where it hurts.”

Her skin is warm as my hands dip under the collar of her T-shirt, and I have to exercise such restraint to not lean down and kiss that spot. I feel her whole body exhale and start to sway and melt under my hands. She makes these small moans every time I press down. I’m glad I’m sitting behind her so she can’t see how much her noises are affecting me. If I didn’t know her better, part of me would wonder if she was doing it on purpose to turn me on, but she doesn’t think like that. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing to me. She never did.

“All right,” I say, stopping abruptly because I want this too much right now.

“Oh, don’t stop,” she groans, glancing over her shoulder at me. “That felt so good.”

“Yeah, it was feeling a little too good to me too,” I mumble.

“What?” she asks, and I don’t know if she didn’t hear me or if she just doesn’t know what I mean.

I clear my throat, trying to decide if I should tell her or not. “N-nothing.”

“No, what? Tell me.” She twists around so that she’s facing me now.

“Eden, you—” I start, but I can’t help laughing. “You were . . .”

“What?” she repeats.

“You were making . . . sex noises.”

Her mouth opens and she gasps, and I watch as her face flushes right before my eyes. But I can tell she’s trying not to laugh too. “Oh my God, Josh!”

“What, you were!”

“I was not!” she shrieks, swatting at me before covering her face with her hands.

“You were too—I would know.”

Her laughter fades as she keeps gazing back and forth between me and the last remnants of color left over from the sunset.

“Sorry,” I tell her, trying to keep the lighthearted mood going a little longer. “I could only take so much.”

She sits back again and looks out at the darkening sky, shaking her head and letting out a little burst of laughter every so often. “Sex noises,” she scoffs. And then she turns toward me again. “Um, okay. So, speaking of . . . that,” she begins. “Is it time to take the pin out, you think?”

“It’s honestly your call.” I’m trying to keep the ball in her court, but it’s so hard to know when I’m giving her too much space or not enough. “For me, it’ll hold. I mean, if you want to wait or need more time, we can talk about it when we’re not totally exhausted.”

“Right.” She sighs and then immediately yawns. “It has been a big day.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “I guess we should probably go in, huh? I’m sure you have a lot of unpacking and stuff.”

She nods as she stands, then holds her hand out to help me up. I take it, and we sort of loosely hold hands as we walk across the roof deck.

We reach my floor first.

“So, this is me,” I tell her. “Want me to walk you down to yours?”

“No, it’s all right.”

We stand in front of my door, and she moves in to hug me first, reaching up to wrap her arms around my neck. “I’m really glad you’re here,” I tell her one more time.

“So am I,” she whispers, her mouth close to my ear. “I’ve missed you.” She gives the side of my neck the smallest, faintest kiss before pulling away, leaving me with these shock waves radiating from my heart.

“Okay,” I say for absolutely no reason, probably blushing and grinning like an idiot. “Well, you know where to find me if you need me.”

She catches my hand as she moves away, giving it a tiny pulse before she lets me drift out of her grasp. “You too,” she adds, and there’s something in her tone, in her smile—is she flirting with me? God, don’t tempt me.

“Good night,” I call after her. She turns around when she reaches the end of the hall at the staircase and waves.

Inside, I can hear Dominic talking with Luke behind his bedroom door. I can still feel the press of her lips against my neck. I look at the time on my phone. It’s only eight thirty. What the fuck am I doing here? Why didn’t I just tell her that I can’t stop thinking about her, that the only thing I want to know in the world is what she’s thinking about us? For me, it’ll hold—is that what I actually said? I mean, it will. It has. For months, years.

I realize I’m pacing. I force my feet to stop. I go to the door, but my hand refuses to turn the knob. I should wait. I can wait. No, I can’t. I open the door and jog down the hallway, down the stairs, all the way to her door. I raise my hand to knock, but I don’t follow through. I start to head back the way I came but stop again. Go back. And now I’m essentially pacing again, but in her hallway this time.

She’s right there, I tell myself.

I go back to her door. I’m doing this.

I raise my hand and knock, too loud and fast.

There’s some shuffling on the other side of the door, and when she opens it, she looks surprised to see me standing there. Her hair is down now, sort of messy, and it just makes her look even more beautiful to me somehow.

“Hi,” she says.

I take a breath, bypass a greeting, and blurt out, “Eden, would you please go on a date with me tomorrow night?”

“A date?” she asks.

“Uh-huh. A date. With me. Tomorrow. Please.”

She looks down at her feet and smiles, and it takes everything to keep my hands in my pockets and not reach out to move her hair out of her face.

“Okay,” she agrees, finally lifting her head to look at me again.

“Okay?” I repeat.

“Okay,” she says again, and lets out this small laugh.

“Okay.” I start to back away and nearly trip over my own feet like I’m a twelve-year-old and this is the first time I’ve ever asked a girl out.

“Good night,” she says. “Again.”

“Good night again.”

She closes the door, and I’m halfway down the hall, feeling completely reenergized after this utterly exhausting day of trying to watch my every move and word and thought. But I could run a marathon right now. I pick up my pace, preparing to take the stairs two at a time, burn off some of this excitement, when I hear a door click and snap behind me.

“Josh, wait!”

I turn to see her skipping after me. When she reaches me, she stops quickly and takes a few fast, shallow breaths and stands so close, pausing for a moment before she reaches for my hands. “I just . . . um,” she starts but doesn’t finish. Instead, she lets her hands trail up the length of my arms, to my shoulders to my neck to my face, where I can feel her fingers trembling slightly against my cheek, her thumb grazing my bottom lip.

She opens her mouth and it looks like she’s going to say something else, but then she takes that tiny breath I love so much and tilts her head up to me. Her eyes search mine for my answer. I don’t think I could speak if I tried, but I nod because whatever the question, whatever she wants, my answer is always going to be yes.

Her lips are so soft as they part mine, her mouth warm, and as my tongue tastes hers, she kisses me harder. We breathe each other in, heavier and deeper and she’s making those sounds from the roof again, and I can’t even believe how good it feels to be kissing her. To only be kissing her.

My hands want her face and hair and arms and hips all at the same time. She holds on to my waist and pushes against me as I pull her closer, until we’re backing up into the wall, where my elbow lands with a thud. “Oh,” Eden breathes into my mouth as she places her hand between my elbow and the wall. And I have no idea why such a simple gesture should make my heart start pounding uncontrollably like this, but it does, and I want her to bring me back to her room so badly it hurts.

Someone opens their door, and we pull apart just in time to see the older man who lives in 2E poke his head out and mumble, “Get a goddamn room” before shutting the door again.

We look back at each other, and as much as I want to keep kissing her here, like this, for at least another few hours, we both bust out laughing.

“Sorry!” Eden calls in the direction of the closed door. “Not sorry,” she whispers to me.

I shake my head. “Definitely not.”

She brings both hands up to my shoulders and pulls me down just enough for her to kiss me one more time, softly, slowly. Resting her head against my chest, she sighs, and I can feel the warmth of her breath through my shirt. She looks up at me, placing her hand over my heart. “To be continued?” she asks.

I nod, but I can’t speak, can’t move. Even as she backs away and takes her hand from me, I replace it with mine, exactly where hers was, not wanting the feeling of her touching me to be gone. She drifts down the hall, turning around once to smile. She covers her mouth as she lets out the briefest giggle and jogs back to her door. I stand there for at least a full minute, just in case she comes back. But as I make my way up the stairs, slowly, one at a time, all I can think is: this is how it always should’ve been, how it should’ve started between us.