June

My hair had swept to the front again, the tips white from dipping into the flour. I jerked my head, sweeping the ponytail back over my shoulder. My hands were slippery, and the knife I was trying to hold continuously slid from my grip. It didn't matter. I was done cutting anyway.

I threw the knife in the sink, then took the uneven pieces I'd chopped off and dropped them in a bowl. Glad that that part was over, I opened the tap to cleanse my skin, attempting to get rid of the layer of butter attached to it. The water had to become scalding hot, and I had to use a sponge before I noticed any difference at all. I huffed, smiling lightly.

This would've been a far better metaphor, abuela. Less gross, at least.

It'd been a nice gesture of Sam to fly her in for Christmas, although it'd been better if he'd asked me first. When I'd seen her standing there, that scrawny, short woman in her decade-old bottle-green dress, I'd realized she was going to cause trouble. Abuela had no patience for nonsense, and no patience for emotions either — it was why she only grieved the death of her husband once every year. As I'd been kissing her on her rough cheeks, and she'd complained of the meal they'd served her on the plane and the lady in 12B who'd been spoiling her toddler, I'd thought of my mother and her current state, and hoped with all my might abuela wouldn't be too hard on her.

She was, though.

She'd wanted her daughter to come back with her, yell the 'lazy' out of her — because that was how abuela fixed things, by yelling at people.

She'd done it with me many times when I was younger, but I was done with it by now. She didn't scare me anymore.

I supposed my mother had told her about Nathan, seeing as one night, she'd come to me, lips pressed together, her finger raised at me. "Nieta," she'd said, "falling in love is easy — falling out of love is like wiping snot off your clothes. A little soaping up isn't going to work. You'll need both of your hands, a roll of kitchen towels, and a strong stomach."

"What do you know about falling out of love, abuela?" I'd asked. "You were with the same man for all your life." I didn't need her advice. I could take care of myself. I'd been doing it for months by then, and I'd continue doing it until the day I'd die.

My eyes scanned the various ingredients scattered about the counter; beaten eggs, vanilla sugar, orange zest, flour, a tiny bit of salt... Most of it had landed in the designated bowls, but of course, I had spilled a little here and there. Nothing too much, luckily.

Music was playing in the background, a bunch of singer-songwriter songs I could softly hum along to whenever I wanted, or ignore whenever the task before me required my full attention. The sun had risen to the point where she shone directly into the kitchen, reflecting light on the wooden surface of that long table I'd first sat at two and a half years ago. Had it only been two and a half years?

It felt like at least ten had gone by since then.

Remember a short Sam? Remember drawing pictures of monsters, remember thinking we were going to be the next J.K. Rowling? Remember Nathan making us tea? Remember wondering about their parents, remember finding out they were assholes?

Remember my mother smiling at me?

So much had changed.

Seventeen. In less than twenty-four hours.

My eyes traveled to the ring, stored safely in its box on the table. The green glinted at me, almost blinding me. I blinked, looking away.

As a little girl, I'd thought adults had it all together. At eighteen, you were married, you had a job, and a place to live — you had it all figured out, and life was one big happily ever after. Well, sorry little me: it seemed the older you got, the less you had figured out. Sure, I was doing my best, but I had no idea what it'd lead me to.

With a sigh, I selected a large bowl. One by one, I poured the ingredients I'd gathered into it before mixing it with a whisk. It was supposed to rest for half an hour, so I tried to cover it with aluminum foil, giving up after five minutes of struggling, and placed it in the fridge. The cold caused goosebumps to appear on my bare legs, and I even shivered as I closed the door again, my muscles cramping immediately.

Should've gotten dressed. But I'd decided today was my day, totally free to do anything I wanted, and I wasn't allowed to do anything school- or work-related, even though a high-pitched voice in the back of my mind was constantly shouting at me that I still had so much to do.

I did have a lot to do. Just like yesterday and tomorrow. Just like last week and next week. Just like the previous month and the coming one.

I just needed a break, people.

At that moment, Sam walked into the kitchen, wearing a new pair of pants and a nice shirt. He was focused on his phone, typing a message to someone. It struck me how tall he'd gotten: he must have grown at least ten inches since I first met him. His face was less round, more pronounced, and the freckles had faded somewhat. He looked up, frowning at me. "June," he said, and I knew what was coming, "are you sure you don't want to come with?"

If this hadn't been the millionth time he'd asked me, I would've smiled at him. Unfortunately for him, this was about the millionth time, or close to it, anyway. "Yes, I'm completely, one-hundred percent sure. What do I need to do to convince you? Chain myself to the couch and swallow the key?"

He sighed deeply, sliding his phone into his pocket and fishing out his car keys. "Okay, but I'm not coming to get you if you change your mind. I'm not Nathan, you know. I'm not going to be your personal servant."

I was very aware he wasn't Nathan. No need to remind me of that. I turned away from him, opening up the dishwasher to fill it up with all the bowls I used. Just leave already — this day was mine, and I had no appetite to share it with a nagging boy who'd lately developed the habit to tell me I was acting weird.

"You're not the only one who wanted him to be there on your birthday, you know."

Yeah. But at least he still talked to you. Something in me had expected Nathan to call me day and night to assure me he was intending to change this strange world we lived in, not seeing each other at all, not even at Christmas. No Just Breathe had come out of my phone since that November evening when he told me he wasn't going to come home. "I'm going to change this, June, believe me." Yeah, right. I'd asked him to prove it first. Seemed like he couldn't find any proof, though, or didn't feel like it was necessary. Figures. I was telling myself I didn't care, that I wasn't in love anymore and was just happy he was leading the good life.

It was in moments like these, where Sam mentioned him without warning, that my heart had to remind me of how big a lie that was.

Fuck this. I didn't need boys — I didn't need men. I was doing totally fine without them. I could take care of myself, after all. What was so great about relationships anyway? Sex? Because my fingers could do the job just perfectly, and probably even better than some man ever could. There were more important things in this life, like studying, getting a career, and finding out what the purpose of all of this was. I wasn't going to sit around and sulk just because the guys I knew didn't pay me the attention I longed for — if they didn't give it to me, they weren't worth it anyway.

Maybe I shouldn't put the ring back on after I was done. Yeah. Maybe I shouldn't.

For a moment, I pretended I wasn't going to this time, while I was very aware I'd told myself the same thing countless times already and never stuck by it.

Nathan had a hold on me that I didn't seem to be able to get free of.

Mm. Abuela might've had a point with her gross snot-metaphor.

Forty minutes later, the creamy orange pie was in the oven, and I was gathering up the remains of the batter from the mixing bowl, licking it off my fingers as a fuck you to abuela, who'd always claimed it'd make me sick. So many things in this world could make me sick. Might as well do it if I'd at least know it'd be enjoyable.

As I stuck my pinkie in my mouth, savoring the taste of the batter and the warmth of the sun catching my skin, I heard the front door open, followed by a pair of footsteps. For god's sake, Sam! I sighed deeply, turning around: "Sam, if you ask me one more time, I swear I'll put the whisker up your—"

— ass, was what I'd planned to say.

Only, it wasn't Sam who was standing in the doorway.

It was Nathan, and he was grinning broadly.

"Are you going to finish that sentence? I kind of want to know where you think you can put that thing."

I supposed this was where I'd give him some smart retort. Problem was that my feet were glued to the ground, my body paralyzed, left hand balled up into a fist, mouth probably hanging open — even my heart had stopped beating. I couldn't do a thing, just stare, my fingers frozen in mid-air, still coated with blobs of batter.

The grin widened, lighting up his ocean eyes, and my stomach reacted immediately, apparently not having forgotten the usual ritual of tossing and turning. His hair was shorter than I'd ever seen it before, still long enough to be playful, but no longer long enough to tie it together. He was clad in dress pants, the upper buttons of his neat shirt left open, but he'd taken off his shoes — he'd fucking taken off his shoes.

I'd never been that happy to see a pair of socks.

He was staying.

"You wanted proof, right?" His smile faltered a little, and he buried his hands in his pant pockets, shoulders huddled, like he was afraid I was going to put the whisker up his ass.

I probably should have, for not talking to me for two months and then showing up out of the blue on the day before my birthday. For leaving me in the first place. For making me miss him this much.

Instead, I gasped, something that sounded weird because I was laughing at the same time. My throat blocked up, even though I didn't want it to, and everything tingled, and in a flash, I forgot why I needed to forget about him.

Apparently, he took my response as an approval, because the next second, he'd rushed towards me, taking me in his arms and lifting me from the ground — I shrieked, my thoughts a chaotic mess of euphoria, my body heating up at every spot mine touched his — "Nathan! I'm covered in batter!"

He grunted, only pulling me closer. "I don't care. I've got more shirts."

I laughed, a loud, carefree one that seemed to originate in my stomach, and without hesitation, I placed my hands on his back, no doubt leaving an imprint of flour, eggs, and butter behind. I couldn't believe it — he was here, he was really here — just in time for my seventeenth birthday — he was here. And oh, he smelled so nice, and oh, nobody hugged better than him, and oh, just don't ever let me go again...

He did, after a while, still holding onto my sides, gazing down on me to inspect me. It was then that I realized I probably looked like a mess. I hadn't showered yet today, hadn't even dressed; my hair was pulled back in a quick ponytail, and there was a good possibility all kinds of food were stuck in there, white and yellow and orange. Even worse was that I was only wearing a T-shirt.

Worst was that it wasn't mine — it was his.

Seemed like he'd noticed. His eyes traveled down, to my bare legs, then flickered back up. "Do I still have more shirts, though?" he said. "Or did you steal all of them?"

I flushed, trying not to look away. Somehow, it hadn't been weird to sleep in his shirts while he was in London, but right now, with him standing in front of me, it dawned on me this wasn't normal at all. Sam hadn't cared; I didn't think he'd even noticed. So, there was no one to question me walking around in clothes that didn't belong to me, and I'd convinced myself it was okay. "Well, you weren't using them," I said. "Seemed like a waste of good shirts."

He chuckled. "They look better on you anyway."

My breath hitched, and all of a sudden, I wished he hadn't come. At least, if he'd continued to disappoint me, again and again and again, I would've been able to get over him. This way, I was going to have to start all over each time he left me.

Don't think about that, June. He was here, for now, on his socks. I'd have all the time in the world to pout about him once he was on the plane back to London.

Today was my day, and I was going to enjoy it to the fullest.

"I just can't believe you're here," I said, shaking my head, still reveling in the feeling of his hands on my waist, of him so close... "How long have you...?" I had trouble forming sentences. He'd had to have been in California for some time, judging by the fact he smelled like him, instead of dried cold sweat.

"Two days. Sorry I couldn't come earlier," he said, a little too fast, averting his gaze. "Sorry I wasn't there for Christmas."

Oh fuck... Tears were arising, wanting to escape, but I didn't want them to — I was strong, and I'd been fine without him. Right? I hit him on the chest, swallowing the urge to cry away. "Yeah, you've kind of been an ass, you know?"

"I know."

With that, I threw my arms around him again, burying my head in his neck, closing my eyes. I knew he didn't mind, he held me just as close, his fingers running through the tips of my curls, twirling them around. At least, he was good at hugging — Sam might've improved, he was still reluctant to do it.

Sam.

I let go, staring up at Nathan, blood rushing through my head, making it hard to think. "Sam," I said. "I can call Sam — he's... he's at Half Moon Bay with Hayley... There's some sports day, I don't know, organized by the school, something with volleyball, I think, but I can call him, I'm sure he wants to see you too."

A slow smile unfolded itself on his face, more handsome than ever before. "No."

"No?"

"Just you and me today." There was something pleading in his eyes, something hesitant, and quickly, he added: "If you want to, of course. If you don't... have any other plans."

I supposed I should've pretended to be extremely busy. Pretended to make time for him, make him feel bad about showing up out of the blue. Luckily for him, I was really tired of pretending. "Nah, just me and my birthday cake."

He laughed, his shoulders trembling. The sight of it made something in my stomach flutter wildly. "I can see that," he said, carefully plucking at my curls. "It's all over your hair."

"Yeah, and you got no hair left — want some eggs in there? Vale told me once it's supposed to stimulate hair growth." I didn't know what was the matter with me, but without thinking, I lifted my still sticky hands and drew them back and forth through his short blond strands, making sure to leave some batter behind. I grinned at him, for some reason really pleased with myself.

It didn't seem to faze him. He only rubbed the back of his neck, reluctantly glancing at me. "You don't like my hair like this?"

"What, with batter in it? No, it's fine. Think it might be really tasty." I examined him as he laughed again — it looked good on him, although I did miss his authenticity. Like this, in dress pants and shirts, he could've been any businessman for all I knew, if it wasn't for the way he smiled. That was real. Realer than anything I'd seen recently.

"Think I need a shower," he said. Then, his eyes began to shine, a glint of light in them. "Wait, I've got a better idea." Without warning, I was picked up and thrown over his shoulder, as if I was still that fifteen-year-old girl, weighing no more than a bag of tea leaves.

"No, not again!" I wanted to say, but the shirt was riding up, and I was too busy blushing and trying to pull it back down to protest all that much. Oh, no, why had I chosen this day to wear my blue dotted panties? Better yet, why hadn't I put on any pants? His arms touched the skin of my hips, which I didn't have any problems with —

and he neither, apparently.

Little sister, a voice hissed, and I couldn't decide if it belonged to Charlotte, abuela, or my mother.

I didn't get the chance to figure it out too, because in the next second, I fell through the air and splashed into the pool, fortunately remembering to shut my mouth. It was cold; the February sun wasn't strong enough to warm the water up, and as I emerged, I was shuddering, my muscles tensing tightly.

He was standing right in front of me, with a wide, almost boyish smile and a hundred tiny droplets trickling down his face, and I almost forgave him for the stunt he pulled, especially with his shirt now clinging to his chest. "Liked my idea?" he asked.

"No," I said, even though I did. "I hope you're not going to make this into a tradition or something." Even though I did.

The joy left him as quickly as it'd arrived; he ran his hand through his hair, then looked sideways at me. "I'm sorry for ruining our Christmas tradition."

Yeah, you better be. "Did you get my present?"

"Of course. I know this one by heart already. You have no idea how many times I read through it." He was so earnest, acting like we were discussing a matter of national security, and I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't do anything except forgive him for his asshole behavior. He tilted his head, and I could see he wanted to say something, something he wasn't sure how to get out. I decided not to help him. I might've forgiven him; it didn't mean he didn't deserve some hardship. "Can we make it? Tonight?" His tone was so hopeful, yet the words came out careful, like he was afraid he was asking for too much. "Or, I could take you out to dinner. Or whatever you want. It's all good to me."

Seriously, how could I ever not be in love with him? Was this what my life was going to be like? Waiting for birthdays and holidays so I could spend a few hours with the sweetest guy I knew, only to have to watch him go back to his girlfriend every time? Or worse, wife? Or worst, wife and kids? Or worse than worst, wife and kids and grandkids?

Oh, stop overthinking this, June. I was only nearly seventeen. Enough years left to get over him.

I smiled at him, the brightest and most genuine smile in months. "I'd love to make it with you."

He was trying to tone down his own smile, I could see it, and I could at least find solace in the fact that he really wanted to be here. "God, June... I missed you like hell, you have no idea."

My heart skipped a few beats, and under the surface, my hands gripped a fistful of shirt to avoid unwanted movements. I hadn't felt this great in ages. Honestly, it alarmed me. He hadn't even been home for twenty minutes, and I was already reduced to a drooling, love-sick puppy again. "Actually, I think I have a pretty good idea," I said, the words coming out weird because I was starting to freeze. "As much as I love our spontaneous pool-dives, though, I'm pretty cold right now, and I have a cake in the oven."

Immediately, concern flashed over him, eyes scanning the whole of me. He took my hand, starting to pull me with him to the edge, seemingly not bothered by the fact my arm was trying to escape. Something about the situation was unreal. When he'd first left for London, I'd fantasized about him surprising me by turning up without any notice, telling me he missed me too much and that he'd realized I was the only girl for him. Those fantasies were long gone, but this, this was reality. A kind of good one too.

I climbed out before him, a little stiffly, something I couldn't even be annoyed by, because boy, had this been the best swim of my life.

Behind me, Nathan cleared his throat. "Err... Junie..."

I turned towards him, safely on steady ground again, only to find him turning away from me. "What? What's going on?"

He didn't move, shoulders rigid, and for a second, I was afraid he'd hurt himself. "My shirt," he said then. "Or... your shirt — I don't know. Just the damn shirt."

Oh. I dropped my gaze, only to discover it'd become completely see-through, stuck to all the curves of my shivering body, including my nipples, showing off my blue panties like they were something to be proud of. Fuck. Couldn't I've been wearing something sexy? So that he maybe would've kept staring at me instead? Couldn't he just have attacked me and ripped the shirt to shreds? Oh, wait. That was a fantasy again. "Oh, yeah, sorry."

"I don't mind — I mean, it's okay. I should've realized."

I don't mind. For a second, the dirty part of my brain wanted to suggest him to just take the shirt off altogether, seeing as it didn't really serve a purpose anymore. Until I realized that while in my head that might result in the loss of my virginity, in actuality, it'd probably cause him to run back to London faster than you could say 'naked'. "Always the gentleman, you," I said instead. "I know a lot of guys who wouldn't have been this polite, you know." Actually, I didn't know if I did. At least not when it came to me. Who had ever checked me out anyway?

He chuckled. "Are you going to get inside, or do you want to have a whole conversation like this?"

"Is it making you uncomfortable?"

"Very."

"Then let's have a whole conversation like this."

That made him laugh out loud, and because his shirt was stuck to his back as well, I had the fine sight of seeing his muscles twitch. They might not have been that apparent as Malik's, but they were there, and I would like nothing more than to trace them with my fingers. "I thought you were cold."

"I actually think it's getting pretty hot out here."

It was out before I knew it, and then it was too late to take it back. Shit, June. These were jokes you could make with Hayley, fake-flirting with her for the fun of it, not when you're standing in front of a twenty-one-year-old guy who was probably already embarrassed as hell because of you flashing your panties at him.

"Oh, I see what you're doing... Turning into Valentina, are you?" I could hear he was smiling. "Tell me, how many hearts did you break in the nine months I've been away?"

Instantly, my playful mood sank to my feet, my muscles suddenly hurting again. Only one, I wanted to say, thinking of my own heart, which was beating fast, trying to raise my internal temperature. "Not as much as I hoped," I said, a version of the truth. Before he could respond, I rushed inside, not paying any attention to the trail of water I left in my path.

Get it together, June. Who knew how long he was going to be here? I had to try to enjoy whatever time I had with him, even though he was more important to me than I was to him.

I snatched the ring box from the table on my way upstairs.

It just belonged on my finger.