A New Reflection

44. Straightforwardly

Alex picks up on my change in demeanor the following day at practice. There are no electrically charged glances on my end, no secret smiles as we pass each other in the gym. I don't even speak to him beyond a cursory greeting.

He texts me ten minutes after practice ends; my phone is flashing the second I pull into the driveway.

Nati, what's wrong?

I don't know what to say, so I ignore his text and head to the shower. Mom has left a handwritten note to let me know she ran to the grocery store; I am relieved to be home alone, because she would sense my mood and ask me about it.

Nataliita hermosa, I can tell when you're upset. Did something happen at practice? You played great.

Now I am doubting my previous doubts and beginning to feel like an idiot. I want to just ask him, straightforward, everything. How he feels, what he expects to happen between us this summer, how it will end. Part of me longs for him to spoil the entire plot, so that I can stop drowning in all of this uncertainty.

No, it's nothing to do with practice. I'm confused, about you and me.

That was a stupid decision, because now he is calling me.

"What are you confused about, Nati?"

In my paranoia, I think he sounds irritated.

"You're freaking me out. Did I do something?"

"No," I say, my throat invaded by a sensation of sticky cobwebs that won't allow words to escape.

"Spill. You can talk to me about anything."

"It's stupid."

"No, it's not. If you're having feelings over it, then it's not stupid."

I clear my throat.

"You said you like me and want to ask me out." My voice is hollow wood against scratchy sandpaper.

"Yeah?" There is a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Never mind!" I am about to tell him about all the other guys who indicated they liked me—by holding my hand, kissing me, breathing heavy in my proximity, touching me, calling me—and how their next moves never matched my imagination's storyline.

"I'm on my way to work. Are you home? Are your parents there?" He speaks in a confident, matter-of-fact clip. I can hear the background noise as he drives.

"Yes. I mean no, I'm here alone."

"Okay, hold on. Stay there." His tone is efficient, but softened like sweet cream butter.

Three minutes later, his grey Jetta pulls into the driveway as I watch from the living room window. I step onto the porch, waiting tensely among the purple shamrock, jade and spider plants hanging all around me in the stiff summer heat.

Alex, with swift motions, jogs up the three porch steps and meets me face-to-face.

"What's going on?" A fairly serious face quivers into a small laugh. He always appears entertained when I unnecessarily spiral into a self-sabotaging mess.

"Aren't you going to be late for work?"

This causes him to snort in amusement. He slips his hands into mine, stepping closer to me, and breathing becomes difficult.

"What are you stressing over? Are you having doubts about dating me?"

Dating?

"No. I... want to do that," I manage, piecing together an awkward phrase of words.