Every molecule inside me froze and then sped up, threatening to burst.
“I’ve never been in love before. All I know is that what I feel for you is different from anything else I’ve ever felt, so . . .” He let out a self-conscious laugh. “For someone who sings about it constantly, you would think I’d know.”
He loved me? Ryan De Luna loved me?
I’d never been in love before, either. Did I love him?
I had spent so much time trying to avoid having any feelings for him that I’d totally suppressed them. I didn’t know how I felt. I wanted to be with him. I liked him. The physical connection was out-of-this-world insane.
But despite me trying to close myself off to him and what he made me feel, this was more than casual. If I wasn’t actually in love with him yet, I was definitely falling for him. It was like when I was younger and tried to stay away from music by picking a different career path. I kept telling myself that I couldn’t trust or rely on Ryan. That he would hurt me. That what we had was pretend.
No matter what I did, no matter how much I’d told myself I wanted anything else, it always came back to him.
Regardless of how much that frightened me.
I felt his grip tighten. “I kind of went out on a major limb here.” His tone was light, but I heard his vulnerability.
He deserved to know the truth. “I’m afraid to let this be real. You stayed away from me after the bee accident, and it devastated me. That was before we kissed. Before you said you . . .” I sucked in a deep breath. “Before you said you loved me. How much worse would it be if you walked away now? If you cheated on me with some pleech?”
“I stayed away after you got stung because I realized then that I had fallen in love with you, and you didn’t respond. I thought you didn’t feel the same. Now I know you didn’t hear me.” He was right. I most definitely would have remembered him saying that. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want anyone but you. I don’t see that changing.”
“I’m scared.” Not just scared.
Terrified.
Loving Ryan made me feel actual terror.
At that, he pulled me into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around me tightly. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
“I know it’s not fair to you.” My words were muffled into his shoulder. “This thing with my dad . . . it’s like getting on an airplane for you.”
“Are you saying I give you anxiety attacks?” He teased, but it was kind of true.
“I’m not sure I trust myself and how I’ll react when I’m with you.” Or what kind of lines I might be willing to cross.
His head pressed against the top of mine. “Then trust me. Give me the chance to prove I’m a good guy.”
“I already know you’re a good guy.” That wasn’t the problem.
“Let’s take a chance. Clichéd or not, I think we’d make beautiful music together.”
That made me laugh.
“I want you to be my girlfriend. I don’t know if I’m supposed to ask you to go steady or give you a pin or something, but I want us to be exclusive.”
My heart fluttered giddily at that. “Maybe start watching movies that happened after 1959 so you can have more updated references.”
His arms tightened, and I could feel his smile against my skin. “I want to be . . . that guy from that stupid movie you just made me watch.”
He was talking about Lloyd Dobler. “You’re already so much better than Lloyd Dobler.”
Ryan was asking for my trust. For me to let myself feel things for him. To break Rule #1. To give him my heart and hope that he wouldn’t destroy it. To say he was different from every other musician I’d ever met. That what we had was special.
He wanted me to leap without looking.
I’d already taken so many leaps of faith where he was concerned, what was one more?
“If we’re going to do this, be real, exclusive, boyfriend and girlfriend, then I need something from you.” I had the feeling he might not like it.
“Anything. Name it and it’s yours.”
“I need to take things really, really slowly. Like, don’t-come-in-my-room-at-three-thirty-in-the-morning slow. Glacier slow.” Regardless of how attracted I was to him, I wasn’t ready to take that next physical step. “I am planning on waiting until I’m married.”
Ryan nodded, letting out a sigh. “I can’t say I’ve ever had a relationship where that wasn’t involved. Plenty of nonrelationships where it was involved, too.”
“Okay, okay,” I muttered. I got it. I didn’t need to be reminded of his former reputation.
“You’ve been up-front all along about your boundaries, and I love you and respect you and will take things as slowly as you want me to. I think it’ll be hard, but, Maisy? You’re totally worth the wait.”
It was, quite possibly, one of the most romantic things any man had ever said to me. He was right. I did like romantic boyfriends. My heart thudded fast and hard as I realized I could definitely love a man who said things like that.
And that I possibly loved him already.
He let go of me then, and we both sat there motionless in the dark. “So, is that a yes? We’ll be real?”
“You already know the answer.” It had been a yes before he’d even asked. Even before he’d come into my room.
“I know. Just like I know you love me, too, even if you can’t say it yet.” My heart caught at the truth of his words. He leaned forward and pressed a soft, gentle kiss against my forehead. One that stirred up the embers inside me, all poised and ready to ignite once he moved his mouth a little farther south.
He stood up.
“That’s it?” The words burst out of me before I could stop them. “You tell me you love me, and all you’re going to do is kiss me on the forehead?”
“Glacier slow, sweetheart.”
He shut my door behind him, and I got the distinct feeling that despite the fact that it was a necessity and my idea, I was not going to care for glacier slow.
The next morning I went downstairs and found Bibi in the kitchen, singing to herself as she cooked. “Good morning! Ryan’s already left for the day, but he said to make yourself at home.” Honestly, I was both relieved and disappointed. Mostly relieved. I wasn’t sure I was ready to face him in the cold light of day after our discussion last night and my tantrum over not getting more than a forehead kiss.
“He left you a note.” She pointed to it at the end of the kitchen island.
Ryan could have texted me. Somehow it was more romantic that he’d taken the time to put paper to pen.
I’ll be gone all day, but I should be back in time tonight for dinner. You can use any of my cars today if you want to go shopping or see your mom. Or Bibi can call you a driver if you’d prefer. I hope it’s okay, but I went ahead and made reservations tonight at seven at La Isla Cubana, one of my faves.
I love you.
Ryan
Would I feel the same supercharged thrill every time he said or wrote that he loved me?
Cars? Plural?
“Can I make you some breakfast?” Bibi asked.
“Oh no. You don’t have to do that for me. I’ve been feeding myself for a long time. Do you have any cereal?”
She pointed to the pantry and then to the cabinet where the bowls were. I grabbed a bowl and a spoon from the drawer just beneath it.
“Ryan told me about your parents.”
“He talked to you about me?” I located the shelf with the cereal and sighed. Of course Ryan had only gross flavors like “Pencil Shavings” and “Inedible Tiny Rocks.” I went with “Pencil Shavings.” I found a container labeled SUGAR and figured an undercover agent had somehow sneaked behind enemy lines. I hoped dumping a gallon or two of it on top of my cereal would at least make it edible.
“I’m probably not supposed to say anything.” Bibi shot me a conspiratorial smile. “But he talks about you quite a bit. Has for a long time. Between you and me, I think he might even be in love with you.”
That let me know she hadn’t read his note. Where he’d point-blank said it. I put the cereal and sugar on the counter, feeling the blush that started in my cheeks and blossomed out everywhere.
I grabbed some vanilla almond milk (no animal milk of any kind around) and sat at the island to eat. I didn’t respond to her educated and correct guess. Because what could I say?
“If he is, I hope you’ll be careful with him. He has a delicate heart. He’s always been artistic and sensitive. He is strong and confident, but underneath he’s still that little boy who lost his mother and was abandoned by his father.”
That made my own heart twist in sadness because I understood it all too well. “Is that why he uses De Luna instead of his dad’s last name?” It was something my brothers and I had discussed for ourselves, but it had always been important to our mother that we use our father’s name. Out of respect to her, we left it alone.
Ryan’s aunt broke some eggs into whatever batter she was making. “Diego’s father left before he was born. I gave him my last name because I thought his father didn’t deserve that honor since he wouldn’t be around to help raise him. With Ryan, his dad made the choice. He was Ryan Shaughnessy up until his fourteenth birthday. His father thought they would sell more records as Sofia De Luna’s son.”
“That’s . . .” I tapped my spoon against my cereal bowl, not sure what to say. “Mercenary of him.”
Bibi nodded. “Now, I think Ryan prefers it for the same reason Diego and I do.”
I chewed my shavings and tried to swallow them down. The sugar was not helping. Maybe I should go shopping. I could buy a dress to wear tonight and food with absolutely no nutritional value that tasted less like wood.
As I sat there, I wanted to ask Bibi questions. About what Ryan was like as a little boy. How Diego could act so cold to me despite his mother being such a lovely, open person. What made her think Ryan loved me? Even though she was being so sweet to me, her implication earlier had been clear, her allegiance spelled out. She was worried about Ryan and didn’t want me to hurt him.
I couldn’t tell her that the opposite was far more likely.
Instead, I asked her what it was like to run his fan club, and that filled up the time until I decided I couldn’t take any more soggy shavings. I rinsed out my bowl and told her I would be heading out to see my mother.
“The car keys are in the mudroom, near the garage. Choose whichever one you want.”
After I retrieved my purse and my phone, I picked a sparkly silver car. Mainly because it was the only automatic and I didn’t know how to drive a stick. I took a picture and sent it to Parker. He was going to die. He loved expensive cars.
I stopped by my favorite vintage store and found an adorable dress to wear to dinner. It was sleeveless with a tucked-in waist and slightly flared skirt. It was a dark-blue-and-white floral print. It hit that sweet spot where it wasn’t too fancy but not too causal, either. Because if we were going to one of Ryan’s favorite restaurants, my guess was that it wouldn’t be a flip-flop-and-tank-top kind of joint.
I decided to go to the grocery store after I saw my mom (so the multiple cartons of ice cream wouldn’t melt), and I drove over to Century Pacific. I texted Angie when I got to the parking lot, and she was waiting in the lobby, ready to pounce.
“Did you die? I would have died. I did die, and his song wasn’t even about me! Did you just completely melt?” She said this while hugging me hello.
“Yes, I died. And obviously I melted. You saw the kiss.” Everybody saw the kiss.
“And?”
And . . . I wasn’t ready to tell her everything yet. I kind of wanted to tell my mom first, then I could share it with other people. It was something I’d always done growing up. I told her everything. She had been my best friend. I missed getting her advice.
When I was a senior, Kori Bryant had started spreading rumors about what I let guys do to me under the bleachers after her loser boyfriend smiled at me. I wanted my mom to make it better, to tell me how to deal with it. My poor brothers were at a loss because they couldn’t punch Kori in the face and make it all go away.
So Mom first, Angie second. “There’s not really much to say. He wrote an amazing song about me, which gave me all the feels, and I had to kiss him. I didn’t have a choice.”
Angie nodded. “The same thing happened to me the night Hector and I met.”
“He sang to you?”
“No,” she said with a laugh. “He was so scrumptious I just had to kiss him.”
That was the second or third time I’d heard her talk about Hector without getting choked up. I didn’t point it out to her, though. “I’m going to say hi to my mom and let you get back to work. Ryan made reservations for seven at La Isla Cubana, FYI.”
“I will see you there. I can’t believe I’m about to have dinner with Ryan De Luna!”
I wondered what she would say if I told her how many times I’d already kissed Ryan De Luna.
Thinking about him, the fact that we were now exclusive and he loved me (and that I probably loved him) made me happy. I hummed the tune to “Maisy” and let one of the orderlies introduce me to my mom again.
We chatted for a little while, and this time she asked me more questions about myself than normal. Like where I lived and whether or not my parents were still married.
“They were never married,” I told her. “My dad was hardly ever around. He took off permanently a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry. That sucks. My dad died when I was little, so it’s just me and my mom, too.”
My grandmother died when my mom was in her early twenties. It must have been nice for her to be living in a world where that hadn’t happened.
“Are you a musician?”
My mom’s question interrupted my train of thought. “Uh, yes. I am.”
“I heard you humming. The song sounded pretty.”
“My boyfriend wrote it for me. We just became official last night. He told me he loves me.”
Her eyes got big. “Did you say it back?”
“Not yet.”
“Oh. Well, that’s exciting.”
“It is. He’s a musician, too, and we’re actually touring together right now.” Realizing she’d have no idea who Ryan was, I added, “He’s newer but pretty popular. You’ve probably never heard of him. Ryan De Luna.”
“That name sounds familiar.” I tried not to laugh at my mother’s attempt to appear cool, like she was up on all the new artists. Although “new” meant something completely different to her than it did to me. “And you’re touring with him? Wow. You’re young and have already accomplished so much. Your mom must be really proud of you.”
My chest tightened, my throat thickened, and tears sprang to my eyes. “I hope so. Because I am really grateful to be her daughter.”
A nurse interrupted me, a concerned look on her face. “There’s someone here to see Cynthia. Maisy, I thought you should talk to them first.”
I told my mom goodbye, and my pulse pounded as I walked to the front desk. Had Ryan come early?
It wasn’t Ryan. It was an older blonde woman I didn’t recognize.
“I’m Cynthia’s daughter. Can I help you?”
“Of course you are. You look just like her. You probably don’t remember me. I’m Elaine Jorgenson. I was your mom’s best friend when we were younger. We lost touch about ten years ago, and I only just heard about what happened. I was hoping I could visit with her.”
I asked Elaine if she could sit with me, and I told her about my mother’s condition. That seeing Elaine would be a shock, given that my mom thought she was still a teenager. “She doesn’t even have any mirrors in her room.”
Elaine fiddled with her purse straps. “I certainly don’t look the way I did when I was sixteen. I didn’t know. Last year I moved about half an hour away from here, and when I got in touch with some old high school friends, they told me about the accident. They didn’t say we couldn’t visit.”
“It’s probably better for her that you don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Oh no, don’t be sorry. I should have called first. I just felt awful when I heard. She was always such a good friend to me. I remember how our freshman year in college she’d make me her special brownies every time I got my heart broken.”
“Brownies?” I repeated, hopeful anticipation rising inside me. “Do you know what recipe she used?”
“The recipe? You mean the one on the back of every box of Betty Crocker brownie mix?”
Wait. Was she saying what I thought she was saying? “My family’s secret recipe is Betty Crocker? What about the frosting? Is that Betty Crocker, too?”
Elaine let out a little laugh. “It is! Your mom was not very happy with her mother when she found out. She’d thought it was something complicated and mysterious, and it turned out to be something you could buy from the store. They were still delicious, but she was disappointed.”
I totally understood how my mom had felt. I’d spent years trying to perfect something that hadn’t existed to feel closer to her. It crushed me to think I could have picked up a box at any time and made her brownies. It was disappointing to think of all the time I’d wasted wanting to connect with this family tradition that turned out to be something so simple.
We walked out to the parking lot together. Elaine and I exchanged information, and I promised to keep in touch and let her know how my mom was doing, especially if there were any changes. I almost told her to follow me on social media, but I didn’t want her to see what the Luna-chicks and Luna-tics were saying about me.
I got into Ryan’s car as she drove off. Unable to help myself, I went on YouTube to watch the video of Ryan singing my song and then us kissing. I scrolled down to look at the comments. Most of them were about how pathetic I was to throw myself at him; how I wasn’t good enough for him; that I must have seduced, manipulated, or tricked him; or how I should die so he wouldn’t be forced to spend time with me.
Although I knew I shouldn’t care, and usually didn’t, self-doubt flooded my mind. Maybe it was because Ryan had just told me he loved me, which made me feel more vulnerable. Despite what I’d told him earlier about internet trolls, their comments did bother me. They hurt my feelings. Their comments made me insecure.
He made me feel like I was a complicated, mysterious, special kind of brownie.
But what if I was just a regular old mix?