“I know.” I’m not smiling anymore. Instead, I’m worried. I have a bad habit of asking if he’s definitely okay, but it’s hard to tell over the phone whether or not he’s telling me the truth. “I need you to answer me honestly, face to face. I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying or not.”
He rolls his eyes, almost smirking at how relentless I must seem, but then he straightens up and leans forward again, his lips pressed into a firm line. He’s even closer to me than he was before, and I think I might have stopped breathing again. Slowly, he parts his lips to speak. “I’m as fine as I can be, Eden. That’s the truth. I’m not lying to you.”
He widens his eyes dramatically, as though to prove that he’s sincere, so I squint back at him as I search for anything in his features that’ll tell me otherwise. He doesn’t give me long, though. Only a few seconds, and then he retreats, settling back against his seat.
“C’mon,” he says gently. He tilts his head down slightly, looking up at me from beneath his eyelashes. “You know I would have been kicked off the tour if I’d messed up.”
I consider this for a moment before realizing that he has a point. If he’d been caught drunk, high, in handcuffs, or involved in any trouble whatsoever, he would have been taken off the program. His job was to tell his story and set a positive example. The fact that he took part in every single event right until the end only proves that he didn’t get into any trouble. Which means he is okay. But it’s hard to forget the way things used to be a couple of years ago, and sometimes I can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever end up in that state again. But for now, he’s doing good.
I’m not even sure why I had to ask him to clarify this for me again. I should have known he was telling me the truth, that New York would be the best thing for him. From the moment I saw him at the airport, there’s been nothing but a positive vibe radiating from him. I think that’s why I keep smiling.
When I draw my attention back to Tyler, he’s waiting for me to say something, but I can’t muster up a single word. I can’t stop staring at him, at his eyes that are still wide, at the stubble that’s making him look years older than he really is, at the corner of his lips as he holds back a smile. And then it finally occurs to me that it isn’t any of these things that attract me to him so much. It’s that positivity around him. It’s the way he’s managed to change his entire mindset and attitude within the space of two years. I can only imagine how hard it was for him to stop hating everything around him, for him to finally get over the shitty childhood he had, yet he managed. He did it.
That’s why I’m even more attracted to him than I ever was before. That’s why this sucks. It’s been two years since our first summer together. By this point I’m supposed to be over him, but now it seems like I never will be. New York was a bad idea. I should never have come. I should be in Santa Monica with Dean, not here, falling even harder for his best friend.
My stomach churns, and I can only hope that it’s out of hunger and not guilt. Reaching for my water, I take another long sip and buy myself some more time to collect my thoughts, to think of something to say. After a moment, I think of Tyler’s words back at the Seventy-seventh Street subway station. I place my glass back on the table and look at him, curious. “Who gave you strict orders to look after me? My mom?”
Tyler sighs at my change of subject before folding his arms across his chest, his posture still straight. He offers me the smallest of shrugs as he drops his eyes to the table. “Yeah. Your mom, my mom . . .” He glances back up. “And Dean.”
“Oh,” I say flatly. It’s not surprising. It’s such a Dean thing to do. Frowning, I stare at my glass and run my fingers around the rim, not quite sure what to think. “What did he say to you?”
“He said that I have to make your trip worth it. You know, since you chose this over him.” Tyler shrugs again, and I can feel the tension growing around us. Or perhaps it’s only me who can notice it, because I’m the guilty one. I’m the one who’s gazing at Tyler in the middle of an Italian restaurant in New York City while my boyfriend is on the other side of the country, most likely still mad at my departure. “He’ll be pissed off if you don’t even have a good time.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him that I’ll guarantee it,” Tyler says, and he smiles again, wide and sincere.
Silence ensues. It’s mostly because I have no idea how to navigate the whole Dean situation, but partly because I’m desperate for Tyler to look uneasy. He looks too comfortable talking about Dean and I, like it doesn’t bother him anymore, which is only more evidence that he’s over me. Totally and completely over me.