Dear Ana: Chapter 17

Noah asked me out on a date.

It happened a few weeks after his father died. Noah and I went to his funeral so he could make peace with it, and then things went back to normal. All he needed was a moment. He let himself feel bad for a moment, and then he just . . . moved on. I didn’t believe him at first, certain his childhood pain would come creeping back into his life. I waited for the self-sabotage, the shutting down, the unrelenting anger . . . but he was fine. And not my kind of fine––the other kind. The real kind. The healthy kind. The content, satisfied, exceptionally fucking splendid––

And I was happy for him.

We were painting the bookstore. Well, I was painting the bookstore and Noah kept flicking paint at me. He grabbed a washcloth and was in the middle of cleaning his playful mess off my face when he suddenly paused.

“Go on a date with me,” he whispered. It wasn’t a question––it was a plea. He was staring at me fervently and his hand was on my cheek and Ana was pounding her heart against my chest so hard it hurt.

“Okay,” I whispered back without thinking. And then he smiled so big and so bright––how I imagined the sun would smile at the midnight sky in the alternate universe they got to exist simultaneously––and suddenly I couldn’t remember why I was supposed to say no.

And now here I was, a week later, staring at my closet for the last forty-three minutes, waiting for an outfit to magically create itself without any effort from me. I’d texted Noah earlier asking him what I should wear, and he said I should wear what I always wear. I never imagined wearing jeans and sneakers on my first date, but I wasn’t mad about it either.

I smiled. Just thinking the word date made me giddy. I was nervous at first––my brain couldn’t resist second-guessing his intentions at every corner. But for the most part, I was excited. I liked him. God, I liked him so fucking much and I knew I shouldn’t, but I did and I couldn’t terminate my feelings even if I wanted to.

I was convinced things between us would change after my confession, and they did, but not in the way I assumed. My honesty somehow broke down one of my many barriers and brought us closer together. I was still uncomfortable with the vulnerability I’d expressed and asked him to, respectfully, refrain from bringing it up ever again. He obliged begrudgingly, but his words still rang vividly in my ears.

“Please, just let me help––”

I flinched away in embarrassment and blocked the conversation out. It wasn’t like I never expected him to say that––he was the kindest person I’d ever met––but that didn’t make it any less awkward. I hated when people spent money on me and I didn’t want or need his help. We were both born into a broken world. The only difference was that he managed to get handed a way out, and I . . . didn’t.

“Who takes care of you, Maya?”

I stared at my reflection in the mirror––well, what was left of it after my episode. My once long and thick hair had been falling out in chunks until I just chopped it off mid mental breakdown. I didn’t mind––short was better. Short was harder for him to pull. The brown curls hovered above my collar for the last several years because I couldn’t be bothered to learn how to style them. My ivory skin was in desperate need of some sun and sleep, and my bone structure was sharp with inconsistent nutrition.

I forced my eyes to continue downwards, reluctantly dropping the damp towel I was wrapped in. My body––tall, lithe and lean––was a torture chamber. A permanent reminder of what I needed to know was real. It wasn’t easy to stare at myself when I basically looked like a crime scene, with all the car accident scars, Mikhail scars, and a few lingering bruises that simply refused to fade. I tried to imagine what I would’ve looked like without them. I tried to picture myself with pristine and unspoiled limbs, straight out of the box. I wanted to believe that I would’ve been beautiful. I wanted to believe that in another universe where I was a simple girl living a simple life, I could’ve been beautiful . . . if it weren’t for him.

But at least I had proof. I couldn’t rely on my mind, but I could rely on my body as irrefutable, undeniable proof. I could rely on 52 steps. I could rely on my letters to Ana.

I carefully examined my hand, hoping I could go gloveless today. It had been a few days since I had a picking session, but the scabs were still a little noticeable. I rubbed the rough callouses with my fingers over and over again, and carefully started to tap them with my nail.

Pick, pick, pick––

It was a persistent itch in the back of my brain that could only get soothed if I picked the scab off. I imagined how I would do it. I had a process to it. I was an expert. I wasn’t doing something wrong, I was just cleaning it. It looked messy right now, but if I fixed it, it would heal neater next time. It would heal perfectly.

Carefully––slowly––I peeled away the dead skin and exposed the moist second layer. I smiled in satisfaction, but then frowned as it started to pink up and fill with blood.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, pressing a tissue against it until the flow stopped.

I looked away and quickly covered the awful sight with clothes. I pulled on the jacket he loaned me that I never gave back, and closed my closet door.

Noah saw right through me. No one took care of me, not even myself.

I jumped out of my car and skipped over to Noah, who was waiting for me in front of his café with his hands behind his back.

“Hey dude,” I said, stopping to a halt in front of him. I watched his eyes trail over the white cotton slip dress I put on instead of jeans, and then linger slightly on the small portion of skin exposed from my calves down to my ankles. “I couldn’t bring myself to lose the sneakers––they’re part of my identity.”

“You, um––” he stammered. “You look really pretty, Maya.”

“So do you,” I told him, tapping his nose, and his blush echoed my own.

“Are you ready to go on your first date ever?”

“You don’t need to keep reminding me that I’ve never been on a date,” I groaned.

“I love it,” he replied softly. “That just means I get to be your first.”

And my last.

“These are for you,” he said, revealing what he had behind his back.

I looked down and he was holding four perfectly carved wooden flowers, all painted white. They were so life-like and so perfect, if I didn’t reach my hand out and gently feel the grain of wood beneath my fingers I would’ve sworn they were real. But as I took a closer look, I noticed little scribbles on each of the petals, and I immediately recognized the words.

Quotes scrawled in his handwriting.

Book quotes.

A bouquet of all my favorite book quotes.

“Did you make these?” I breathed in awe. He really did have magical hands, but clearly not just in the kitchen.

“I wanted to get you flowers, as they’re a first date rite of passage, but I didn’t want to get you real ones because I knew they would eventually die.” I looked up at him and he was staring at me intensely. “I don’t want what we have to ever die, Maya.”

His voice was barely above a whisper, gently caressing me with his words.

“They’re beautiful,” I told him sincerely, grabbing the bouquet from his hands cautiously. There was a small, folded paper tucked between the twine that held it together.

“Um, you can read that later,” he said nervously. I smiled and threw my arms around him, careful not to squish his heartfelt gift.

“Thank you,” I said, hoping the depth of my emotions was clear enough without me having to enunciate them.

He tugged me closer, nuzzling his head into the crook of my neck. I pulled away after a minute and put them in my car.

“So, what’s next?” I asked eagerly.

“We need to go catch the city bus. Can I . . . ?” He nudged my hand with his finger, and I nodded.

He took my hand, intertwining our fingers and swinging them lightly between us as we walked. I wore my cut-off cotton gloves, so my long fingers were exposed at the knuckles. I bit my lip at the new sensation of skin on skin. The rough and smooth texture of the pads of his fingers was extremely pleasurable. I lightly untangled my fingers from his and put his hand into both of mine. He watched me with confusion but smiled when he saw me start tracing his palm with my exposed fingers.

We stopped at the bus stop and waited a little ways away from the other people standing. I was still clinging to his hand, doodling circles and other shapes on the surface of his palm. I lightly grazed the length of each of his fingers and studied each line and crack in his perfect skin. He lifted his other hand toward me after a few minutes and I felt his index finger under my chin, tilting it up. I grinned sheepishly at him, not sure how to explain why I was so entranced by his hand and how it felt under my naked fingers.

He gently smoothed back my windblown hair, tucking it behind my ear and stroking the length of my jaw. My eyes fluttered shut and I shuddered slightly as his finger tickled my neck. I was fully aware that the way we were interacting wasn’t exactly on a friendship level. Or maybe it was; I never had a male friend before, so I wasn’t exactly sure. While I was comfortable being near him, I had never experienced contact like this. It felt intimate, but also kind of strange. I was always a little tempted to pull away, worried it would be too much all of a sudden and I would panic, but that never happened. That’s how I knew it was right.

Thump, thump––

It was hard to enjoy it when I still felt guilty, especially now, watching the way he gazed at me with intense adoration, not caring if people were staring. I couldn’t keep hiding the truth from him. I had to tell him. And I would, tonight, after I was positive about how he felt. If he cared about me as much as I cared about him, I knew we could get through it. There was nothing he could tell me that I wouldn’t understand.

Did you hear that, Ana? I’m going to tell him. Just let me have this day.

The bus announced its arrival behind us with a loud squeak of the breaks. I grabbed my wallet to take out some change, but Noah placed his hand on mine, stopping me.

“I got you a pass, don’t worry about it,” he assured me, placing it into my hand.

“Noah,” I started but stopped when I saw the words on the pass. “Wait, why did you get a monthly pass?”

“I always get monthly passes,” he replied. He let me in first, waiting for me to hand the driver my ticket before giving him his. He pointed to empty double seats beside the window.

“Do you take the bus frequently?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking away. “I don’t drive.”

“Wait,” I snickered. “You still don’t have a license? Do you need me to give you lessons?”

My laughter immediately subsided when I realized it was one-sided. His head was down and his eyes were closed tightly like he was trying not to remember something. He almost looked like he was in . . . pain.

“I was just kidding,” I told him quickly.

He didn’t respond, but he did grip my hand tightly in his.

“Are you okay?”

He took a deep breath and looked at me, his eyes bright and haunted by the tortures of his past.

“It’s not you, Maya. I have a license, I just . . . don’t drive,” he said finally.

“Why not?”

He studied my face carefully for a minute. “I’ll tell you later, okay?”

“Are you sure? We can reschedule. I don’t mind.”

“I mind.”

I nodded slowly as he pulled out his headphones and slipped the right one into my ear. I leaned my head on his shoulder, watching the city passing by through the window. I felt him shuffle slightly, moving me closer, clasping my hand firmly in both of his.

“I came across this place while I was looking for locations to get inventory for the bookstore,” he explained as we exited the bus, pointing to the place we were going to. It was a bookstore––a huge one at that. He opened the door for me and I stepped inside, taking in the magnificent space. It was filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves and large windows that illuminated the room with natural light. I waved at the old man behind the counter absently, my eyes completely fixated on the rows and rows of books, comics, and magazines. I hadn’t been around them in so long and I immediately felt at ease, their pages welcoming me back with open words.

Noah stayed behind, watching me silently with a small smile on his face.

“I wish you could enjoy this as much as I am.”

“Watching you enjoy it is very joyful for me. Pick out all the books you want.”

I looked back at him questionably.

“It’s part of the date,” he insisted.

“Noah,” I sighed. “Don’t make this weird.”

“I’m definitely the normal one out of the two of us.”

“Okay, true,” I chuckled. “I just mean . . . I know I told you about some personal things, but I can take care of myself.”

“I never thought you couldn’t. You are the strongest and most capable person I’ve ever met,” he said, eyes sparkling in awe. “This is what guys do on dates––at least, the good ones.”

I smiled. “I appreciate you wanting to give me the full date experience, but I don’t need all the extra stuff. Being here with you is more than enough.”

He took a step closer to me. “Just because you’re easily pleased, doesn’t mean you deserve anything less than everything.”

I reached up and lightly touched his cheek. He was so sweet, and I wanted to accept his kindness but it was almost painful to do so. How could you convince someone they were worthy of everything when they spent their entire life believing they were worthy of nothing?

“How about this? What if I pick out all the books that I want you to read?”

I could tell he was about to argue so I spoke again quickly. “I’m compromising with you, Noah. You suggested something and I’m not saying no, I’m just giving you another option that I’m more comfortable with.”

“I already have a stack of books you told me to read,” he reminded me.

“Oh, Noah. That stack is only the beginning.”

I grinned and took his hand in mine. “Come on, let me turn you into a bookworm. And don’t worry, I’ll definitely be borrowing these from you soon,” I promised, winking at him.

We spent the next few hours thoroughly going through each shelf. I chose about thirty books, all from different genres, and read him the synopsis of each one. I didn’t want to force him to read a book that he wasn’t at least a little bit interested in, but he still went with every single one I suggested.

“I’m so excited for you to read these,” I said. He laughed, grabbing the custom tote bag and led us out of the store. We went to the farmer’s market next, and Noah picked up all the ingredients for the surprise dinner he was going to cook for us later that night. After strolling casually through the streets, hand in hand, we grabbed some sandwiches from a deli nearby and went to the park. It had warmed up considerably since the morning so he insisted on sitting outside.

I leaned back and rested my head on his legs, staring up at him as he played with my hair.

“I love your hair,” he said softly. “It’s so curly.”

“You love it because you never have to tackle brushing it.”

“I would brush it for you every day if you’d let me.”

“It’s a deal,” I replied, hesitating for a moment. “Noah?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you drive?”

His fingers stopped in my hair.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I understand,” I assured him, immediately regretting bringing it up in the first place.

He stayed silent, but his fingers resumed their movements. I was just beginning to accept that he wasn’t going to answer before he spoke.

“I got into a car accident.”

I inhaled sharply. “What happened?”

“I don’t . . . want to get into details, but . . .”

He closed his eyes and tensed. I stroked his face, trying to smooth the stress lines. He leaned into my hand, his muscles loosening slightly.

“Ana died in that accident. I killed her.”

Thump, thump––

“What do you mean?”

He took a shaky breath, and I braced myself. I spent the last ten years wondering how she died. How we ended up in the same hospital on the same day. “We weren’t supposed to be there; my flight wasn’t leaving for a few days but . . . we got into a fight. She told me to leave early, and I did, but she had to come with me to drive my truck home. There was a disruption in the road on our way and I . . . Ana didn’t make it.”

Thump, thump––

She was in a car accident too––?

Thump, thump––

A part of her did make it, and it was beating only inches away from him.

I quickly pushed myself up and sat on my knees in front of him. “That doesn’t make it your fault, Noah. It was out of your control.”

He shook his head at my words. “It was my fault we were fighting. If we hadn’t fought, then I wouldn’t have left early and there wouldn’t have been any commotion on the road, causing us to crash.”

I continued to touch his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes, waiting for him to continue. He smiled at me for a second, before looking away. “You’re probably wondering why we were fighting.”

I didn’t say anything. Of course, I was wondering. I had been wondering what happened between them from the moment I saw him that day at her grave. I immediately assumed at the time that she was his girlfriend, but when he told me they were adopted together . . . I still couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to their story.

“Ana was . . . my person. She was my first point of comfort after my mom died and I got thrown into the system. I needed her just as much as she needed me. I loved her. I love her.”

Irrational jealousy coursed through me at his words.

“Nothing changed when we moved in with our new family, except, well, everything changed. We still loved each other but it was different. It had to be different, I mean, we were technically siblings. I didn’t think she . . .” He shook his head. “I didn’t think we had to discuss it.”

“Discuss what?”

He sighed. “My feelings were confusing at the time. I was in pain and I was grieving the loss of my mother and Ana was all I had. We thought we were going to be stuck in that hell hole forever. We never expected to get adopted.”

Thump, thump––

“What happened, Noah?” I asked quietly.

“I got my acceptance letter from British Columbia,” he whispered. “I took a gap year after graduating high school because I didn’t know what I wanted to major in, and Ana had already started at the University of Calgary. I was so excited and immediately bought a plane ticket so I could go see the campus, but Ana was upset. We’d talked about staying here for school. I told her I was going to go to school with her and I just needed a year off, but on a whim, I sent them my application too and never told her about it. I knew she was going to be mad, but I just . . . I needed to leave. I needed to be on my own for a bit and figure out what I wanted to do. God, I sound like such an ass,” he muttered.

“No, you don’t,” I assured him automatically.

“She was my best friend, but it was still hard––at school, I mean. I always felt like the odd one out, until my junior year when I met a few guys on my robotics team. It wasn’t a big deal at first because usually we just hung out during our meetings. One day, Freddie invited us to his house after school to see the remote control plane he was working on and I went. Ana was . . . livid when I came home. Accusing me of abandoning her just like her parents did,” he looked at me with tormented eyes. “I wasn’t abandoning her, Maya; I would never do that. After hours of consoling her, she finally forgave me, but I didn’t want her to ever feel like that again, so I stopped accepting their invitations. Eventually, they stopped asking.”

I rubbed his arm gently.

“She was acting weird ever since I told her about BC. I asked her to come with me to see the campus, but she denied the offer. I was worried she would think I was trying to leave her again or something, but I couldn’t tell because she wouldn’t talk to me . . . until the day I was supposed to leave.”

“The day of her death,” I whispered.

The day of my rebirth.

He nodded, taking a deep breath.

“She knocked on my door while I was packing saying she needed to talk.” He looked away again. “She stood in front of me and she started crying, and begging me not to go. I told her I was just going to see the campus and that I would be back in a few days, but she was so upset. She said she knew that if I went it would make my decision for me and I would end up leaving her. And then . . .”

Thump, thump, THUMP––

“. . . she kissed me.”

My eyes widened.

“She kissed me and then pulled away and told me that she loved me. That she was in love with me and that it didn’t matter because we weren’t really related.”

What. The. Fuck.

I waited for a moment, listening . . . but she was suddenly quiet. Too quiet. I touched my wrist subtly, but I could still feel her pulse.

“I was . . . shocked. I mean, I was conflicted too at first, but after a few years, I realized my feelings were strictly on a familial level. I assumed the same from her, and that our close bond was just a sibling thing. I never expected that at all. When I didn’t respond to her confession right away she got embarrassed and ran to her room. I followed her obviously, and tried to explain . . .”

He rubbed his eyes in distress. “After I was done talking, she told me to leave. I thought she meant to my room, but she wanted me to leave for the airport. She said she needed some space and that she wanted me to get an earlier flight out to BC. I agreed; I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable around me. Nobody was home, so she came with me to drive my truck back and . . . well, you know the rest.”

I nodded sadly.

“I’ll always wonder if it was my fault,” he whispered regretfully. “I’ll always wonder if I led her on without realizing, or if I was unintentionally giving her any kind of inclination that I felt the same way. Maybe if I had pushed her away a little in the beginning she wouldn’t have felt . . .”

I wrapped my arms around him tightly.

“It wasn’t your fault, Noah,” I said firmly. “You loved her like a brother and like a friend, and instead of taking advantage of her like most men would have, you respected her. I don’t doubt for a second that if Ana were still alive, she eventually would’ve thanked you for pushing her away. I’m sorry you never got to hear the words from her. I’m sorry you lost your best friend.”

I’m sorry her heart is beating inside me instead.

He rested his head on my shoulder and returned my embrace, squeezing me closer.

“It’s okay if you . . .” I started slowly. “It’s okay if you felt, or . . . feel the same way. I mean, all that matters is that you didn’t act on it. We can’t help who we love.”

“I wondered that too,” he breathed into my shoulder. “I spent the last ten years wondering if what I felt for her was more than familial love. I spent the last ten years experimenting with other women, desperately searching for someone to convince me that I was right and she didn’t just die because I was in denial.”

He lifted his head and looked into my eyes, his face not even a millimeter away from mine.

“It took me ten years, Maya . . . but I know now that I wasn’t in love before.”

I had a feeling I knew what he was implying, but I didn’t want to guess. I wanted to know. I needed to know for sure. No more fooling around. No more playful flirting. His gaze flickered down to my mouth and then back up to my eyes, asking, pleading. My face felt so hot, and Ana’s frenzied heart was suddenly pooling blood into my open skin. His closeness was making me nervous; I wanted to stay in it forever and run away from it at the same time––

His phone beeped loudly, interrupting us, and he leaned away. “We have to go, the last bus is about to leave.”

He stood, pulling me up with him. I looked around, only now noticing that the sun had gone down and the moon had taken its place. He grabbed his bags and grinned wickedly before dipping down and throwing me over his shoulder.

“Noah!” I shrieked into his back, but he just laughed and quickly ran back to the bust stop. He set me down gently, my cheeks flushed, and I gave him a questioning smile.

“You said the only way you would ever go on a run with me was if I was doing the running with you on my back.”

Before I could reply, the bus came. We got off at our stop and walked quietly back to his café, our hands intertwined in his pocket, just as the flurries started to fall. I smiled and looked up at the sky, but Noah groaned beside me.

I chuckled. “You don’t like the snow?”

“You’re the only person who does, Maya.”

I turned toward him and brushed the snowflakes out of his hair. “Do you want to make snow angels? You know, so you can associate snow with a good memory.”

“There’s not enough snow on the ground yet, weirdo,” he teased. “Besides, every memory with you is a good one.”

I blushed. “I think you’re just scared mine will turn out better than yours.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” I breathed.

“Okay, tomorrow when there’s more snow on the ground, I am officially challenging you to a snow angel and a snowman-making contest.”

“I’d prefer to make a snowwoman, actually.”

He laughed loudly. “Of course, my mistake. A snowball fight will be the grand finale.”

“Get ready to lose, Davidson,” I warned, grabbing his other hand and lifting them above our heads before twirling under his arm. “But for now, let’s dance.”

He grinned in surprise. “You don’t dance.”

“I didn’t do a lot of things before I met you.”

His gaze softened and intensified at the same time under the moonlight, boring into mine. He extended our hands to the side and placed the other on my hip and started to sway. I leaned into him and we moved back and forth on the empty sidewalk. No music. No people. Just us.

“Maya,” he whispered, his lips hovering over the sensitive skin of my ear. I was too overwhelmed to form a coherent thought, let alone answer him. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Thump, thump––

“God, it feels so fucking good to finally say that out loud,” he laughed breathlessly. “I keep waiting for this feeling to go away, or for it to die down . . . but then I wake up the next day and all I can think about is you. Your smile . . . your voice . . . your laugh . . . the way your air mixes with mine and effortlessly ignites all these things I never knew existed.” He grazed his nose against mine, inhaling deeply. “I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but it doesn’t feel that way. This thing between us is so strong, I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

“That’s because you do know me,” I said, pulling away.

“What do you mean?”

I looked at his confused and beautiful face as he waited for me to respond, his eyes glazed like he was intoxicated by my very existence. My existence that was a lie. This was what I was waiting for, right? I was waiting for him to tell me how he felt so I could finally tell him the truth. I needed to tell him the truth before we went any further. He deserved to know.

“Noah, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“You can tell me anything,” he assured me.

I took a deep breath. “I’m––”

“Noah, is that you?”

He whipped his head around. “Mom? Dad? What are you guys doing here?”

“You didn’t come to family dinner today, so we wanted to check up on you,” his mom said as they approached us.

“Sorry, I was on a date,” Noah responded sheepishly.

“We can see that.”

“Hi, I’m Maya,” I said awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” his dad said, smiling. I smiled back and glanced at his mom, but she wasn’t smiling at me like his father was. Instead, she was scrutinizing my face.

My smile disappeared.

No way.

No fucking way.

There’s no way she recognizes me, I pleaded silently to whoever the fuck was listening. Please, please, please––

“Do I know you?” she asked curiously, coming closer.

“No, I don’t think so,” I told her quickly.

She took another step closer, standing directly under the street lamp, and gasped.

She knew.

Panic gripped me tightly as recognition dawned on her face. I had to act quickly. I had to tell him before they did. I had to, I had to––

“It is you,” she whispered and then glanced at Noah. “Noah, I told you not to go looking for her. Does she know who you are?”

“What are you talking about, Mom?” he asked, looking between us with a perplexed expression.

“You don’t know?” She looked back at me. “Honey, this is the girl who received Ana’s heart.”