That thought changes everything. I watch how he struggles to figure out where to put his hands. How he keeps removing his glasses and fiddling with them. How he repeatedly runs fingers through his hair. His eyes meet mine, then flick away again, like it’s hard, for the first time after years of best-friendship, for him to maintain eye contact.
“Part of why I painted all this was because I missed you so much it hurt. Before you left, I was trying to give you space. I hoped that when you came back from Taiwan, we could talk again. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I couldn’t stop thinking about—”
The pause here is the longest pause in the world. I catch myself holding my breath, waiting for the words that are coming next.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you,” he finishes, sending his eyes down toward his hands instead of at me. “It just—it felt so right.”
Yes! my mind is screaming. It did!
“But—well. I shouldn’t—”
I interrupt him because I can see the fight on his face, the struggle to spit it out.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, even as I cut myself on the words. “I know about Leanne. And—I won’t say anything to her. I won’t ruin your relationship.”
“Our—what?”
“Caro told me,” I begin to explain.
He shakes his head adamantly. “No, no—I broke up with her. Weeks before Two Point Fives Day. That whole thing was a mistake. The biggest mistake.”
When I open my mouth, what comes out is:
Absolutely nothing.
“Look, I never explained what happened in the spring,” he says. “I wanted to, but I just. Things got so weird. They spiraled out of control.”
I nod like I’m understanding. I really don’t.
“While I was in Puerto Rico over winter break, I talked a lot with my cousin Salvador. I told him about you.”
He told his cousin about me. I don’t know why the idea is so surprising.
“Sal’s an old romantic. Kind of like Caro’s grandparents, you know? While I was talking to him… I realized I was falling for you. And he convinced me I should tell you how I felt. But then when I got home… I couldn’t do it. And then at Winter Formal, I saw you kissing that guy Weston. And I just didn’t know what to do after that. It felt hopeless. And at that point, Leanne was around so much, and she was clearly still into me, and we were getting along better than we had in the past. She was—well, for lack of a better word, she was a distraction.”
Leanne. I suck in a deep inhale. He’d said before that things couldn’t go back to normal. Was this what he meant?
“Then when I kissed you. God, I mean. I could tell it freaked you out.” Axel’s voice speeds up again. “And if you never want it to happen again, I totally get it. I will respect that. I know I crossed a certain line—”
“No,” I blurt. Good. Not mute anymore. The panic has pushed the gears back into place. “It wasn’t just you. We crossed that line together.” Still not exactly what I want to say, but it’s a start.
I try to keep going, but Axel is shaking his head, looking at his feet now. “I’m sorry, Leigh, if you feel like I made you do something you didn’t want. I would never, ever try to push you.…”
My face goes hot as I remember all the conversations that have come up in sex ed about consent and how it applies to everything, not just going all the way.
When I look up, he’s pressing a thumb against his lips like it’ll prevent anything else from coming out.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” I finally manage to tell him.
That’s when he turns and meets my eyes again. They’re so sad, so defeated.
“Axel. I wanted you to kiss me. More than anything in the world. I’ve wanted it for years.” Deep inhale. Slow exhale. I make myself say it: “I still want it.”
There. I said it. The words didn’t kill me.
“You do?” His voice is hoarse.
“So much. But. I can’t stop thinking about that day—”
I don’t have to say more; the ashen look on his face tells me he knows exactly what I mean.
“If I hadn’t been in your basement. If we hadn’t been.” Kissing. The word lodges in my throat.
“It wasn’t your fault, Leigh,” he says softly.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the tears that are clawing their way up through my body.
“You can’t blame yourself. You can’t just let that day put a freeze on everything else.”
My eyes are still shut, my lungs compressing. “And I’ve been afraid.” The words come so fast and so quietly that for a moment I don’t believe I’ve actually said them.
“Leigh. Look at me. Leigh?”
I force my eyes open.
He stares at me for a long time, his eyes searching my face. I notice every single time they drop to my lips. His gaze makes me feel warm and buzzy.
“Your mom told me something once. It was a waffle Sunday. You hadn’t gotten out of bed yet, and I was helping her mix the batter. She said that coming to the States to marry your dad was the scariest thing.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“She said it was terrifying to leave her family, and she hadn’t known your dad that long, but some instinct made her feel like it was worth it. She said it was like jumping over a canyon and hoping where she landed would be amazing.”
Like the grass always being greener on the other side? My hands twist together in my lap. Mom’s analogies were like her idioms—hard to sift through. And often not at all reassuring.
“Leigh.”
I open my eyes again.
“She said that it was one of the best decisions she ever made. The bravest thing she’d ever done. She said she hoped that I would have that kind of opportunity in my life. I remember her words: ‘Once you figure out what matters, you’ll figure out how to be brave.’ I think a part of me knew, even back then, that she was talking about you and me.”
Brave. The same word Caro used.
Mom always had been rooting for us. She never said anything to me, but it was obvious.
I force myself to meet Axel’s gaze. In the last five years, I thought I’d learned to read every expression that could possibly fill those features. I thought I knew them better than anyone. I was wrong. The look he’s giving me now—that hope in his eyes, that bright wishing—I’ve seen it before. But I never realized it was meant for me.
“I understand if you need to think about it. And I understand if, after you’re done thinking, you decide it’s not a good idea. I just want you to know—”
“Axel,” I tell him. “Shut up.”
And then I do possibly the bravest thing I’ve ever done:
I close the space between us and kiss him, hard.
He’s surprised for only a fraction of a second. Then my hands are at his face, peeling his glasses up over his head and tossing them onto my nightstand. My body, drawing him down onto the bed. His lips, between my teeth. Our legs, sliding against each other.
My heart bursting with manganese blue and new gamboge yellow and quinacridone rose.
I pause and draw back.
He smiles up at me. It’s the perfect antidote to my panic. I look at his soft eyes, at the upward tug of his lips, and I feel the tension melting out of me.
“What color?” I ask him.
Axel strokes my arm for a long moment, still gazing up into my face.
He huffs a quiet laugh. “All of them.”
106
The day after we get back, the post office delivers all the mail they’ve been holding for us. That’s when I see the letter: The date stamp shows that it was delivered right after we left for Taiwan. Sent to our house all the way from Berlin.
KREIS—RAUM FüR KUNST is printed up in the corner.
“Well?” says Dad. “Are you going to open it or are you just going to stand there?”
“You open it.” I shove it toward him.
“No way. That thing is yours. Take pride in it, no matter what the outcome is.”
I pause. “Do you actually know what this is? Did Mom tell you?”
“Yes,” he says. “She did.”
My hands shake so hard I practically destroy the envelope in the process.
Dear Leigh Chen Sanders:
It is our great pleasure to invite you to join our international show for young artists here at Kreis—Raum für Kunst.
I start screaming after that first sentence. When I finally calm down enough to read the rest of it, a weight drops into my stomach. I look up at Dad, waiting for him to tell me this is impractical, that it’s not something worth pursuing— “What’s wrong?”