Page 95 of Crossing Arizona

Grease sizzles and pops in the pan, landing on my skin as I scoop pieces of bacon onto a plate. It’s late morning, nearly noon, and Matty’s still asleep. He lost a game yesterday and flew across the country for me, so he’s probably super burned out.

Cracking a few eggs into the pan, I watch the yolk bubble, letting my mind wander. He really shouldn’t have come. I wish he hadn’t. Shit feels so complicated.

Pearl dying means nothing to me. It’s been years since I last saw her anyway, but the ache of unresolved answers festers in my chest. All of the things I’ll never get to know now run through my head, like what part of the Philippines is my birth mother from? Who was my father? Was there ever a moment where she truly loved me, or was I just her meal ticket for collecting state checks?

How many fucking licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? The world may never know.

Feet shuffle on the carpet behind me as I’m dishing up the eggs, and I turn to see Matty standing behind me. His hair is disheveled, sticking up as he rubs his eyes, the sight so adorable that my heart twists painfully.

“Did you make the eggs sunny-side up?” He mumbles, blinking at me groggily, and I have to turn away before I throw myself at him. He’s so fucking beautiful, it hurts.

“Of course I did. You won’t eat them any other way.”

Since there’s no table, we settle into camping chairs, balancing our plates on our lap as we eat silently. He devours his breakfast, licking his plate clean like the massive football player he is, and I automatically hand over the rest of mine when he reaches for it. Like we’ve done nearly every morning for the last twelve years.

It’s so…familiar. Domestic. Makes me want things he’s clearly not ready to give.

Minutes go by before he realizes I’m staring, and he pauses with the fork half to his lips, sky-blue eyes widening. “Is there something on my face?”

“Yeah.” Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I touch his cheek, pretending to wipe some ketchup away. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” he grins, handing me our plates as he gazes around the room. “So…this place is, uh, nice?”

With a snort, I stand to take our dishes to the sink. “This place is a dump. Half the electrical outlets don’t work, and the hot water is practically non-existent.”

He’s quiet, but I sense him behind me, all of my nerve endings attuned to his movements. “Our townhome had hot water for days.”

“Yeah.”

His chest warms my back, and I close my eyes, my body going rigid despite the way I crave his touch. “And all the outlets worked.”

His lips brush my neck as his arms wrap around my waist, and I fight the urge to melt into him.

“What’s your point, Matthew?”

“You don’t have to stay here,” he whispers, placing a soft kiss on the side of my neck. It sends goosebumps over my skin. When his hands slip beneath my shirt, rubbing along my abdomen, I give in, letting my head fall back against his shoulder.

“I like it here. Salem likes it here. It’s trash, but it’s our trash.”

Humming into my hair, his face brushes mine, our cheeks rubbing together gently. “You could come to Arizona with me. I have more than enough space.”

My stomach drops, breath catching as I try to move away, but he tightens his grip. “And how would we live? What would we be to each other? Just roommates?”

“I…” He trails off, freezing in place.

When almost a full minute goes by without an answer, I sigh heavily, pressing my palms into my eyes. “Matty, our friendship, it’s…this state we’re in isn’t healthy.”

His head tilts to the side. “Utah?”

“No, asshole." I throw him an irritated glance over my shoulder. “The state of our relationship. Codependency, denial, lies. We’re almost as toxic as Huck and Taylor.”

Almost. Don’t even get me started on that shit show.

He inhales sharply against my back. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I know what I want. But you don’t. So maybe we shouldn’t—"

“No.“ His arms tighten around me hard enough that my ribs scream in protest.