Page 62 of Unwrapped

Tyler’s car pulls into the driveway, and I head outside to meet him. He climbs out, tall and lanky in a Patriots beanie and oversized flannel shirt, and gives me a hug. “Hey! Good to see you.” On the drive over, he tells me who’s going to be at his cousin’s party, and I’m surprised by how many people I’m actually looking forward to seeing.

Tyler’s cousin’s place is already crowded when we arrive. There are jackets piled on the bed in the spare room and people squeezed onto the couches. Bottles and plastic cups cover all the surfaces. I recognize more faces than I expected. Before I’ve even taken off my coat, a group of girls from my high school swim team call me over. I walk over to catch up with them while Tyler gets drinks.

More people arrive, and so many of them are from my high school—people I haven’t seen since graduation. I’m circulating, always a fresh beer in my hand thanks to Tyler, hearing about their first semesters away and laughing about things that probably wouldn’t be funny to anyone who hadn’t gone to high school with us. It seems like everyone has a story about a terrible roommate or a disastrous hookup, and I’m laughing more than I have in ages.

This is exactly what I needed. Just a house full of people my own age, familiar faces, and stupid conversations. And the best part is, I’m enjoying myself. I’ve barely wondered what Vince is doing back at the house.

As if I’ve said his name out loud, one of the swim team girls turns to me and asks: “How’s your dad doing? Wait— Is he your dad or your stepdad?”

“Stepdad,” I correct.

“Okay, well, damn.” She breaks out in a wide grin. “Then I can say what we’re all thinking. That man is fine.”

Two other of the girls burst into raucous laughter, like they’ve been waiting to let this out.

I laugh too, lightly, and try to wave it away. “I mean, it can’t be denied,” I quip, and they leave it at that.

As the evening goes on, the party gets louder and more crowded. The lights are low, the Christmas lights around the living room windows providing the ambience, and there’s barely enough space to move around.

I’ve had a few beers, and I’m feeling pretty good. My cheeks are warm, and I’m comfortably relaxed and distracted. Tyler and I have claimed one end of the couch with two people we knew in high school, now a couple after getting together over the summer. They’re telling us about a camping trip they went on—a lively tale they’ve practiced into a dual narrative—and Tyler is listening and laughing while my attention is barely hanging on.

Vince and I went camping in the summer, before I left for school, and it was terrible. We were cold and uncomfortable the whole time. Driving back after two nights in the woods, backs sore and smelling of campfire smoke, the experience became hilarious to us. How much we hated it. How much we complained. In the end, it’s become one of our favorite stories to tell each other. Hearing about this couple’s camping trip is making me miss him.

So I try to retrain my attention to Tyler. We’re sitting close together, our knees touching, and, while we’ve been sitting here, his arm has found its way around my shoulders. It feels nice, actually, being tucked against someone who wants me there. I lean into it a bit.

Our friends eventually wander off, and Tyler and I are alone at the end of the couch.

He turns toward me, smiling. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Aw, thanks bud,” I say, tipping the neck of my beer bottle against his in a cheers. “I’m glad I’m here, too. Thanks for the invite.”

He tilts his head, looking at me very sincerely, and says, “Like, I missed you, you know?”

“Yeah?”

He lifts a hand to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear, and then runs it over my head, leaving it there. “Yeah.”

For a second, we just kind of smile at each other. I recognize the move for what it is. He leans forward. I close my eyes.

But when his lips touch mine, I freeze up.

His breath smells like beer. His mouth feels unfamiliar, even though we’ve kissed a hundred times before. There’s a kind of firmness to his lips I never noticed before—a kind of dry withholding—and instantly, it just feels completely wrong.

He’s just not Vince.

Vince kisses with confidence. With warm, soft, full lips that can be tender or commanding. He’s never awkward or hesitant, and he always seems to know exactly the right pressure or angle, like he can read my body intuitively. And the comparison is immediate and unignorable.

I find myself pulling away.

Tyler looks confused. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I give him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’m just a little mixed up right now.”

He takes his hand away from my hair. “Oh. Okay.”

This is awkward. I suddenly realize that I’ve given him the wrong idea tonight, because I gave myself the wrong idea about tonight.

It was fun getting out of the house and seeing old friends, forgetting about my problems for a few hours. But maybe I’d been thinking that I could just slot Tyler in where Vince had been and erase this consuming infatuation, and the whole mess of longing, confusion and anger that goes with it. The moment Tyler’s lips touched mine, though, I knew how hopeless that idea was. There is no replacing Vince. I’m in so deep with him that even when I’m furious, even when he’s breaking my heart, he’s still the only man I want.