Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(86)

Nitehawk Cinema, the cozy, retro-style movie theater, was only eight blocks away. So, Bash got there early. Walking up to the theater, he was surprised to see that Audre was already there, waiting for him under the red neon sign. Early. Twenty minutes early. She was just standing there, arms folded, not on her phone, not reading. She looked rattled. Damn, was she even blinking?

As he got nearer, he saw that her eyes were red and swollen.

His breath caught in his throat. And he sped up. Pulled out of her daze, she looked to her left and saw him jogging her way. And she attempted to smile.

It wasn’t an Audre smile. It was artificial, overdone. The kind you make when you’re trying to cheer someone up at a funeral.

“What’s wrong?” he blurted out when he reached her. His impulse was to hug her, kiss her. But she stood rigid as a statue, unmoving.

“I’m great!” she said, her voice strained.

His heart rate began to speed up. “No, you’re not. I know you. What happened? Was it the talk with your mom?”

She bit her bottom lip and shook her head rapidly. Was she fighting off tears? “You said you had some exciting news. What is it?”

“Audre…”

“Tell me your exciting news!” She raised her voice and then looked around to see if anyone was listening. Lowering her head a bit, she stepped closer to Bash and slipped her hand in his. “Tell me. I need to hear something good. Please.”

Bash felt giddy. He was standing outside the movie theater at 2 PM on a Thursday, holding the hand of the girl he wanted more than anything in the world, and he felt a sense of doom so powerful, it was making him nauseous. But she asked for the news. And, in the several weeks he’d known Audre Mercy-Moore, he hadn’t been able to say no to her, once.

“I turned down the Myrtle Beach tattoo place. I’m staying in Brooklyn.”

She blinked several times.

“For me?” she asked in a shaky whisper.

“For you,” he said.

And then, she did cry. She fell against his chest and sobbed, gathering his T-shirt into her fists. Bash didn’t know what to do, so he held her close, walking her to a quiet spot away from the entrance. He let her cry. Finally, she caught her breath. Almost angrily, she wiped her tear-streaked cheeks and looked him directly in the eye.

Bash knew what she was going to say before she said it. He flexed every muscle in his body, steeling himself for the emotional blow.

“We can’t see each other anymore.”

His eyes shuttered. The world went dark.

“Why?” he managed to ask, opening his eyes. “Your mom?”

She nodded, not looking at him. His mouth went dry. His heart imploded. Nearby, a dog-walker tried to steer five cockapoos from sprinting into the street. Somebody honked their car horn a million times. A blond kid whizzed by on a neon scooter. Normal Brooklyn shit was happening all around them. Life carried on, business as usual—while his world crumbled to dust.

“Audre… this can’t be it. I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice cracking. His eyes reddened, blinking back tears. He was too flustered to do anything but beg. “Please. Please. I need you.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

With that, she disentangled herself, pressed her lips against his cheek, and left him.

Hours later, his skin still smarted where she had pecked him. He felt the burn of it, just as vividly as if he’d been kissed by fire.





Chapter 36


Over the past five years, Audre had given tons of relationship advice. Decenter men! It’s not love, it’s adrenaline! Don’t go back to an ex—if you see the same tree in the forest twice, you’re lost!

Fine, but this advice was coming from a girl who’d never known the giddy high of finding her kindred spirit. A girl who’d never felt the addictive rush of finding a puzzle piece that slotted into hers perfectly. A girl who’d never melted from the sheer, intoxicating power of a single kiss. A girl who’d never felt all of this and had it ripped away from her.

The advice she’d given was logical. But it was also bullshit. Because there was nothing logical about falling for someone. It was sloppy, thirsty, embarrassing, uncool, irrational. All this time, she’d basically been advising people to put out a four-alarm fire with a water gun.

Turns out, Reshma was right, she thought. I did need to experience real life to make me a better therapist.

What were the chances that she’d meet her person at sixteen? With all the bad hookups, misunderstandings, and failed crushes out there, the likelihood was slim. She researched it, actually. According to a 2017 study, mathematicians found that, on any given day, only one in 562 people has the chance of finding love.

One in 562 people. Roughly the number of students enrolled at Cheshire Prep. That’s how special and rare it was. Despite scientific odds—and the fact that she wasn’t even looking!—she’d found her person. Audre should’ve held on to him forever. If she’d had any balls she would’ve disobeyed her mother and done exactly that.

Audre had a boyfriend for less than a day. And now he was gone. And she was fucking flattened by the loss. Heartbreak was so all-consuming, it shocked her. This was what her clients had been feeling all these years? This was what she’d secretly dismissed as over-the-top drama? Well. The universe was paying her back.