Finding Cinderella Maybe Someday

Dear Mr. Archer,
She looks up at me, and her eyes are wide.
Congratulations on your summer registration. We are
pleased
to inform you that your application for family housing
has been
processed and approved.
Rachel smiles.

---

Enclosed you will find a return envelope and the final
paperwork which will need to be returned by the
postmarked
date.
Rachel looks at the envelope and quickly flips through the
attached paperwork. She pulls the letter back to the top.
We look forward to receiving the completed forms.
Our contact
information is below should you have any questions.
Sincerely,
Paige Donahue, Registrar
Rachel covers her smile with her hand and tosses the letter
aside, then leans forward and hugs me.
“We get to move now?” she says.
I love how evident the excitement is in her voice.
I tell her yes. Rachel is relieved. She knows as well as I do
how awkward the next several weeks would have been in
the same house as our parents.
“Have you asked your father yet?”
I tell her she forgets that we’re adults now. We no longer
have to ask for permission. We only have to inform.
Rachel says she wants to inform them right now.
I take Rachel’s hand, and we walk together to the living
room and inform our parents that we’re moving out.
Together.

---

chapter twenty-five
TATE
It’s been a few weeks since Corbin found out. He hasn’t
accepted it, and he still hasn’t spoken to Miles, but he’s
beginning to adapt. He knows on the nights I leave without
explanation, only to come back a few hours later, where I’ve
been. He doesn’t ask.
As far as things with Miles, I’m the one doing the
adapting. I’ve had to adapt to his rules, because there’s no
way Miles is adapting to breaking them. I’ve learned to stop
trying to figure him out and to stop allowing things to get so
tense between us. We’re doing exactly what we agreed to
do in the beginning, which was to have sex.
A lot of sex.
Shower sex. Bedroom sex. Floor sex. Kitchen-table sex.
I’ve still never spent the night with him, and it still hurts
sometimes how closed off he becomes right after it’s over,
but I still haven’t figured out a way to say no to him.
I know I want so much more than what he’s giving me and
he wants so much less than what I want to give him, but
we’re both just taking what we can get for now. I try not to
think about what will happen the day I can’t handle it

---

anymore. I try not to think about all the other things I’m
sacrificing by still being involved with him.
I try not to think about it at all, but the thoughts still
come. Every night, when I’m in bed, I think about it. Every
time I’m in the shower, I think about it. When I’m in class, in
the living room, in the kitchen, at work . . . I think about
what’s going to happen when one of us finally comes to our
senses.
“Is Tate a nickname for something else?” Miles asks me.
We’re in his bed. He just got home from four days at work,
and even though our arrangement is supposed to be all
about sex, we’re still fully dressed. We’re not making out.
He’s just lying with me, asking me personal questions about
my name, and I love it so much more than any other day
we’ve ever spent together.
It’s the first time he’s ever asked me a semi-personal
question. I hate that his question fills me with all these
feelings of hope, and all he did was ask me if Tate was a
nickname.
“Tate is my middle name,” I say. “It was my
grandmother’s maiden name.”
“What’s your first name?”
“Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth Tate Collins,” he says, making love to my name
with his voice. My name has never sounded as beautiful as
it did just now, coming out of his mouth. “That’s almost
twice as many syllables as my name,” he says. “That’s a lot
of syllables.”
“What’s your middle name?”
“Mikel,” he says. “People always mispronounce it and say
‘Michael,’ though. Gets annoying.”
“Miles Mikel Archer,” I say. “That’s a strong name.”
Miles rises onto his elbow and looks down at me with a
peaceful expression. He brushes my hair behind my ear as
his eyes roam over my face. “Anything interesting happen
this week while I was working, Elizabeth Tate Collins?”

---

There’s a playfulness in his voice. One that I’m not familiar
with, but I like it. I like it a lot.
“Not really, Miles Mikel Archer,” I say, smiling. “I worked a
lot of overtime.”
“Do you still like your job?” His fingers are touching my
face, sliding across my lips, trailing down my neck.
“I do like it,” I say. “Do you like being a captain?” I just
throw versions of his own questions back at him. I figure it’s
safe that way, because I know he’ll only give what he’s
willing to take.
Miles follows his hand with his eyes as he unbuttons the
top button of my shirt. “I love my job, Tate.” His fingers work
on the second button of my shirt. “I just don’t like being
gone so much, especially knowing you’re right across the
hall from where I live. It makes me want to be home all the
time.”
I try to contain it, but I can’t. His words make me gasp,
even though it was probably the quietest gasp to ever pass
anyone’s lips.
But he notices.
His eyes meet mine in a flash, and I can see him wanting
to backpedal. He wants to take back what he just said,
because there was hope in those words. Miles doesn’t say
things like that. I know he’s about to apologize. He’s going
to remind me that he can’t love me, that he didn’t mean to
give me that inkling of false hope.
Don’t take it back, Miles. Please, let me keep that.
Our eyes remain locked for several long seconds. I
continue to stare up at him, waiting for the take-back. His
fingers are still on the second button of my shirt, but they’re
not attempting to unbutton it anymore.
He focuses on my mouth, then back to my eyes again,
then back to my mouth. “Tate,” he whispers. He says my
name so softly I’m not even sure if his mouth moves.
I don’t have time to respond. His hand leaves the button
of my shirt and slides through my hair at the same moment

---

as his lips connect fiercely with mine. He slides his body on
top of me, and his kiss instantly becomes intense. Deep.
Dominating. His kiss is full of something that’s never been
there before. Full of feeling. Full of 
hope
.
Until this moment, I thought a kiss was a kiss was a kiss. I
had no idea kisses could mean different things and feel so
completely opposite from one another. In the past, I’ve
always felt passion and desire and lust . . . but this time, it’s
different.
This kiss is a different Miles, and I know in my heart that
it’s the 
real
Miles. The Miles he used to be. The Miles I’m not
allowed to ask about.
• • •
He rolls off of me when he’s finished.
I stare up at the ceiling.
My head is full of so many questions. My heart is full of
confusion. This thing between us has never been easy. One
would think limiting oneself to just sex would be the
simplest thing in the world, but it makes me question every
move and every word that comes out of my mouth. I find
myself analyzing every look he gives me.
I don’t even know what move I’m supposed to make next.
Do I lie here until he asks me to leave? I’ve never stayed the
night with him before. Do I roll over and put my arms around
him, hoping he’ll hold me in return until we fall asleep? I’m
too scared he’ll reject me.
I’m stupid.
I’m a stupid, stupid girl.
Why can’t this just be sex for me, too? Why can’t I come
over here, give him what he wants, get what I want, and
leave?
I roll onto my side and slowly sit up. I reach down for my
clothes, then stand up and dress myself. He’s watching me.
He’s quiet.

---

I avoid looking at him until I’m fully dressed and slipping
on my shoes. As much as I want to crawl back into the bed
with him, I walk toward the door instead. I don’t turn around
to face him when I say, “See you tomorrow, Miles.”
I make it all the way to his front door. He doesn’t speak.
He doesn’t tell me he’ll see me tomorrow, and he doesn’t
tell me good-bye.
I’m hoping his silence is proof that he doesn’t like how it
feels to be walked away from.
I open the door and walk across the hall and into my
apartment. Corbin is seated on the couch, watching TV. He
glances up at the door when he hears me enter, then shoots
me a condescending look of disapproval.
“Lighten up,” I say as I make my way inside. I slip off my
shoes by the door. “You have to get over this eventually.”
I see him shake his head, but I ignore it and walk toward
my bedroom.
“He was screwing you behind my back and lying to me,”
Corbin says. “That’s not something I’ll 
get over
.”
I face the living room again and see that Corbin is looking
at me. “Did you expect him to be open with you about it?
My God, Corbin. You kicked Dillon out of your apartment for
looking
at me the wrong way.”
Corbin stands up, angry now. “Exactly!” he shouts. “I
thought Miles was protecting you from Dillon, when in
reality, he was laying claim! He’s a goddamn hypocrite, and
I’ll be pissed at him for as long as I want to be pissed at him,
so 
you
get over it!”
I laugh, because Corbin has no right to point fingers.
“What’s funny, Tate?” he snaps.
I walk back to the living room and stand directly in front of
him. “Miles has been nothing but honest with me about
what he wants. He hasn’t once fed me a line of bullshit. I’m
the only girl he’s been with in six years, and you’re going to
call 
him
a hypocrite?” I don’t even try to keep my voice
down anymore. “You might want to look in the mirror,

---

Corbin. How many girls have you been with since I’ve
moved in here? How many of them do you think have
brothers who would love to kick your ass if they found out
about you? If anyone’s the hypocrite here, it’s you!”
His hands are on his hips, and he’s watching me with a
hardened look in his eyes. When he fails to respond, I turn
to walk back toward my room, but the front door opens with
a knock.
Miles.
Corbin and I both turn, just as he peeks his head inside.
“Everything good over here?” he asks, stepping into the
living room.
I glance at Corbin, and Corbin glares at me. I arch an
eyebrow, waiting for him to respond to the question Miles
posed, since he’s the one with the issue.
“You okay, Tate?” Miles asks, addressing only me now.
I look back over at him and nod. “I’m fine,” I say. “I’m not
the one with unrealistic expectations of my sibling.”
Corbin groans loudly, then turns around and kicks the
couch. Miles and I watch him as he slides his hands through
his hair and grips the back of his neck tightly. He turns to
face Miles again, then exhales heavily.
“Why couldn’t you have just been gay?”
Miles looks at him with careful concentration. I’m waiting
for either of them to have a reaction, so I’ll know whether or
not I can breathe.
Miles begins to shake his head as soon as a smile appears
on his face.
Corbin starts to laugh, but he groans at the same time,
indicating that he just came to terms with our arrangement,
even though he still may not agree with it.
I smile and walk quietly out of the apartment, hoping
they’re about to mend whatever was broken between them
when I stepped into the picture.
The elevator doors open on the lobby level, and I’m
prepared to step off, but Cap is poised in front of them as if

---

he’s about to step on.
“You coming for me?” he asks.
I nod and point upward. “Corbin and Miles are working
things out upstairs. I was giving them a minute.”
Cap steps into the elevator and presses the button for the
twentieth floor. “Well, I suppose you can walk me home,” he
says. He grabs the bars behind him for support. I stand next
to him and lean against the wall behind me.
“Can I ask you a question, Cap?”
He gives me the all clear with a nod. “I love being asked
them as much as I love asking them.”
I look down at my shoes, crossing one foot over the other.
“What do you think would make a man never want to
experience love again?”
Cap doesn’t answer my question for at least five floors. I
eventually look at him, and he’s looking right at me, his
eyes narrowed, producing even more wrinkles between
them. “I suppose if a man lived through the ugliest side of
love, he might never want to experience it again.”
I contemplate his answer, but it doesn’t help much. I don’t
see how love could get ugly enough for a person to just shut
himself off from it completely.
The elevator doors open to the twentieth floor, and I let
him step off first. I walk with him to his apartment door and
wait for him to open it. “Tate,” he says. He’s facing his door,
and he doesn’t turn around to finish his sentence.
“Sometimes a man’s spirit just ain’t strong enough to
withstand the ghosts from his past.” He opens his
apartment door and walks inside. “Maybe that boy just lost
his spirit somewhere along the way.” He closes his door and
leaves me attempting to decipher even more confusion.

---

chapter twenty-six