And I can’t control her, which means there is capacity for another Delilah-level disaster, and I’m not sure I’m okay with allowing the potential for that into my life.
The door suddenly swings open.
“How long are you going to sit out here?” Rachel asks.
I look up at her sheepishly, trying to control my cheeks from reddening from embarrassment.
She’s wearing her track-and-field sweats that are coming undone at the seams. Her hair is piled high in a bun, and there’s a quizzical expression wrinkling her bare face while her bare feet tap the ceramic floor.
“Oh, I…” I stammer, not sure what to say.
She slides down the wall, sitting down beside me.
“That woman was gorgeous today,” she rattles off. And is thatjealousyI hear in her words?
“I didn’t notice,” I reply.
She scoffs. “You didn’t notice?”
“Okay, yes, she was gorgeous,” I answer. “Your date wasn’t bad looking either.”
She crosses her arms as she blows a strand of hair out of her face that has escaped her messy bun. “It wasn’t a date. It was an interview.”
“Giving up on writing after this tour? Going to become a chef?” I tease.
She looks at me funny, like she’s surprised I’m having a casual conversation and can make a joke.
“Seems fun,” she says. “Less probability for a stalker.”
I smile. “I’m sorry about that.”
She looks at me funny again. “Are you apologizing?”
“That’s kind of why I’m here,” I admit. “I’m sorry for telling you that you don’t think, for what I said after you pepper sprayed me.” I pause, watching as she winces at the memory. “And overall, just being a jerk. I don’t mean to be one.”
“You’re a good one,” she teases as her eyes find mine.
“Lots of practice,” I joke back.
She laughs. “I suppose I’m kind of sorry about pepper spraying you.”
“Kind of sorry?” I ask.
“Okay, Iamsorry. I was so overwhelmed by the day that I kind of forgot I was inyourroom and, of course, you’d be coming through that door. It’syourroom. But my thoughts were mush at that point, like Rice Krispies you let get soggy in a bowl of milk, and I can’t eat Rice Krispies ever again now because of Dylan Voss and the fact that it’s probably now his favorite, even though I really do feel bad for him. I kind of wish I knew more of his story…if life had been unkind to him. Then, maybe he wouldn’t have felt he had to beg someone to see him, just like the guy on the subway and how he thanked me for seeing him, and…”
I hold up a hand at her rambling. “Are you hungry?” I say.
“What? Why?” she asks.
“You once told me that you turn into a rabid beast of a woman when you’re hungry, and I’m trying to find an explanation for all the words that just fell out of your mouth,” I explain.
She laughs nervously. “No. I just, I really am sorry.”
“I am, too.”
We sit there for a few seconds in silence before she says, “Oh. And what was in that box you dropped that disrobed me? I mean, it better have been good, because the box didn’t even buy me dinner first.”
She’s close enough I can feel her warmth, and the longer she talks, the warmer she is. I find myself wanting to lean closer into her, to find comfort in who Rachel is. I can still smell her skin ofjasmine and grapefruit from when she’d helped me to the bathroom to rinse my eyes out even though that was two weeks ago. You’d think you would lose all your senses when your eyes were on fire, but no. My brain had latched onto her. The scent of her. The softness of her touch. The way she was gentle with me when I’d been so harsh before.
