My head is all boozy and dizzy, but I’m hopeful for him, as it was clear during my mini-tour how much he loved his house. Hishome.
“Not yet. Soon. Soonish.”
“I think…” Now I feel sort of shy and hesitant, but still, I suggest, “Maybe we could shift there from the Airbnb? I mean, if you want to. Maybe you want to move back there by yourself. That’s okay, too, obviously.” My stammering is embarrassing. “Just…that place is your real home.”
Dave looks confused, and so I let him have a minute.
My phone sounds, and I have to quickly respond to the message from Jia, my savior, who got me through my initial wrist crisis.
Jia:Hope your hair isn’t still so gross?
Me:I think it’s better. Maybe?
Jia:Waiting to hear about updates with that New Friend Dave. All of us are!
She’s evidently been on my socials. I laugh, but confirm this with an emoji and a text.
After we’ve driven for a bit through the bumpy snow, Dave’s hand meanders to the back of my headrest.
“Diana? I didn’t know how to respond before because I thought you knew.You’remy real home. Not that house on its own. I thought that was obvious.”
Oh.
“Well, it’s a beautiful place,” I offer sort of dumbly. Shyly.
He laughs. “It is. But how about we make itourhome?”
“I’d like that. Very much.” I lean back into the comfort of the plush car seat and pull his hand down from the leather headrest and set his touch against my shoulder. “This sounds so simple, but I’m just so relieved to be happy for a heartbeat. To be out of pain and grief for any time at all.”
His hand inches up into my hair. “How about we shoot for endless heartbeats?” While he’s only touching me gently—casually really—the sexual tension starts to creep in. Like howeven his slightest touch ignites me and also calms me. Dave makes me feel comforted and protected. Concepts I totally get, but ones that I don’t have much experience with. I’m feeling a mix of wanting to pounce on this boy and drain us both sexually, reenacting our vacation selves, also wanting to innocently fall asleep against him.
Fatigue overtakes me. “You’re taking us home?”
“Yes.”
The car rumbles over the snow, and I turn to my left to watch him drive. To watch him in general. “Maybe I can figure out how to makeyouhappy for more than a heartbeat.”
He moves his hand down to mine and gives me a squeeze. “I’m plenty heartbeats happy.”
That may be sort of true, but he’s also clearly got some stuff that’s way off rhythm. Some very broken heartbeats. Now that I’ve learned to understand hurt so deeply, I can see it in him.Feel it.
It’s not a fun club I’m in, but I know he’s a part of it. He and a million other people. The Fucking Trauma Club.
Dave just hasn’t accepted his membership. And it’s one he’s unwittingly joined.
There are a thousand divisions, and all of them suck.
It’s just not clear yet which awful one he belongs to.
Chapter 19
While I wake alone, I do smile. I was definitely scooped last night. Taken care of.
Loved.
And my wrist is free. I pull away from the now-melted ice packs that Dave set me up with, and I wriggle around my hand. It is for sure hurting and swollen, but at least it’s gloriously out of the cast.
After I make a Nespresso, I show off my bare arm to Top Cat and read him a book. He meows his approval, and I smile, even more so when he ventures from his cozy cube, rubs against me, and then devours the plate of food I offered. It makes me so happy to capture this stuff and share it with my followers.
