“Nothing,” I answer. I feel like we should go to James’s room, continue what we started, but then it’s too obvious. We might as well slap a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door with a disclaimerlike “having sexnow” in fine print too. Maybe a tie will be more subtle.
“It looks like you two are getting along pretty well,” Sylvia comments. She wags a finger in our direction, waving it side to side.
James is sitting next to me, and he places his hand on my thigh. As if he’s confirming the fact that he and Iaregetting along well. A littletoowell considering we haven’t established any titles or relationship guidelines. We don’t say anything but let the awkward silence hang above us.
“So, are you two like…a couple?”
I freeze. It’s like someone plopped a giant elephant in the corner of the room, and neither James nor I are allowed to bring it up. At leastIhaven’t brought it up. Not when things seem to be going so well. But we have to come back to earth at some point. Like a balloon high on life, fizzled into a lifeless heap of rubber after Sylvia decided to burst its figurative bubble. I may be guilty of a little avoidance technique, though I’m running out of ideas and excuses. I don’t know how many more times I can use, “I really like spending time with you,” before I end up pushing James away altogether.
I look at James with my brow drawn tight. I feel like an apology is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t really know for what.
When I don’t answer, James shoots back with a chippy, “How about you mind your own business?”
“They’re definitely fucking,” Tommy answers, as if we aren’t in the same room.
“Obviously,” Sylvia shoots back, joining this charade of ignoring both James and me. “I want to know how serious they are. Should we be getting our wedding speeches ready? Or am I going to have to use my spare key to stock Kenny’s apartmentwith wine and mint chocolate chip ice cream? You know, for the inevitable heartbreak James is going to incite.”
There it is. The ineffable parts spoken out loud. What if I spill my heart, splay the fleshy parts so he sees all the vulnerable sides of me, and he turns it down. We’re having fun. Maybe, for him, that’s the extent of it. Maybe this was my fear all along. I think I might have tossed aside that no-dating blueprint a little too soon.
A sudden pang hits my chest thinking about that exact blueprint and the reason behind it. I drew it up in an attempt to slip into some normalcy here without overcomplicating things. A life I could get used to without the added stress of a relationship. It’s hard enough being away from home and trying out this whole “independent woman” venture. I could really use a talk with my mom right about now.
James looks at me, rolling his eyes. It lightens the mood, but there’s still the subject matter we both have yet to discuss. He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek like he’s holding back an argument, and I know it’s time to put an end to this conversation.
“Since you two are acting like we aren’t in the same room, I’m going to do you a favor and leave.” I stand, but James grabs my hand, giving it a forceful tug.
“Are you leaving?” The puppy dog pout on his face brings on a wave of guilt, and I run a soothing hand through his hair.
“No, I was just going to go to your room.”
He stands too, taking the opportunity for us to be alone again. “We’re going to…give ourselves a little privacy.”
“Have fun,” Sylvia croons over her shoulder.
We walk into James’s room without answering Sylvia and close the door firmly behind us.
I sit on the bed, and James keeps a considerable amount of distance between us. About three feet, but too much consideringhe was lying on top of me a few minutes ago. It’s like Sylvia’s question slithered in after us, reminding us of a conversation we’ve yet to have.
“Sorry about that.”
James slowly makes his way over to me, moving like he’s approaching a scared kitten. “You don’t need to be sorry,” he tells me.
I draw my knees up to my chin. “Should we talk?”
“We can,” he offers with a stoic shrug. He provides the opening, always the kind, patient gentleman. A pause for me to tell him about all my fears, my hopes and dreams, but no words come out. “Or we don’t have to.”
I tilt my head and smile, wondering how to do this. This transition from casual to something more. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I straighten out my legs, and my toes reach his thigh. It might appear insignificant, but it’s my form of a truce. A back-and-forth swish of a white flag to let him know we can meet in the middle, come to terms we can both be happy with, whatever that may be.
“I guess,” he answers, his voice still unsure. It matches his body language, moving with caution as he moves an inch closer. “I can start.”
“Please,” I urge. I cock my head to the side, and we smile at each other. We can do this.
“I…I really like you.”
“I like you, too,” I confess.
