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She’s quiet again. “You’re right. That does freak me out. I mean, a little.”
“You wouldn’t stop—”
“I know. My fault.” She huffs out a breath. “Okay. Sooo—you like me. And only me.” She doesn’t sound as if she’s about to have an anxiety attack anymore. In fact, she sounds good.
“Yes,” I say.
“And I like you,” she says with a sigh. “So, that’s settled.”
My heart patters in my chest with a rush of adrenaline that just won’t leave. “Yes. That’s settled.”
“We should probably hang out tonight then,” she says.
I start up my car, shifting into gear, ready to drive to the field. “Your place or mine?”
“How do you feel about eighty-year-old women? Technically eighty-four.”
“Uh—”
“My grandma would like to meet you.”
I clear my throat. I know Noreen. I love Noreen. We are well acquainted. “I love eighty-four-year-old women. Your place it is.”
Thirty-Five
I slap the throw pillows on our couch, attempting to fluff them.
“You’ve smacked that one thoroughly, dear.”
“I know. I just—” I slap the pillow once more. “I just want everything to look nice and—”
“And he doesn’t care about our throws.” Grammy picks up the pillow I’ve been beating.
“You’re right,” I say, pacing once in front of the coffee table. “I don’t even know what this man does for a living. But I like him. And when I kissed him—”
“It was as if his soul spoke to yours?”
“Yes.” I shake my head. “Is that insane?”
“That’s how I felt about my Kermit. So, it doesn’t sound insane to me.” She sits on the other pillow I spent far too long fluffing.
“But I need to ask questions. I know so little about him. And that is crazy.”
“Dearest, it’ll come. Don’t force it.”
I huff and hold a calming hand to my stomach. “I just haven’t felt like myself—” I tap my head. “With good reason, broken brain and all. But with Zev. I feel like me. Like I’m exactly who I’m supposed to be.”
“You are not broken, Rosalie. You are on a journey.”
“Okay… but I don’t know about his family or his job. I—I don’t know why he was crying last night. I just walked in, saw him, and kissed him.” Another pace. I run a hand over my scar and down my face. “What kind of woman does that? Who have I turned into? Is this what past-future Rosalie did?”
“Past-future Rosalie?” Grammy squints, confused.
“You know, the Rosalie that you know that I don’t know.”
“You are one and the same, darling girl. That’s all I know.” She pats the seat next to hers, toe tapping, and I sit down by her. “I say you let things work out organically. He doesn’t need twenty questions the minute he enters. Just talk. If his job comes up, ask. If not, don’t worry about it. You’ll get there.”
“We’ll get there,” I chant her words. “We’ll get there.” This feels so strange. One minute I’m with Robert, then I’m wishing I were with Robert, then I’m grateful I’m not, and then Zev. It’s like blink, blink, blink. Snap, snap, snap. It’s so fast, and my brain doesn’t have time to process any of it.
