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I flood with warm feelings, my head rushing with them, my heart aching. It’s so silly, I tell myself, so stupid.
He’s just being nice.
“Thank you.”
“And you’re still young,” he goes on. “You’ve got so much time to perfect your craft.”
“I’m not that young,” I firmly say as if I’m making a point.
But there’s no point to be made. The heat we shared is dead.
“How old are you?” he asks.
“Nineteen,” I tell him. “But I feel about ninety compared to some of the people my age.”
“How so?”
“It’s like everyone wants to spend their life partying and sleeping around. And that’s fine. People are free to make their own choices, obviously. But it’s not what I want.”
His back trembles, causing me to raise the needle for a moment. It’s like a savage vibration moves through him.
“What do you want?”
I bite down, wondering if I should tell him this. It could lead to more misread signs. If I tell him I want kids, all I’ll be able to think about is him wanting them too.
With me.
But I can’t exist in this gaslit place forever.
“I want to focus on my craft like you said and hopefully find a man to settle down with. I….”
“What, Lauren?” he fiercely says as if pissed at me for stopping.
“I’d like to start a family young, if it was possible.”
My voice wavers as I think about my tattooed man in the pool with our kids, tossing them in the air, his silver hair catching the sun before they splash and laugh and love.
“Of course, it’s possible,” he says. “If that’s what you want. I’m sure you’ve got lots of options.”
“Options,” I mutter. “Not really.”
“Men must ask you out,” he says, his tone getting harsher, as though he deserves to have a say after how we left things.
I could lie, tell him men ask me out all the time and make him jealous.
But I don’t. I tell him the truth.
“I’ve never been asked out much. I’ve always been the girl who sort of did her own thing, I guess. I was never interested in any of the boys in school. And since then….”
I’ve been dreaming about you.
“I’ve been focusing on my work.”
“You don’t date?” he asks.
“Do you?” I counter.
He laughs gruffly, causing Buster to look up from the couch where he’s curled up. “No. I don’t date.”
