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“No, it was me. Focusing on you was easier than dealing with my own emotions about the mother I never knew and the pain I felt for you because, like me, you would grow up never really knowing your mother.”
“I had no idea,” she said again, shaking her head and wiping tears from her eyes. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me, and thank you for trying to protect me even back then.”
“In a way, you were protecting me too,” I admitted. Our eyes met, and there was something between us that warmed. I smiled at her and then rose from my seat. “Would you like more? Your cooking is amazing, and if I don’t grab you a second helping first, I’m going to end up eating the rest of it on you.”
“Oh please, eat up! Then we can have ice cream and watch a movie. That is, if you don’t have more work to do,” she added, giving me a sideways look.
“Nope, I’m yours for the rest of the night,” I told her and headed into the kitchen.
I hadn’t expected to feel so emotional, but she had a way of bringing that out in me. Over the past few weeks, I had gone through a roller coaster of feelings that I wasn’t even aware I possessed. When I saw the guys helping her move her stuff in, I felt jealousy. When I remembered her mother’s funeral, I felt sadness and pain for her. When I was at work, I felt like I wanted to be home again, so I could spend time with her and get to know her. She was throwing me for a loop and didn’t even know it.
I took the rest of the ravioli from the bowl on the counter next to the stove and went back to sit down. Her usual smile was in place, and all the sadness I had brought up from my reminiscing was gone. Good. I would have felt horrible if she had been stuck in that mood all night because of me.
“Do you enjoy cooking?” I asked. “You are very good at it.” She pushed her empty dish away and leaned on the table, propping her head up with her hand and her elbow on the table.
“I do. But I don’t think I would ever do it professionally because that isn’t where my true passion is. It’s fun enough to do at home, though.”
“Is painting your true passion?” I asked, already knowing the answer. We hadn’t talked candidly about it like this, but with her works all over the walls, it was hard to ignore.
She nodded. “Well, any kind of art actually. I would love to get into clay work and even sewing and crocheting. I’ve always been fascinated by creative projects as a whole.”
“More power to you. I can’t even draw a straight line,” I admitted.
She laughed and shifted in her seat so her body faced me, and I had to try to not stare at her chest. It was difficult, though, because I had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Every now and then I would catch a glimpse of a hard nub poking through her shirt, and I would look away. But it was very distracting.
All of a sudden, I was a teenager again. What was wrong with me?
“You know people say things like that, but I can’t believe it,” she responded. “If you had a ruler, you could draw a straight line. If you made four of them with that ruler and connected them, you would have a square. If you drew another square overlapping that one and connected the corners with the ruler, you would have a cube. You might need help, but you can still create more than you would expect. You just need to have the desire to learn it.”
“That makes sense,” I told her, astounded at how well she made her argument. “I guess then what I’m lacking is desire.”
“For art, anyway,” she added, and I almost choked on my ravioli.
When I was done with my second helping, she found two small bowls which she filled with vanilla ice cream, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, and sprinkles. I took the smaller one, not that they were terribly different in size, and we sat on the couch next to each other. She took the butterfly comforter off the back of the couch and draped it over both of our laps and then went looking for a movie to watch. She wanted a new rom-com, and I wanted the oldAlienmovie from the eighties, so naturally we ended up watching the rom-com.
To my surprise, it wasn’t that bad, and by the time we were done with our ice cream, we were making jokes to go along with the movie and picking on each other for silly things that we said. It felt nice just to connect with her. I missed having a companion I could do that with. Actually, I don’t think I had ever had a companion like that.
She was so raw and natural with everything that I admired and enjoyed her at the same time. Her smile was infectious, and I found myself watching her reactions to the movie more than the movie itself.
How had she come to be so important in my life so quickly?
When the movie was over, she suggested we head up to bed, saying I needed to get up early in the morning.
“Thank you so much for spending the evening with me,” she said, turning around as I was about to head up the stairs behind her to our bedroom. She was standing on the first step, and yet she was still so much shorter than me that it was a little funny. I smiled at her, knowing she would think it was about her thank you rather than at how short she was in comparison to me.
“No problem. I only wish it could be all the time. I quite enjoyed this,” I told her, taking a step closer. She stood her ground, and to my complete satisfaction, we were standing close enough that, with every breath she took, her chest rubbed lightly against mine.
“Me too,” she admitted and turned her gaze down from me. Unhappy with looking at the top of her head, I hooked my finger under her chin and pulled her face up to look at me. Her eyes were large and watery like she was going to cry. Where did that come from?
“What are you sad about?” I asked her, keeping my voice low.
“I’m not sad,” she told me. “I’m happy. I’m happy we seem to be getting along. I’m happy that you aren't the asshole I thought you were at the start. I’m happy that you seem to not mind my company. Maybe we can really make this thing work, you know?”
“Is that what you want?” I asked her, hope filling my chest way more than I wanted or even expected it would. She nodded.
“I don’t believe in divorce,” she admitted. “I know that a lot of people do it, and it’s not frowned upon like it was in the old days, but… to me, marriage has always been the final achievement. You pick the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, and they are yours until the day you die and vice versa. It’s how I was raised.”
Her words sent shockwaves through my body. She had agreed to this even knowing that it would be for the rest of her life. She had been willing to sacrifice everything for her father, despite the fact that he hadn’t even had the decency to tell her what was going on. Something in my chest shifted, and I bent my head down, capturing her lips with my own. It was meant to be a gentle kiss, but as I felt her mouth part, inviting me in, I went for it.
