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“It’s not obvious?”
“Your mom, right? But what about this past year? You said she’s better.” Her eyes widen and she points at the container she just shoved my way. “Careful, it’s delicious, but it does have nuts.”
I narrow my gaze, stuck on her question. Why does she have to know everything? But even as my head asks the question, I’m curious if school is on her list or not. “How about this, we swap answers. One for one.”
She grins, and a small dimple forms on her right cheek. My eyes lock on the way her smooth skin indents in that space. My fingers tingle, curious as to what that part of her cheek might feel like. I also miss that she’s answered me.
Meredith’s holding out a hand to me.
“Ah?”
“I said—it’s a deal.” She waggles her palm, and I take hold of her smooth, creamy hand. Has this girl ever even had a blister? A hangnail? Washed a dish? Her fingers and palm have the perfection of a newborn infant.
Again, my focus is split. I’m concentrating so much on the smoothness of Meredith’s slender fingers that I forget I should be answering her question.
“This past year…” I say, repeating her words. “Well, I’m twenty-nine—”
“Oh geez.” She plunges the plastic spoon into her mouth, leaving it there, then shoves me with her newly freed hand. Retrieving the spoon, she continues, “You say that like you’re ancient.Twenty-nine, twenty-nine, twenty-nine,” she says over and over, each time in a new and mocking tone—none of which sound like me by the way. “I’m surprised you aren’t using a walker yet, Levi Bailey.”
I lift my brows. “Can I finish?”
She huffs, breathing out with intention. “Yes. Now you may finish.”
“I’m twenty-nine,” I hold up a finger, stopping her from interrupting again, “and I’m pretty established in my job.”
“Do you like your job?”
“I do.”
“Can you live off of a shop manager’s salary?” She doesn’t say it to offend. I’m surprised Meredith thinks of this question at all, honestly.
“I can.” My jaw clenches. “Not lavishly, but I can.”
“Who needs a lavish life, anyway? As long as you’re happy with what you do.” She blinks over at me, her baby blue eyes glued to my face. “Did you everwantto go to school?”
“I believe I get the next question. College?” I ask—though she told me yesterday that she’s never been.
She shakes her head, no reservation. “But it’s on the list!”
“Aw, this mysterious list. I’m not sure it exists.”
She doesn’t take the bait, only raises her brows at me.
“So why didn’t you go?” I’m truly curious. But then, I also think I know. “Your dad?”
She gives a small closed-lip smile, one that doesn’t reach her eyes, or produce a dimple. “Because I hadn’t found the bravery to tell my dad how I felt yet.” I can see her nibbling on her inner cheek. Her words drag prickles down my spine. I’d like to dissect each one and process every inch of them, learn exactly what they mean.
But I’m patient. I’ve had years of practicing patience. I can use those skills now. “Can you explain a little more?” Not a lot.A little. That’s all I ask for. I blink down at my cookies ‘n’ cream. “If you’re comfortable.”
“One day I woke up and realized I was very safe. But also, fairly unhappy.” Her eyes drag up to mine and lock there. “There’s only so much fulfillment you can feel from books and movies. I needed experience. Real and true happenings. I needed people.”
“So, you told him?”
“Six years later, yes, I did.”
“Six years?Meredith.”
“Yep,” she sighs, like she’s reliving those years, “six years and a dozen Disney princesses and Brave Girl Risings later, I told him.”
