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“I want things to stay that way. If you ever feel like something is threatening that, tell me. If you’re tired of being with someone so logical, tell me.”
His brow furrows with confusion. He doesn’t understand what I mean. Not yet.
Every other guy does, eventually. I don’t know if he will. For once, I don’t want to assume he will. “Or if you realize this isn’t what you want. If either one of us decides this is better as a fling, we say that, and we end as friends. No questions asked. No hard feelings.”
“So now you have a plan?”
“A plan to not have a plan, yeah.”
He smiles.
“I know. It’s funny. I’m so Deanna.”
“You are.”
“I would prefer steps and concrete information,” I say.
“An algo that tells you if we’re a good match?”
The thought makes my stomach twist. Why? Isn’t this what I’m doing? I’m trying to use logic to help the world find love. I think of all the matches on the app that went nowhere. They weren’t perfect, but some were good. Good enough I could expect a short relationship. So where the hell is my logic? “No.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Should I check for a fever?”
“No,” I say. “Maybe. But I…I don’t know. I don’t want to think. Is that okay?” I can’t believe how true it feels. I don’t want to think. Of all the people in the world, I’m the last one who can stop thinking. But I don’t care. I feel it.
He sees me in a way other people don’t, and I love it. I feel myself with him in a way I don’t with other people.
Even if I don’t understand that, either.
“I don’t want to think, either.” He cuts another slice of Eggs Benedict. “But I have to feed you before I do anything else.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I do,” he says. “I like taking care of you.”
Which is scary. I don’t let anyone take care of me. Because what if they leave and I don’t know how to take care of myself anymore? Not practically and not emotionally.
“You don’t let your guard down easily.”
“You, either.”
He raises a brow.
“You’re like your grandma. You’re good at making a no sound like a yes.” I take a bite. Let the rich, creamy sauce dissolve on my tongue. “Asking me a personal question to keep me from following up on yours.”
“I am, aren’t I?”
He is, but I understand that. I understand how hard it is to talk about these things. “You don’t have to talk about your mom,” I say.
“I know.” He takes another bite. He fixes his tea. He sips.
For a few minutes, we stay there, focusing on breakfast, enjoying the warmth of the morning, the company.
Then he starts. “She’s a drug addict. There are nicer ways to say it, but they all get at the same thing. She chooses heroin over everything else.”
