when he speaks, "I needed to see you. I
needed to make sure you were okay."
I
shake my head, still frozen, still gripping the hoodie, "Why are you
putting up with me?"
"I
like a challenge." He does up his pants.
I
smile, but I don’t want to pull on the hoodie. I don’t want there to be a
second that I am not able to see him. It's the same reason I sit at the very
back of the class and I don't sleep when I'm scared and alone. It takes over
when I'm scared. He takes a step back. He sits in the armchair against the
wall. He knows sometimes I need space. If he gives me space, I'll usually calm
down.
He
looks relaxed. I force my hands to work. I force the hoodie over my head. I
lift my gaze to meet his. He grins. His hazel eyes scare me. I can see the
thoughts he's thinking inside of them. He's worried.
I
walk to the exit. I hear him get off the chair. His steps are long, so when I
push on the exit door and step out into the cold air he's behind me. Boston in
the fall is cold. It's November and the air is chilly. I'm not used to it. The
warmth of him behind me is reassuring just as much as it's alarming.
He
takes my arm and loops it around his. He doesn’t apologize anymore. He knows it
isn’t him. It's me. It's my reaction.
"Tea?"
He asks and it feels like we move on and pretend we are normal.
I
laugh and shake my head, "I hate tea. It tastes disgusting."
He
stops and spins me to look at him, "Earl Grey?"
I
nod, "Sick." He's snapping back from my head case nuttiness faster
than I am.
"Orange
Pekoe?"
I
wrinkle my nose, "Blech. Worse."
He
shakes his head, "Em, that’s a travesty." The way he says travesty is
funny. As if my not liking tea is comparable to the travesties of war and
famine.
"Ice
cream?" I say.
He
nods, "I know a place."
I
grip onto him for a minute and then pass him the hand sani. He chuckles and
squirts. "How does Michelle do it? My hands are so dry I barely take
it."
I
laugh, "She wears nighttime moisturizer in a glove." I shudder at the
thought of the creamy hands and wash myself and the container again.
I
can't help but wonder if he notices the way I wash him off everything the same
way I do Shell. We walk for a long time until we come to a place called Emack
and Bolio's. He opens the door and puts his hand on my lower back. I'm a fan of
that kind of touch. Even through the hoodie, that’s three or four sizes too
big, I can feel the heat of his hand. It makes me shiver, in a good way.
"Be
right back." I say and walk to the bathroom. I send a message when I am
alone in a stall.
'At
Bolio and Emack's. Ice cream.'
'Thank
you for messaging me. Get the S'Moreo. Divine. Try paying for a meal too. No
one likes a girl who doesn’t pay for anything'
I
gasp, 'I don’t have money. I have your money. So technically you're still
paying and technically I'm not.'
'We
aren’t having this conversation again'
'Whatever'
He
doesn’t bite. He's gone.
I
grab toilet paper for the door handle and head to where he's ordering. He
smiles at me. Not as hard as the girl behind the counter smiles at him.
"What kind of ice cream do you like?" He asks.
I
don't look at the girl, "S'Moreo."
He
turns and grins, "Can you scrape the top layer of the S'Moreo off and get
her two scoops of the stuff closer to the bottom." He looks back at me,
"Fudge sauce?"
I
nod. He looks back, "Fudge sauce as well please. I'm going to get the
Almond Coconut Bar, also with fudge sauce please."
She
flutters her eyelashes, "Two scoops?"
He
nods, "Please."
He
hands her money and points to the small table in the corner. I sit and wonder
if my face is covered in shock.
He
frowns, "What?"
I
shake my head, "Nothing. So, Almond Coconut Bar?" I inner sigh at my
question and the amount of interest I placed in it. I ask stupid questions when
I get uncomfortable. The ice cream place is new.
He
grins, "Love almonds and coconut." He makes a face, "S'Moreo?
What are you ten-years old?"
I
laugh and look down, "A friend recommended it." I
needed to make sure you were okay."
I
shake my head, still frozen, still gripping the hoodie, "Why are you
putting up with me?"
"I
like a challenge." He does up his pants.
I
smile, but I don’t want to pull on the hoodie. I don’t want there to be a
second that I am not able to see him. It's the same reason I sit at the very
back of the class and I don't sleep when I'm scared and alone. It takes over
when I'm scared. He takes a step back. He sits in the armchair against the
wall. He knows sometimes I need space. If he gives me space, I'll usually calm
down.
He
looks relaxed. I force my hands to work. I force the hoodie over my head. I
lift my gaze to meet his. He grins. His hazel eyes scare me. I can see the
thoughts he's thinking inside of them. He's worried.
I
walk to the exit. I hear him get off the chair. His steps are long, so when I
push on the exit door and step out into the cold air he's behind me. Boston in
the fall is cold. It's November and the air is chilly. I'm not used to it. The
warmth of him behind me is reassuring just as much as it's alarming.
He
takes my arm and loops it around his. He doesn’t apologize anymore. He knows it
isn’t him. It's me. It's my reaction.
"Tea?"
He asks and it feels like we move on and pretend we are normal.
I
laugh and shake my head, "I hate tea. It tastes disgusting."
He
stops and spins me to look at him, "Earl Grey?"
I
nod, "Sick." He's snapping back from my head case nuttiness faster
than I am.
"Orange
Pekoe?"
I
wrinkle my nose, "Blech. Worse."
He
shakes his head, "Em, that’s a travesty." The way he says travesty is
funny. As if my not liking tea is comparable to the travesties of war and
famine.
"Ice
cream?" I say.
He
nods, "I know a place."
I
grip onto him for a minute and then pass him the hand sani. He chuckles and
squirts. "How does Michelle do it? My hands are so dry I barely take
it."
I
laugh, "She wears nighttime moisturizer in a glove." I shudder at the
thought of the creamy hands and wash myself and the container again.
I
can't help but wonder if he notices the way I wash him off everything the same
way I do Shell. We walk for a long time until we come to a place called Emack
and Bolio's. He opens the door and puts his hand on my lower back. I'm a fan of
that kind of touch. Even through the hoodie, that’s three or four sizes too
big, I can feel the heat of his hand. It makes me shiver, in a good way.
"Be
right back." I say and walk to the bathroom. I send a message when I am
alone in a stall.
'At
Bolio and Emack's. Ice cream.'
'Thank
you for messaging me. Get the S'Moreo. Divine. Try paying for a meal too. No
one likes a girl who doesn’t pay for anything'
I
gasp, 'I don’t have money. I have your money. So technically you're still
paying and technically I'm not.'
'We
aren’t having this conversation again'
'Whatever'
He
doesn’t bite. He's gone.
I
grab toilet paper for the door handle and head to where he's ordering. He
smiles at me. Not as hard as the girl behind the counter smiles at him.
"What kind of ice cream do you like?" He asks.
I
don't look at the girl, "S'Moreo."
He
turns and grins, "Can you scrape the top layer of the S'Moreo off and get
her two scoops of the stuff closer to the bottom." He looks back at me,
"Fudge sauce?"
I
nod. He looks back, "Fudge sauce as well please. I'm going to get the
Almond Coconut Bar, also with fudge sauce please."
She
flutters her eyelashes, "Two scoops?"
He
nods, "Please."
He
hands her money and points to the small table in the corner. I sit and wonder
if my face is covered in shock.
He
frowns, "What?"
I
shake my head, "Nothing. So, Almond Coconut Bar?" I inner sigh at my
question and the amount of interest I placed in it. I ask stupid questions when
I get uncomfortable. The ice cream place is new.
He
grins, "Love almonds and coconut." He makes a face, "S'Moreo?
What are you ten-years old?"
I
laugh and look down, "A friend recommended it." I
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