Why did I even say that?I’ll see you around.
What am I? Twelve? Stupid.
What I meant was: Please come over. Please say something, anything, that makes me believe I’m not alone in this madness.
But I didn’t say that. I never do. Because I don’t know how.
Instead, I sit here like a damn mountain. Silent. Stubborn. Stewing in my own mess and not knowing how to climb out.
I think about her. The way she looked standing outside her house in the morning, passing me the cup with her lipstick on the rim. The way she always smells like something sweet and flowery and always looks like sunshine even when dark clouds follow her around.
I also remember that she was going to marry that douchebag.
I don’t care that he was her ex.
Okay. I do care. A lot.
And I hate that I do. That I think about her wearing white for him.
My jaw tightens until it hurts. She was going to marry him. At one point, she gave that man her heart, her body, her future.
I rake a hand through my hair and tug, trying to pull the jealousy out by the roots.
She’s not mine. We’re not anything. Yet. I’m worried that after today we might never be because I acted like a moron and told her that I’d ‘see her around.’ Maybe she got confused because I wasn’t forward enough? MaybeI amthe one giving the mixed signals?
Still—
If Dick ever shows up on this street, I can’t guarantee I won’t put him through a wall. Regardless of his past intentions of marrying the woman I’ve set my mind on, he acted like a douchebag and clearly scared her. She was like a deer caught in headlights when I saw them in the parking lot thatone night, and that’s not like the Nora I’ve come to know. Is he the reason for her behavior or was there something else?
I sit like that for too long. Just staring at the floor. Listening to the wind rattle against the windows.
The porch light is still on. Part of me is hoping she’ll walk over to resolve how I stumbled at the end. That hasn’t exactly been our arrangement up till now though. I’m usually the one who meets her on her porch. And we’ve never been inside each other’s houses, which is odd. I know how her mouth tastes and yet I don’t know what colors the walls of her living room are. And not for the lack of trying—I tried peeking through the window a time or two while I was fixing things around. Not in a creepy way but just to get a glimpse of who Nora is inside her environment. But their curtains do a good job of guarding the lives of those in the house.
To be fair, I’m not exactly thewelcomingtype either. I’m built of cement and bad decisions she doesn’t know about yet. I don’t flirt—even though I’ve tried with her. I don’t play nice, so it’s no surprise her common sense would prevail when mine failed.
I get up and walk around the first floor, staring at the front door.
But my legs don’t move closer. My hands stay clenched. My eyes trained on the door.
And then—footsteps. How the hell I can hear them from behind the closed door is beyond me, but I do. The footsteps are there.
Soft. Fast. Familiar.
Before I can take a deep breath in and walk to the door, there’s a knock.
Two taps. Hesitant.
I approach. Slow. Careful. I open the door.
And there she is. Holding a plate covered in foil. A plate that looks like one from the diner. She’s wearing pink leggings and an oversized orange sweater that almostswallows her whole. The storm has passed, but it’s still so cold outside, and she has no jacket. My initial reaction is to grab and drag her inside so she doesn’t get cold, but I stop myself just in time. I already acted like a caveman before, and it went very awkwardly. Maybe I need to dial down my caveman style a notch.
“Hey,” she says, swallowing loudly.
My voice doesn’t work at first. When it finally does, it’s rough. “Hey.”
She lifts the plate a little. “Got you some food. From Roman,” she adds quickly. “He asked me to bring you that.”
“Sure,” I reply without moving a muscle, scared to spook her with more of my fantastic lines.
