“You drove us here,” she says, sitting on the other one. “You should get the comfier one.”
She flops down onto her back, her legs still dangling off the edge as she squirms around to test out the mattress.
“This one,” she confirms. “This one’s yours.”
“You take it?—”
“Nope.” She pops the “p” as she gets up and throws her stuff onto the other bed. Like the decision is made. “I’m hungry. I can order some room service. You want anything?”
“Yeah, sure.” I nod. “Whatever y-you want.”
A snort bursts from her lips as she raises a quizzical brow at me, and I struggle to focus on anything other than the perplexed smile on her face. “Do you ever say whatyouwant, Tate?”
My lips form a thin line, giving me away immediately.
I guess that’s what happens when you’re a chronic people pleaser. I’m so busy trying to make sure I’m doing the right thing by those around me, I forget that I should think about the things I want, too. Maybe it’s ingrained in me from walking on eggshells as a child, never knowing if something I said or did would set off whoever my mom would have in our house at the time.
“No, I guess I don’t.”
“Why is that?” she asks, her voice softer this time.
I look down at my shoes as my brow furrows. “I, uh…”
“If you could have any food right now, what would it be?” She steps closer to me, and it’s like my body is hyperaware of her at all times; my heart lurches at the proximity. “First thing that pops into your head. C’mon.”
“Um—”
“Don’t think about it,” she urges. “Justsayit.”
“A burger?” I rush out.
“Was that a question?”
“An answer,” I mumble, my cheeks heating.
And then she’s laughing, falling back onto the bed as the sound bounces around the room, hiding the harsh thumping of my heart as I watch her in awe. It’s short, but it replays in my mind over and over. She’s so painfully pretty. Painfully, because something inside me aches when I look at her, achesforher, I think.
“See?” she continues. “Was that so hard?”
A tiny chuckle leaves me as I rub the back of my neck.
“It’s okay to take up space sometimes,” she tells me. “You should always speak up for yourself. What you want.”
Every word echoes loudly in my head, and I cling to each one like I’m afraid it won’t really be true if I don’t. I’m pretty sure no one has ever said anything like that to me in my entire life. I’ve always been made to feel the opposite.
“Life’s too short, you know?” she continues, glancing up at me through thick lashes. “I’ll order our food if you want to shower first.”
And as if she didn’t just nearly stun me with her tiny push of encouragement, she picks up the hotel phone to call for room service, and I dart to the bathroom. Because, well, how could she possibly know that I craved to hear things like that? I didn’t even know until two minutes ago.
I’ve never been vocal about anything I’ve wanted, ever. I may have tried once when I was younger, but my mom always used to shut down anything I said. It was something that eventually just stuck, like a routine. Keep my head down, don’t say too much, stay in my room, don’t look them in the eye for too long, stay quiet, and repeat.
School was the one thing I excelled at, so it became my refuge.
Maeve was the one person, the only person, who made me struggle so much totry. I’d never really cared much before, didn’t care how I was perceived or who talked to me and who didn’t, but with her, I care so much that I’m overthinking every move, every word, everything. I want to keep my head up, I want to look her in the eyes when she’s speaking, I want to say more; as hard as it feels for me to do those things, I want to try.
Logically, I know that’s insane to feel about someone I met five days ago, but logic doesn’t seem to mean much to me when it comes to her.
If I always allow myself to be seen as the quiet, awkward guy for the rest of my life, it’ll be like letting my mother win. Like everything she’s ever said about me will be true.
