He’s making it really hard for me to make this hard on him.
Christian has all the right tools to pick at the brick walls I’ve built. But it’s my fault I haven’t changed the locks or security defenses, so he knowsexactlyhow to get in. He knows the passcodes, he has copies of the keys, the answers to all the riddles, and he knowsme.
He knows me as well as I know him.
“What did you forget about me?” I ask as the song dies out and fades into a softer, indie song.
“What?”
I pull back just a bit to look into his sad eyes. He has the line between them, the one that means confusion and-slash-or sadness. His arms wind around me, his hands spanning over my ribs as we continue to sway.
“What did you forget about me?” I ask again quietly. “While you were gone, was there something you couldn’t remember?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe I… I don’t know.”
“Nothing?”
“It was you and me for a really long time, Lana,” Christian says, putting his forehead back to mine. “I know you.”
I nod.
“What did you forget about me?”
I swallow. “I can’t say I forgot anything. I know you too.”
“Yeah?”
“I know that you used to trim your stubble every Sunday to start the week fresh. I know that you organize your shoes favorite to least favorite starting from left to right?—”
He laughs.
“I know you secretly like bubble baths with the oils and salts, but you will only ever take them with me.”
Christian smirks like a menace. “That's the only right way to take a bath.”
I shove his shoulder. “Don’t be a perv.”
He kisses my cheek. “I know that every time you go to the supermarket you have to grab at least two of everything because what if you like it too much and want more?”
“That’s a reasonable thing to do.”
He chuckles. “You onlyeverbuy fettuccine.”
“It’s the best one.”
“It’s not,” Christian laughs. “And your nails…”
He unravels an arm from around his neck and puts my hand over his heart, holding it there. “You only ever paint your nails two colors,” he says. “Ballet Slippers or Sunny Business from Essie.”
I nod, biting on my inner lip.
“And you like your meat on the right side of the plate, everything else on the left.”
I want to tell him to shut up. “Are you trying to break my heart?”
“No,” Christian says. “I’m just…trying to put it back together.”
“I did that already.”Eighty percent of it.
