I would’vekilledfor something like that.
Bastian would kill, too, as he has repeatedly proven—but he would only do so in order topreventaccidentally stumbling his way into something as normal and boring as a happily-ever-after. It’s like he’s allergic to peace. Hard-wired to reject it.
And therein lies the ultimate tragedy of whatever it is that he and I almost had together: The thing I want most is the thing he’s least able to accept.
So letting myself wander through this fantasy of normal, boring stuff is ultimately stupid. Kind of masochistic, really. It’s like dangling meat in front of a starving woman and never letting her close enough to grab it.
To be fair, I’m both the starving woman and the one doing the dangling, and I have already had a taste of the dangling meat, in both literal and metaphorical ways, and?—
I might be getting off-track. Point is, the hope is dangerous. I know that. But for just a few more steps, I let myself have it. I let myself hope.
“You’re quiet,” Bastian observes.
“I’m thinking.”
“About?”
“Nothing important.” I nimbly step over a tree root. “Merely appreciating the moment. Nobody’s trying to kill us right this second. Isn’t that something?”
“The bar for appreciation has gotten concerningly low.”
“Sure has.” I laugh deliriously. “Three months ago, I was worried about figuring out how many bales of electrical wiring are needed for a skyscraper. Now, I’m just grateful for a nice morning walk without gunfire.”
“Character development,” he deadpans.
“That’s one way to put it.”
A dog barks somewhere to our left—not aggressive or threatening, just a friendly,hey, who’s that?kind of bark. I hear the jingle of a collar, the shuffle of paws on grass. The owner calls out something I can’t quite catch, and the dog quiets.
Normal. Boring.Beautiful.
“You’re quiet, too,” I add. “Still mad at me?”
He laughs softly. “No. That’s a difficult state to maintain, unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately for who?” I tease.
“Both of us. Unfortunately.”
I laugh again, but as I do, I misjudge a step off the curb and do a half-stumble. I hear the sharp intake of breath as Bastian starts to help me, then stops before his hands maintain contact.
The effort in that simple little gesture speaks volumes. I catch myself and stay upright, no harm done. And even though he’s basically bleeding with angst at the prospect of me goingthrough such a terrifying ordeal without his intervention, he lets me go at it alone.
God, I needed that.
“If you weren’t a chef,” I say as we settle back into our pace, “what would you have been?”
“Hm.” He ponders the question for a moment. “Honestly, I don’t know. I was always going to be a chef, I think.”
“But if youweren’t,”I insist. “Never had any other dreams?”
“Not really, no.”
“Meh, you’re lame.Iwas going to be a princess-astronaut, in case you were wondering.”
He chuckles as we pause to let someone back out of their driveway. “A princessandan astronaut? That’s a busy schedule.”
“No, a princess-astronaut. It’s not two jobs; it’s one.”
