“Sounds good.” He flopped onto the bed and crossed his hands behind his head.
My stomach tangled as I tried not to look at his outstretched body. Was I supposed to cuddle him? Should I make a snack? Or was that too close to relationship-stuff?
“You don’t have any stuffed animals in here,” he noted.
“No," I said.
“Are you allergic to dust?”
I looked down. “My parents discouraged us from forming unhealthy attachments.” Even to them.
He propped himself up, his eyes wide. “Are you saying they never let you have plushies?”
I shrugged, my insides knotted. “My brother got me one. Kind of.”
“Where is it?”
“He gave it to his girlfriend.” Technically, he brought it to work, then gave it to her, and I was only supposed to use it as a reference to make the spider mech. Still, saying it aloud closed an invisible claw around my throat. “Not that I wanted it,” I hurried to say and fussed with my hair. “I may have told him it was useless, and I’m sure she appreciates it more than I did.”
“But still, he didn’t ask?” Sal frowned.
“I don’t miss it,” I said. I missed him. But not tonight. I stretched my legs. “Do you play favorites? Maybe with ones you made?”
“God, no.” He laughed. “I wish I had that talent. I have to order them. My grandpa–” His smile faltered. “Um, he made toys in the original workshop. Started in his garage, actually. He had great sewing technique. Carpentry. I’m more of a touch-up guy. I can fix holes and stuff ‘em, but I haven’t got that eye.”
“You stuff holes?” I chuckled.
“Sometimes.” He flushed, burrowing under the covers and crossing his arms.
Oh. Was I being insensitive? Or was he shy about sex now that we might have it?
I patted his leg. “Well, you may not have the eye, but you certainly have the heart, and that’s what counts with these sorts of things.”
“Thanks.” One side of his mouth ticked up, and he nudged me with his elbow. “And besides, I couldn’t pick a favorite toy. It’d be like asking someone to pick a favorite child.”
“Everyone has their preferences. Or at least their phases.”
He furrowed his brow. “Love isn’t a phase.”
“It’s a feeling,” I mocked. And feelings could be fleeting, according to my parents’ ugly psychoanalysis. What I needed was stability. Camaraderie. This benefits thing. I sighed and slumped against my pillow. “Do you want to eat?”
He shot me a stern look and sarcastically said, “Oh, no. Not in here. Not after all the effort I went to keeping these sheets clean.”
“Shut up.” I lightheartedly smacked him with a pillow, then crawled over him. “I’ll be back with something not too messy.”
He propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes bright. “Um, hey, Zero?”
“What?” I hesitated, my knee halfway raised. Was he upset I was blocking the TV?
“You know love is more than a feeling, right? It’s a choice. It’s a blessing, for however long you have it.” He swallowed hard and looked down.
Was he still thinking about Janice? Or was talking about his late grandfather making him sentimental? It probably didn’t help that this movie was about a kid freeing their stolen loved ones from a witch-like figure. But that was hardly the most interesting part. The kid found their own strength. Forged new friendships. Love was a bonus for their happily-ever-after.
I sat on the edge of the bed and pressed my thigh against Sal’s side. “Love can be forever. But part of that is learning how to manage it.”
“What?” He wrinkled his forehead.
I sighed. “What’s that phrase? If you love something, let it go?”
