He doesn’t want Nelle to recognize his lack of backbone, that he’s too scared of the unknown, of failure, to pursue his passions, that he’s convinced the support of his parents, both financially and emotionally, is the only reason he’s still afloat at all.
“I’ve always been a very scared person.”
She bumps his shoulder with hers. “You weren’t scared to come up to me.”
“Yes,” he laughs, “I was.”
Nelle nods to a middle-aged couple beside the firepit, elongated shadows in their cheeks, their foreheads orange. The woman’s diamond-clad fingers glint. A teenage girl stands behind them with her friends, all dressed in baggy jeans and cropped baby tees. They pass around a phone, laugh over the screen, point with fake nails.
“They seem happy.”
James tries not to laugh at the irony. Of all the people in the entire square, Nelle singles out the ones heknowspride themselves on appearing happy. And, for the most part, they are.
“That’s my family. My parents and my sister, Midi, with her friends.”
Nelle blinks, as if seeing him for the first time. “You’re happy, too?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes.”
Her shoulders relax, and she listens to the night air, to the rattle of insects in the trees dotting the green spaces.
“What about you?” James watches her breathe. “Are you happy?”
“I get to be right now.” Nelle nudges his shoe with hers. “Your turn.”
“Why do you only get to be happy tonight?”
She huffs, the sound raspy. “Because being home never makes me happy.”
Not a detailed answer, but he will take it.
“Second question.” He ventures for something lighthearted. “What’s your favorite animal?”
Nelle’s freckled nose wrinkles. “Horses.”
“Why horses?”
“They’re majestic, wise, and strong.” A grin cracks her mouth. “They demand respect, but they love to play. What’syourfavorite animal?”
James shakes his head and laughs. “No, no, it’s my turn to ask. Your turn to answer.”
“Come on . . .”
“Fine,” he says. “Cats.”
“I knew it.”
“You didn’t.”
“You’re right. I would’ve said birds.”
“Birds?”
“Like a raven,” she says. “You seem like someone who’s read too much Edgar Allan Poe.”
An accurate assessment. “And you seem like someone who’s read too much ...”
Her dust-blond brows lift.
