Cheryl tilted her head back to see if he was joking. His eyes were set and they had steel in them.
“Why can’t I make you see things my way?”
“Here’s me thinking exactly the same thing.”
“What do you want me to see?”
Patrick exhaled. “From what I can tell, the biggest issue you have with being with me is internet people thinking you’re too old for me, even though they DM me all the time saying the guy who runs the AFL is a lizard and they need my help proving it.”
Cheryl laughed. “That’s one of the reasons.”
“And the others?”
She sighed theatrically. “Can’t we just… mess around for a little bit? Things are perfect the way they are right now.”
“I don’t want perfect. I want you.”
It wasn’t fair. He was too good at saying things.
“It’s okay to want things to be perfect,” she said.
“No, it’s impossible.”
“It isn’t.”
“Cheryl, seriously, nothing’s perfect.”
“If you shoot for the moon, you land among the stars.”
“That’s a cute way of saying something totally bananas.” A line formed in the middle of his usually smooth brow. “KitKat, believe me, you’re as close to perfect as it gets, but actual, literal, perfection isn’t a thing.”
“So?” she said, feeling like a brat but unable to stop herself. “Why can’t I want it anyway?”
“Because when you want things to be perfect, you set yourself up for disappointment.”
She could hear his education talking. Four years of psych studies. “Intellectually, I know people can’t be perfect, but I mean, like, you can be the best version of yourself.”
“By that do you mean you’ll be able to control everything and make all the right decisions and never do anything wrong?”
She felt like he’d shone a helicopter searchlight in her face. “No!”
“Really?”
“Of course not.” She could hear the defensiveness in her voice. “I just want to be a proper grown-up, you know?”
“You are a grown-up. What you’re not is perfect.”
“Don’t say that!” It came out in a rush, like a snotty kid saying ‘I know you are but what am I.’
Patrick stared at her, that furrow in his tanned forehead going deeper. “This is a big deal to you, isn’t it?”
“No. Yes. Look, I know this sounds crazy, but sometimes I think I can be perfect if I just try hard enough. Like if I can just get all my ducks in a row and eat well and get more sleep…”
He rolled his eyes. “Okay, Cheryl, I know you punch darts.”
Her stomach dropped. “What!?”
“You punch darts. Rip cigs. You smoke.”
