“That’s, uh?—”
“He was kinda mean though. Nice enough, but he acted like everything I liked was silly.”
I assume she’s going to tell me, but I ask anyway. “Like what?”
“Plants… My cat… I used to be really into needlepoint for a minute then switched to wet felting for a while. But he liked my long hair and that I’m a dancer, so I think that kept him around longer.”
“That’s a terrible reason to date someone.”
“I don’t know why I was with him so long. Five months of my life—gone. Longest relationship I’ve had.”
“Longest?”
She nods, her eyes focusing on the top of the island. “That’s bad, right?”
I huff out a breath, not sure what to say, so I go with the truth. “I don’t really do the long-term thing either.” Iconsider adding in the part how exhausting—and disappointing—dipping my toes into the shallow end of the dating pool has been, but she cocks her head, and my lips clamp shut.
Something shadows her bright eyes for a split second before she charges on. “See? You get it. It’s better to let things go when it’s obvious there’s no future. No use in wasting time. Life’s too short to stay stuck in one spot.”
I nod, but that’s not necessarily something I agree with. Sure, time is fleeting, and I fully commend her for not wasting any of it in pointless relationships. But I like something that’s steady. Bouncing around from hobby to hobby or person to person is foreign to me. If I find something I love—like reading or football—that’s it. I’m all in, no looking back.
“Sometimes that mindset is a good thing. I’ve had a lot of super fun experiences because of it, but there are times it’s a little… lonely, I guess. I’ve had people tell me—coworkers, boyfriends, family—that they can’t keep up with me. That I’m unstable. That I’mtoo muchfor them to handle.Been dumped because of it too many times to count.” She shakes her head, eyes still fixed on the counter. “Someday I’ll find a guy who doesn’t yell at me or use me for whatever random fixation gets his heart racing. If that person exists. But anyway…”
A sniff from Avery cracks the growing silence as I search desperately for a response. At her core, Avery seems to be built of words. She’s always got something to say, and I almost feel guilty that as much as I want to be able to comfort her, I can’t. I could read an entire library of books and still not have the right words.
A fear slithers in that I’ll spew the wrong thing, but when the quiet becomes too much to bear, I throw something out there. “Someday you’ll find a guy that isn’t a walking trash bag.”
Really eloquent, Ty.
“Thanks,” she says softly.
I suck in a long breath and release it, heading to grab a menu off the fridge. “So, Chef… Pizza instead?”
She leans against the counter, hanging her head like it weighs a thousand pounds. “Is that what professional athletes eat?”
“Sometimes. If the piccata’s burnt.”
She groans. “I was trying to do something nice.”
Finally, she lifts her head, and I realize her eyes are watering. Is she about to cry? I’m torn between comforting her and pretending it’s not happening. I barely know this girl, and somehow, she keeps baring her heart to me. The thought nails me in the chest. Excessive displays of emotion aren’t really something I do, while Avery seems to be the opposite. But part of me wonders—maybe even hopes—that I’m the reason she’s so open. Maybe she feels comfortable—safe—enough with me to show that side. It’s a stupid notion.
“It’s uh… My mom always said it’s the thought that counts,” I try.
She presses the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “Stop being nice. Be scary again. Don’t give me your pity, that’s worse.”
A laugh bursts from my throat, and she drops her hands. Her eyes are wet, but there’s a smile on her pink lips.
“You think I’m scary?” I ask.
“Wait. Did youlaugh?”
“I can’t believe you think I’m scary.”
She sniffs, wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Don’t act like this is the first time someone’s ever said that to you. Look at you.”
And then it’s like she’s seeing me for the first time. When her eyes drag down my face and land on my bare chest, she presses her palms over her eyes again. Somehow it’s satisfying to see her get flustered.
“Do you ever wear a shirt?” she asks.
