“Sadly, I don’t think I’ve amassed the funds to purchase an entire aquarium.”
“You want one?”
“Maybe I’ll start with an admissions pass.” Rolling my eyes, I give his shoulder a playful shove, but my fingers linger a bit too long on the jut of muscle.
His pupils swallow the navy of his eyes, and he clears his throat again, but he doesn’t shift away from my hand. “So ... why him? Why Scott? Both times I’ve asked, you said you’d tell me next time.”
“I guess it is that time.” I cringe, dropping my hand to my lap. I stretch out my fingers, wringing them together while minutes pass and more children sprint by as I try to decide how to fit the why and what of Scott into a few sentences. When I finally lift my head, Miller’s still staring at me, in that patient way of his. “You remember what I told you? About why it was dinosaurs for me?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Your dad.”
“My dad. Well ... as you know, he ... left. And then ... my mom remarried. She had my brothers. She ... started over.” I dig my thumbnail into my palm. “I know I told you I don’t begrudge that. That I don’t blame her, and I don’t. I really do mean that. But I do think, too, that somewhere along the way ... I started to wonder why just me wasn’t enough for her. Or my dad.” Blinking up at him through wet lashes, the jellyfish blur into swirls of colour beside me, and all I can see is the flinch of pain lancing across his eyes when his thumb immediately finds the curve of my cheek, sweeping away a stray tear. “I just wanted someone to choose me. And when we were eighteen, Scott did.”
Miller’s thumb twitches against my cheek, but his hand splays out, fingers finding the bottom of my chin so he can hold my head up.
“It’s something you don’t think would ever happen to you. It’s the type of thing that happens to other people. But then ... it’s you and it’s your life, and you’ve got no reasonable explanation for it other than you just ... let it happen.” I chew on the inside of my cheek, with a half-hearted shrug. “It wasn’t always bad, and even when it was, it wasn’t all bad, if that makes sense. We had a lot in common. We had shared interests. Once upon a time, we could talk about those interests for hours and hours, before the debates turned cutting and cruel. Don’t get me wrong ... he’s not ... he’s not good. Our relationship wasn’t good. It was one-sided, and it was a thief. But I do think, in so many ways, we made each other.” Confusion flickers across Miller’s face, and I try to explain the best way I can. “He didn’t have the best homelife. His parents were ... cruel. And I think, he wanted to be loved. So very, very badly, too. But I don’t think he cared how he got that love. So, he took. And he took. And he took.” I press my palm to my chest with a wet laugh. “And therewas me, giving and giving and giving, inflating his ego so much I won’t be surprised if one day it bursts and kills him.”
“That’d be a real fucking shame,” Miller says flatly.
“So, there you have it. Nothing special. Nothing earth-shattering. Just the oldest story in the book.” I snort, shrugging again. “Don’t worry, it’s not a mistake I’ll be making again.”
He nods, slow, dragging his tongue along his teeth before he asks quietly, “Is that why—dating was on your list too? Do you not ... have you not dated?”
I shake my head. “No. Not really, and I still don’t ... trust myself to be able to love someone properly, without ... mixing the whole thing up.”
Something else flashes in his eyes—pain or disappointment or longing—but it’s gone as quickly as it came, and he taps his thumb against my cheek before he gently lets go and swings back around to face the jellyfish. He watches them before he says, voice rough, “I’d have chosen you.” He swallows, and he chokes out, sort of like he’s rushing to add the words, “Back then.”
The words are right there—my tongue moves against my lips, ready to spell them out. To tell him that he’s worth choosing, too. That I have no idea why his mom left him behind as a kid, and even though he thinks he didn’t find him in time, and even though I didn’t know him, I’m so, so certain Matt would have spent his entire life choosing Miller, too. The way his aunt and uncle did.
That, I think, there’s an ever-growing part of me that would love to be chosen by him.
But the pieces of me that still sit around my feet poke and prod at me, sharp, and I wonder if I’ll ever understand the difference: between being chosen and being loved. And if, maybe, I’d ever be so lucky to experience both at the same time. So, I nudge my shoulder against his instead, whispering, “I certainly hope not. I was too old for you.”
He laughs, and it really is a beautiful sound that makes me wonder, too. Swinging my feet around, I plant them on the ground beside his and ask, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Have you ever . . . loved someone?”
“Sure.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Matty. My aunt and uncle. My mom, when I was a kid.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I correct softly. “Have you ever been in love?”
He swallows. “No.”
“Too bad,” I murmur.
He turns to face me, brows dipped, and full lips set in a frown. “Why?”
“I think you’d be good at it.”
He laughs again, harsher this time, and palms his jaw. “No one ... uh ... I don’t think any of them—the people I’ve dated—wanted to be loved by me. Not ... really.”
“Their loss,” I whisper, blinking up at the jellyfish. “I know you said I’m the shark and you’re the dinosaur—”
“Rawr,” he says again, and I snort, biting down on the inside of my cheek.
I point towards the aquarium glass and all the swirls of colour. “But I think, we should both be jellyfish.”
