“I think he’s observant,” I replied.
On screen, someone began crying.
Zoey inched closer to me without comment. Our thighs pressed together fully now, and the warmth of her body seeped through the fabric. Her shoulder brushed mine.
“Why do you like this?” I asked quietly.
“I don’tlikeit. It’s a form of escapism.” She took another slow bite and considered her words. “These people,” she said finally, gesturing toward the chaos on screen, “make terrible decisions.”
“That is evident.”
“They implode and self-sabotage. They torch their own lives in high definition.”
“And?”
“And none of it is my problem.”
She leaned back into the couch, but she didn’t create distance. If anything, she settled more firmly against me.
“I spend most of my life anticipating consequences,” she continued. “Mapping outcomes, managing variables, cleaning up after other people.”
I kept quiet, waiting for her to continue.
“With this”—she nodded toward the television—“I get a front-row seat to absolute disaster, and I’m not responsible for any of it.”
“I admit, when you put it like that, it does sound appealing.”
“It’s therapeutic.”
“It looks exhausting, though.”
“It is,” she said. “Forthem.”
On screen, someone stormed out of the restaurant and a producer chased after them.
Zoey smiled faintly. “They chose to be on the show. They signed contracts and agreed to be ridiculous. That’s the beauty of it.”
“You prefer contained chaos.”
“Yes.”
“And you prefer observing to participating.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the spoon, but her expression was unreadable as she stared at the screen. “Watching reality television reminds me that I’m not obligated to fix everything.”
“You aren’t.”
She huffed quietly. “Tell that to my nervous system.”
As her thigh pressed even closer to mine, her neck drew my attention. The line from her jaw to her collarbone was clean and unguarded. There was nothing performative in the way she sat. No attempt to curate the angle. She was simply there, fully present, fully absorbed in the chaos unfolding on screen.
And I had an immediate, intrusive urge to lean in and press my mouth there.
The thought arrived fully formed.
I didn’t act on it.
The television continued its dramatic escalation. Someone was shouting about betrayal. Someone else was crying into a napkin. But I only vaguely heard it, too caught up in her.
