Page 33 of The Story Of Us

He smiles at that, a lazy one that seems so effortless with just one side of his mouth tipped up, but it has my heart skipping a beat every time I see it. He shuffles his chair closer to the desk between us, pressing his torso against it as if he can go through it to reach me.

“Did she not eat either? I don’t want both of my girls going hungry.”

My girls.

We’ve been dating for a few months now, but hearing Isaac call me his has me all over the place. I can’t believe this is really happening—that we’re together now after so many years of liking him.

“Don’t worry, I made sure she ate.”

“You should take care of yourself too, you know.” I pout at him, and he leans over the desk to pinch my cheek. I push his hand away as I pretend to scowl at him. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll take care of you.”

He leans back, letting go of my hand, and I miss the weight of it as soon as it’s gone. Isaac reaches into his bag and pulls out a small lunchbox, placing it on the desk between us before he opens it. It’s filled with all of my favourite snacks.

“Eat. You deserve a break anyway.”

He slides my work to one side of the desk and then pushes the lunchbox closer to me.

He takes out the orange that’s resting in between a small bag of chocolate-covered pretzels and jelly beans and starts peeling it. I start picking at the snacks and wonder when he took the time to put all this together.

His fingers move deftly, peeling the orange in large strips and collecting them in a small pile next to his discarded pen. Then he starts picking off the stringy white bits and adding them to the pile so it looks like a web. Any time I eat oranges in front of him, I spend so much time peeling them until they’re perfectly clear of the white parts, so for him to notice that and to do it for me has my stomach doing backflips.

When he’s finished, and there’s not a speck of white on it at all, he halves the orange, passing one over to me. Our fingers brush as I take it from him, and even though we’ve just held hands and have been for months now, every touch still feels heightened, still sends butterflies fluttering through my stomach. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this feeling.

Isaac waits for me to eat my half first, only eating two pieces of his before offering the other four segments to me. I take it from him but split it in half again, leaving two for each of us. We haven’t said a word to each other, but I don’t think we need to speak to communicate anymore. Every little thing he does for me lets me know how he feels about me, and I hope he understands the same from me, too.

We make our way through the rest of the snacks he’s packed, and even though I try to split things evenly, Isaac insists on me having more than him. Once we’re finished, he takes my hand in his again, continuing his pattern of circles on the back.

Over the past few months, I’ve realised Isaac’s love language might be physical touch. He always wants to hold my hand, or if we’re sitting next to each other, his leg is always pressed against mine. If we walk past each other in the hallway when we’re with our friends, he’ll reach out just so our fingers can graze for the slightest second. Whenever we hug, he never wants to be the one to let go first, always holding on tight to me. When I try to back away, he just clings tighter until I’m laughing so much I can’t breathe, and he has to let me go. Even then, he immediately takes my hand in his. He makes me feel cherished like I’m something precious, and I never want this feeling to end.

“Text me next time you miss a meal, and I’ll bring you something,” he says in a fake stern voice that just has me laughing.

I lean over the table to kiss his cheek, and his returning smile makes me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

“So that’s why I think you should give him another chance.”

I’m snapped back into the present, hot tears pooling in my eyes at the memory. It hits me that he won’t ever touch me like that again, won’t ever pack a lunch box full of my favourite snacks just in case I get hungry.

I turn around, facing away from Izzy so I can collect myself. I can’t cry in front of her because then I would have to explain why it’s making me so emotional to hear everything that makes her brother a great person.

Because he is great. He’s more than great. He’s the best person I’ve ever known. As much as I want to deny it and think the worst of him, I’m struggling to because apart from that day, he’s never been anything but wonderful to me. Even before we started dating, he was kind and considerate - that’s why I started falling for him in the first place. It’s also why I think I still haven’t gotten over him. Although I’ve been nothing but awful to him, he’s still so kind to me.

I blink a few times, clearing the tears and bringing my arm up to wipe at my eyes before turning back to Izzy.

“He seems like a great guy.” I almost choke saying the words, at having to act so detached from him as if I don’t know every single thing about him.

“I wouldn’t be asking you to give him a chance if he wasn’t,” Izzy says, and I can hear the sincerity in her voice.

I can see so much of Isaac in her. He’s had to take on somewhat of a parental role with her, doing more for her than most other brothers would. He never once complained about it, though, always saying that he just wanted Izzy to have a better time with school than he’s had. He takes on so much to help others, like he’s doing with this project, too, and it’s one of the things I loved the most about him.

Izzy looks up at me, waiting for an answer, and I don’t think I can keep lying to her or myself anymore.

“I’ll think about it. If he asks me again, maybe I’ll give him a chance.”

Izzy’s face brightens, a smile so similar to her brothers, and I have to smile back at her.

As much as I want to pretend and convince myself that I hate him and that he means nothing to me anymore, I just can’t. It’s exhausting having to act like nothing ever happened between us and that I’m completely fine when I’m the furthest from it.

And if Isaac was brave enough to give that little truth to Izzy, I can give her one, too.

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