Page 25 of Fractured

We said our goodbyes, and the rest of the day, I floated around as if little clouds were under my feet. I never ended up going back to the studio, instead practicing at my place and then straightening up. It wasn’t dirty, but I still wiped any dust from the surface of my shelves and tables.

By the time he knocked on the door, I was in way over my head, as I’d thought of a thousand different ways to cancel, only I hadn’t taken down his number. Part of me had to think I’d done it subconsciously so I couldn’t sabotage the evening.

“Hey.” One side of his mouth twitched as I opened the door. His lack of smiles was the oddest thing to love about someone, but I did. It was like he didn’t exhibit all the normal ways people showed their emotions, but it was up to me to catch the small nuances in his eyes and inflection of his words.

He was dressed the same, but his dark curly hair was a little tamer. Ambrose had put effort into his appearance. Dancing butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

He held up a pizza box and case of some kind of IPA. I swung the door wider to allow him entrance, and he set his bounty down on the coffee table. He looked at the TV and tsked as he picked up the remote and turned it off.

“If tonight is the only night we have, and I hope there aremanymore to come, then I want it filled with titillating conversation. The kind that drew me to you in the first place.” He dropped the remote and waited for me to sit before he settled in next to me. Not crowding me, but close enough that when he swiveled to face me and brought one leg across the cushion, his knee touched my leg.

Tingles speared out from that one tiny spot of contact, and I had a new appreciation for first crushes. My own school years had been filled with too much drama from my parents to experience all of these important milestones.

He reached down and brought the pizza box to sit between us, braced evenly on my leg and his. It was unconventional and not something I’d ever do on my own, being one of those boring people who always ate at the kitchen table, but I liked it.

Moving the stack of napkins on top of the box to the coffee table, he opened the box and pointed at the different sections. “Cheese, pepperoni, margherita, and everything but sardines.”

“I’m…a little overwhelmed by all the choices.” I laughed.

He winced. “I wanted to make sure you had options. You left so quickly earlier, I didn’t have a chance to ask you what you liked or even wanted.”

“This is great, really.” I snagged a napkin and took one of the margherita slices. “How did you get so many different kinds in one large pizza?”

“They sold by the slice so I built my own pizza.” His eyes twinkled as he took one of the everything slices and took a bite.

I did the same and waited for him to fill the silence. He didn’t make me wait long.

“What’s the one thing in your life that you see as evil?”

I ended up swallowing my bite without chewing it, shocked by the question. Although I shouldn’t have been after our weird lunch conversation.

“Um…” I tried to think of something that didn’t immediately go back to my family, but I was drawing a blank.

“Quick. Don’t think about it, just answer the first thing that pops into your head.” He snapped his fingers a couple times.

“Blueberries,” I blurted.

He froze midmotion of bringing his pizza to his mouth, the end drooping almost comically. Immediately, I regretted my choice because how was I going to explain the evilness of a small blue fruit?

“Did you just say blueberries?” Ambrose set his pizza down on the lid of the box that was propped up by the coffee table.

“And if I said no?” I hedged.

“I have very good hearing. I know you said blueberries. And now I want to know why.” He tore open the box of beer and handed me one, like I needed the liquid courage.

The soft crack and release of pressure from opening the can held all my attention until he called my name.

“Lilith. Now I’m really intrigued. What’s your answer?”

“Okay. I’m going to explain this, and you can’t laugh. Or think I’m crazy.” I nearly stumbled over the last word, hating that I just put that out into the universe.

“Absolutely. And don’t forget, I make stuff up for a living, so no judgment. Now shoot. And maybe someday, you’ll read a bestseller with killer blueberries as the villain,” he said as if this were all a joke, but it wasn’t. I told him the truth without the details.

“My mother always believed blueberries were the root of all evil. And I think after being told how they were omens preceding bad things for my entire childhood, I kind of believe it.”

“Ah, so you don’t really think blueberries themselves are evil.” He nodded as if it all made sense to him.

“Exactly. It’s not that they’re the evil per se, it’s that they’re the catalyst to the evil in the world. And that’s my evil, but I believe everyone has their own answer and no one’s is the same.”

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