Page 42 of The Perfect Love

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

7

Ass Over Tits

Trevor

Today hasn’t been whatI expected. Somehow, it’s been better—more. It’s been more than I thought it could be.

When I planned our all-day date, I was hoping we’d connect, but I wasn’t expecting to tell her about my dad. I wasn’t ruling it out because I never want to hide what he means to me or how his death shaped me, but getting that heavy on our first date wasn’t part of my plan. But then she asked about him. Not only for herself, but for me. Because she knew I wanted to talk about it.

In the same way, I’ve gotten to see more sides of her than I was expecting. It’s clear we’re both holding back some things—like the reasons we left Syracuse. Talk about a mindfuck that we went to the same college and never knew each other.

Like I camped at her family’s campground.

Growing up in Ida meant I knew all my friends from a young age. Now all of a sudden, my dream girl walks into my life like something out of an actual dream because I feel like there’s some piece of me she found. Like it had been locked away and now that we’ve finally connected, I can touch it and feel it again… and that all sounds crazy.

But what’s crazier than this tether between us? Years of missed connections leading us together now.

Were we supposed to find each other sooner?

I’m trying not to dwell on that because the answer doesn’t do me any good.

We’re here now, and I intend to enjoy every second, savor every smile, and memorize every laugh. And all the ways to her heart. Definitely adding chocolate right to the top of that list. She was bouncing with excitement from the second we walked inside the chocolatier, and she’d have bought the whole store if she could have. I spent double what I was planning to there, but it was totally worth it to watch her eyes light up as the cashier added chocolate after chocolate to her bag.

“Tell me one thing you couldn’t live without.”

We’re on our way back to Old Lake Town now. Both on the drive to the chocolatier and now on the way back, we’ve been asking each other random questions to get to know each other better.

The first response that jumps into my brain is baseball, but I don’t want to go there today. I don’t want to bring up all the shit I went through. I’m having a good time, and if her response earlier is any indication, she doesn’t want to talk about what she’s been through yet, either.

The thing is, besides my mom and Hyla, which is kind ofduhand not the point of the question, I don’t know what else to say.

So when I open my mouth, what comes out?

“Sarcasm.”

She laughs and turns to look at me. “Sarcasm. Seriously?”

I double down. “Yes. Why is that bad? Sarcasm is essential to my daily life.”

“It’s not bad. But it’s either a copout answer—we all thrive on sarcasm. It’s the curse of the chaos of this world. Or it’s a serious answer, in which case I need to know more.”

Her response gives me pause, mostly because I would’ve said it was the first, which is a little shitty of me. But when I think about it… why was that my response?

“Oh no. You’ve gone quiet. Did I break you?”

“No—maybe? I’ve never thought about it that seriously before. I said it as a copout answer, but I’m not sure it was. I use sarcasm to change the subject, shift the focus from anything that hurts me, keep a wall up. Fuck, am I just sad and broken? What have you done to me?”

She laughs.Laughs.

“You’re dramatic. And no. I don’t think you’re sad and broken. Most people use humor or sarcasm or self-deprecation—hi, it’s me—to avoid their feelings or deflect. The fact that you’re self-aware enough to realize it means you’re anything but broken. Plus, I see that vulnerability in you. It might protect you, but it also makes you smile—probably makes other people smile—and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

I glance at her, wishing there was a pull-off here so I could stop the car and really look at her. Am I that obvious or does she justseeme? My heart flares, beating erratically.

I’ve never felt like this before.

I loved Sarah. It was real. Not puppy love or anything else. We cared deeply for each other and were a big part of each other’s lives. When she broke up with me, I was crushed. But a part of me knew it was right. I didn’t know how right until today. Until Chelsea smiled at me and laughed at my stupid jokes and sawme. Not the grumpy exterior. Not my sarcasm. Not the kid who’s still mourning his dad after all this time. Me. Just me. The real me. Whoever that is. I’m not entirely sure I know anymore. But she does. And somehow, she hasn’t run screaming yet.

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