Page 14 of Rules of Association

Satisfied, he gave a small nod and said another short, “Hi.”

This time holding my eyes and leaning in just slightly. Showing me he saw me and he was here before straightening up and walking away.

Why that small gesture of assurance cooled my burning thoughts into something less tumultuous, I didn’t know. But I wasn’t surprised. Con could cool me off just by being near me. Just by choosing me, which he did every day he let me into his quiet little life.

Turning back to the fridge, I resumed my gathering. Pulling down all the ingredients for a yogurt and granola bowl. I did my foraging in a random order in hopes that Con would return by the time I had to get the bowls down. They were too high for my short ass to reach. But, of course, when I got to that part Con was nowhere to be seen.

“Connor!” I called, refraining myself from screeching, but just barely. He could usually deal with me whining and bitching and grumbling, but when it came to screeching, he got this disgusted look on his face that said it all. That is where he drew the line of his supreme patience.

But I was hungry and irritated and never really one to skirt around what I wanted. So even though I knew the line, I sometimes toyed with it a little.

Adingnoise sounded from my phone complimented by it buzzing in my pocket. Whipping it out, I immediately saw a text from Connor.

Pancake:Bowls are in the short-people drawer. Be out in a minute.

Even though he had premeditated this, I felt a little rush of triumph go through me. “The Short-people Drawer” was a little drawer that Connor started keeping at the bottom of his kitchen island when we first became friends. But since no one in his family was short, I had come to think of it as “The Ceci Drawer.” After all, it was only designed because he got sick of catching me trying to climb the counters instead of just asking him to get things for me. And from what I could tell, I was the only one he stocked the drawer for.

In a familiar shuffle, I started on breakfast while trying to keep my mind off this morning. But as I scooped yogurt into our bowls, one of my hands now much weaker than I was used to, I couldn’t help my thoughts drifting back to my parents. To my papa. To his eyes, so heavy with worry. And his voice, so thick with resolution. Even though remembering his disappointment for having me as a daughter hurt, and I wanted nothing more than to give him what he wanted and pick something so he could stop looking at me like that…I still couldn’t land my brain on a single damn lead as to what I wanted to do with my life. Not even a direction.

Reemerging into the kitchen just as I was drizzling the finishing touches of honey into our yogurt bowls, Connor sipped at his coffee before looking at me over the rim of his cup. I watched the movement of his expression, little tidbits of awareness bubbling to life when I noticed the mirth in his gaze. He didn’t even have to say what he was thinking, but he still riveted me with the pleasure of his thoughts anyway.

“Is this all I win? I put in hard work for that victory,” he said, raising his coffee cup in question.

With as sweet as a smile I could produce, I held up his bowl of yogurt, smoothie, and granola as if to say,‘here’s your real prize’.

He snorted. “Oh great. My own food.You shouldn’t have.”

The sarcasm didn’t stop the smartass from accepting the bowl from my hands and walking it over to the other side of the island where tall bar stools lined the counter. Setting it and his coffee down, he reached a hand out just as I was handing over a spoon and plunked it into his bowl.

We ate silently for a while. Connor thoroughly enjoying his meal and me just mixing up the contents of mine and seeing if I could make a new color by mixing the white yogurt and the purple smoothie. I’d come over with a plan for coffee and breakfast, but I didn’t feel like eating anymore. I was now alternating between wanting to curl up somewhere and hide away from the world or wanting to run out and hit something. The only thing stopping me from the latter was the memory that hitting something recently got me put into a brace for six weeks.

“What’s up?” Con asked after a while.

Knowing his tone, I recognized that it wasn’t like a‘what’s going on’what’s up. More like a‘what’s wrong’what’s up.

I blinked up at him, my bowl now more of a light purple than dark. “What do you mean?”

“You’re quiet and you’re not eating. Something’s up.”

“I’m quiet sometimes,” I argued.

“Maybe in your sleep,” he scoffed. “But usually not even then.”

I glared. “I’m tired.”

Another scoff as he leaned back in his seat, surveying me. “It’s the day after your birthday and you somehow convinced your entire family to do all sorts of embarrassing things for you. You arenottired, you’re probably recharged from all the havoc you wreaked.”

I couldn’t help my smile. Ithadbeen fun, having everyone together to play games and eat outside like we used to when we were younger. I appreciated them all coming out to celebrate with me, but I quickly lost all fuzzy feelings as I stared at my food and pushed it around, also remembering my conversation with my parents this morning.

“Hey, eat that,” Connor instructed, his face giving off a slight accusation as his eyes zeroed in on my hands.

“Or what?” I challenged, giving him an irritated look right back.

“Or you’re buying me more,missattitude,” he grumbled, but looking me over again, he enacted a new Ceci-meter. Apparently having been wrong in his first inspection, he was following up. Coming to some sort of conclusion, he narrowed eyes on me but gentled his already low voice. “No use in snapping at me. What’s on your mind? Maybe I can help.”

I hesitated only a second before remembering that this was Connor. I could tell him almost anything. “Apá told me I need to figure out what I want to do.”

“With…?”

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