Page 136 of Fun Together
He turns toward me, inching a little closer. “Did you have any pets growing up?”
I look down at my glass. “There was a stray cat that used to come around sometimes, and I would always leave food out for her. I named her Possum.” I laugh at the memory. “I would sit by the screen door of my grandpa’s kitchen and watch for her to come up. But every time I opened the door, she’d run off.” I haven’t thought about that cat in years.
“I’m sure Possum appreciated you leaving food out for her even though she was scared of you.”
“Yeah, it was always disappointing, though. I wanted so badly to pick her up and cuddle her.” I feel embarrassed about that for some reason.
His gaze wanders over my face. “You should get a cat.”
I laugh. “Maybe I should. I’m surprised you don’t have a dog. You seem like the type that would have a golden retriever or a chocolate lab that you bring around to breweries.”
His eyes sparkle with good natured mischief. “Why do I feel like you’re making fun of me?”
“I’m not making fun,” I take a sip of my drink to hide my smile. “Just making an observation.”
He checks the time on his phone. “It’s 6:30. Should we head out?”
I fiddle with the edge of my dress, suddenly hesitant to leave. We have a seven o’clock reservation at a restaurant downtown, where I was planning to give my whole spiel. But that feels wrong. It doesn’t feel like us.
This, us sitting together on the couch talking, feels like us.
“Actually, can I . . . can I tell you something first?”
He leans forward, looking at me in his intense, but gentle way. “Of course.”
The butterflies in my stomach are back and they have teeth that tear at my stomach lining. It’s silly, but I feel like I’m about to hand him my heart. He already has it anyway, but it’s like I’m fully acknowledging it now.
“I want to tell you more . . . about me.” I laugh. “I know that sounds ridiculous, considering how long we’ve known each other. But I know that I’m not exactly an open book.”
He nods his head, encouraging me to go on. “Okay.”
I clear my throat. “Two truths and a lie.”
He smiles and it’s so sweet I want to eat it.
“When I was six, my mom left me to live with my grandpa for about five or six years. One night, I overheard her telling my grandpa she was leaving, but I thought she meant she’d be gone for like a week or something. I don’t know, I was little. I even felt kind of excited because my grandpa let me watch all theSpongeBobI wanted.”
He reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze.
I turn my hand so that my palm lies in his. “But then weeks passed, and she didn’t come home. Then I started freaking out, thinking she was dead or kidnapped or whatever my little kid imagination conjured up. Finally, I asked my grandpa where she was.” I take a sip of my drink. “Long story short, I didn’t see her again until I was thirteen, shortly before I started high school.”
“That must have been hard,” he says, brow furrowing with concern.
“I felt like I didn’t even know her, like she was some stranger who showed up one day, expecting everything to be fine.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
“I had my grandpa, at least. Not many people can say they had someone there for them.”
“Still, you were just a kid. You should have been worried about math tests and field trips.”
“I had this fear, I don’t know, that I would become her. Because when Andrew and I broke up, I felt so guilty. I didn’t want to be alone, but I didn’t want to stay with him, knowing that I wasn’t ever going to marry him.”
His thumb runs back and forth over my hand. “I understand.”
I take a deep breath. “And I lied to you before.”
“About what?”
