Page 122 of Mr. Picture Perfect
“Me and your daddy,” I corrected her in a mumble.
“I know, it’s why I said it the wrong way, to get you to speak.” She paused. “Oop, there ya go, back to bein’ quiet.” She sighed. “I don’t want to smother and suffocate you like I do to get answers outta you. If you need your space, okay, I’ll just bring you home n’ leave ya be, bake you somethin’. But I just need to know that you are okay and don’t have nothin’ big you really need to get out.”
Nothing big. Just the only person I ever loved slipping away. Because I’m pushing him away. Because I know in the end, he will thank me when he finds his real match at that auction tomorrow and isn’t stuck with the weird boy from his childhood dreams.
Nothing big at all.
At home, my mom was merciful enough to leave me be. I went straight to my room and curled up on my bed without so much as a change of clothes.
Honestly, I probably cried, too.
But that was simply a normal human reaction to holding so much stress inside of me. It was wise to cry, actually. Crying isn’t always about sadness. It can be a natural response to stress, as it releases oxytocin and endorphins into the body, easing emotional and physical pain and flushing stress hormones from the system.
Or so I read one day while trapped in a rabbit hole.
I realized I hadn’t ventured into any rabbit holes in weeks.
Ever since Cole crashed into me at the festival, in fact.
Maybe I hadn’t had time to. This past month had been filled with such exhilarating new experiences. Cole had kept me busy seeing what life could be like outside the confines of my mind. I’m not even sure whether he realizes the effect he has had on me.
I promised myself to be forever grateful for that.
I told myself I wouldn’t forget the gifts he’d given me, none of which were the kind you could hold with your hands.
They were gifts you keep in your heart.
Gifts that enrich the mind.
Well, perhaps except for the popcorn bucket sitting on my desk, a souvenir from a certain movie we never finished.
I guessed Cole and I would become another unfinished movie.
Would it really be such a bad thing if Cole’s next movie is a total blockbuster hit?
Then I heard the doorbell. It was Cole. I stood at the door to my bedroom as I listened to my mom talk to him. I heard him ask about me. My mom glanced over her shoulder and caught my eye. She seemed to take the hint, because she told him I needed time to rest, that I was overworked, and that my supervisor was a jerk.
None of those facts were inaccurate, technically.
I watched from my window as Cole returned to his car. Then he stopped at the mailbox and peered back at me, as if sensing I was watching him leave.
I fought an instinct to duck under the windowsill, not wanting to be seen. Then I dared myself to stand right there and keep my eyes on him anyway. The blinds were enough to shield his view of me, I was sure, not to mention the glare of the sun off the glass.
But I couldn’t be completely sure.
There was a chance he could see my shape through the glass.
He lifted his hand, as if waving hello to me.
My heart did a somersault. My eyes grew.
Could he really see me, despite the glare? Was I not as hidden as I thought I was?
I lifted my hand, too, as if to wave hello back.
Or maybe I was waving goodbye.
Then he got into his car. My phone buzzed with a message. And then he left at last. I dropped my hand as his car drove away. I left my bedroom and flew out the front door and stood at the foot of my driveway, watching as his car vanished around the bend of the street. I stood there with the wind in my hair, tossing it every direction it pleased, still wearing my clothes from last night, wondering if Cole’s car might circle back.
