Page 259 of Burn Bright
“Humility is an interesting trait for one of my children, considering I have very little.”
A bright laugh rolls out of me.
He grins at the sound. “You have a decent amount, Ben, conceivably to your own benefit and to your own detriment. And OCD is called the ‘doubting disease’ for a reason. It will make you doubt your own reality, your own perceptions.” He turns toward the endless view. “But this doesn’t mean you lack an ego.”
I glance out at the vastness of the undulating hills, the misty morning blue sky, the uncorrupted land teeming with life.
“You aren’t responsible for the creation of everything,” he says.
Emotion stings my eyes.
“The same way that you won’t be responsible for its destruction.”
I feel him studying me, but it’s more difficult to not smile. “I really must be your son,” I say. “Believing I have the power to impact the whole world. I, alone, am the cause of bad things happening around me.” I nod strongly to myself and laugh lightly. “Then in the reverse, I can’t even accept my self-importance. I am a real conundrum.”
“A paradox,” he grins. “You don’t have to fit into any box, mon fils. Ordinary is boring.”
He’s telling me to accept myself as I am. To stop battling all the conflicting sides.
I smile brighter at my father, seeing the pieces of him that I share. Really, seeing, for the first time, all the social prowess, all the unwavering confidence, and I love those pieces of him. Of me. I love my ego. I love my humility. I love so much more of who I am in this moment than I ever have in my entire life. And I know what I’ve always been.
A butterfly, a bluebird…and a lion.
59
HARRIET FISHER
Holy shit…I ambadat ice skating. The last time I put on a pair of skates, I couldn’t have been older than six or seven. But I deluded myself into thinking that it’s just like riding a bike. Natural intuition would take over, and I’d just float gracefully down the rink, right? Wrong. So very wrong.
I didn’t go so far as picturing twirls, but I most definitely did not imagine myself death-clutching the railing while on an official date with Ben. I’ve considered most of our hangouts as being date-like, but he specifically said, “I’m taking you on a date this afternoon. Wear something warm, Fisher.”
My heart volleyed against my ribcage. “A date?” It struck me that no one had ever used that word with me before. It was alwayslet’s go grab a bite to eat. Let’s watch a movie. Let’s fuck.Neverlet’s go on a date.
“Yeah,” he smiled. “There’ll be many more like it.”
There’ll be more, Harriet.Having more time with him is what I really cherish. We could be playing Scrabble in my apartment, and it’d be just as perfect.
But I am glad he decided onthistype of date after finals week. I’m not sure I would’ve enjoyed it as much with the stressof exams and essays dangling like an ugly raincloud. I mean, I hopeI would mentally compartmentalize, but I like that I don’t have to even think about it now. With fall semester over, I fully embrace this moment with my boyfriend.
Boyfriend.
Okay, that still makes me unnaturallygiddy.I’ve accepted the strange, powerful effect Ben Cobalt has on me. I even let him surprise me this afternoon—though I asked about twenty-five questions to narrow down wherewe’d be.
Ben took me to an outdoor ice-skating rink in New York City. Winter clouds up above, festively clad skaters surrounding us, and a dazzling Christmas tree overlooking the glittery white rink—it can’t get more romcom than this. Except for the part where I almost ate the ice.
Twice.
I envisioned this sickeningly sweet moment where I skate alongside Ben, hand-in-hand, like we’re strolling down Park Ave with birds chirping. It was this dumb Disney princess fantasy that I’m not even positive I want. It seems too fake.
So I’m not kicking myself that hard for not being fucking Elsa and conjuring the spirit of frost or icicles or whatever she does. I’ve honestly never seenFrozen, but that “let it go” bitch is inescapable.
In the center, a young girl is doing some sort of twizzly twirl.Definitely a trained ice skater.At least we aren’t a spectacle. His bodyguard glides back and forth near us, but for the most part, no one recognizes Ben Cobalt on the rink. Families, couples, and friends all relish in the pretty December weather together and not my laughable skills.
“Seriously, go on without me, Friend.” I wave Ben on with a hand, the other is planted firmly on the railing. “I don’t want to hold you back.” He is a hockey player. The ice is his naturalhabitat, and my ankles scream at me like they’re two seconds from giving out.
Ben hovers close and comes to a dead stop since I’m no longer moving. I’m just clinging to this railing like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time.
His brows knit together in concern. “I’m sensing fear.”
