Page 121 of Faking Forever 1
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in time and decide never to do this.
“But?” I ask, impatient for the rejection.
“What about my dad, Josh? I… don’t know. I have to think about this. He might flip.” she cringes.
Rejection.
Taking her hand, I open her fingers, close the box, and place it in her hand.
“If you want to, I want to make things work—long distance.
I’m dying for a chance here. Anything you say, I’ll do. I never really felt like this with any girl in my life. Ever. I fear if you say no, I might dwell on it, so…” I close her hand. “Keep this.
Think about it. The ball is in your court.”
I let her hand go and reserved my hands to lap. I imagined I would be more upset, but after everything that’s happened over the past few days, it’s safe to say that this is all I have left in me.
“That’s not a no to us being official, Joshua. Please look at me,” she says militantly, lifting my head again with her finger under my chin, “You make me the happiest girl in the world.
I want to be your girlfriend.”
“So what is there to think about?” I blurt out, feeling her nails run over my facial hair.
Without a word, she forced a smile that seemed like a hassle to perform. Instead of telling me more, she rushed in and pressed her lips to mine. It was too fast for me to enjoy. She then kissed my jaw and wrapped her arms around my torso, squeezing me as she lay her head on my chest.
* * *
I think she wanted to put it on. Her constant opening of the box 292
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and taking it out would indicate so. If she weren’t into the idea, she probably would’ve responded a hell of a lot worse. It’s hard to tell with someone who rarely gets upset. She handles everything with ease instead of jumping the gun. The main goal was to give her a birthday she wouldn’t forget. Though it wasn’t the answer I wanted, the night wasn’t about me, so I wasn’t going to push the narrative.
Something I love about Paisley is how in tune she is with my emotions. If I’m unhappy or bothered, she reads me like a chick magazine, and then she proceeds to tell me about myself.
I was spared from the lecture, but she replaced it with physical comfort, which I needed. I would rather spend our last days with each other being good to each other and not arguing about our dull-witted problems. In lieu, we argued about who goes to feed who and what.
When we got back home, it was much later than either of us planned. I listened to her giggle at everything she found interesting because she was bubbly from drinking wine. The boardwalk looked like fireworks, the people walking in town looked like ants, andIlooked better with my unbuttoned shirt—all according to her. All of it was good with me, especially the last part. I was trying to enjoy every part of it with the thought of my dad chewing me out once I got home.
His malicious mouth and insistent nagging weren’t enough to top Paisley’s voice, repeating, “I have to think about this.”
I’d even prefer my mother’s nagging.
“Wait, can I come in with you? For a little?” Paisley asks, gripping my thigh, eagerly awaiting my response as we pull up to the end of her driveway.
“You’re sick of me yet?” I chuckle, turning the car off and 293
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leaning back against the seat. I tilt my head to look at her through my semi-glassy vision from indulging in wine and little sleep.
“Why would I be sick of you? Are you kidding me?” she bobs her head, squeezing my thigh, “You outdid yourself tonight.”
she curls into the seat, facing me.
I form a small smile, staring at her as a light cuts on in the corner of my eye. It came from my house. Raising my head, I try to look better, seeing a Grey sedan in the driveway alongside my dad’s truck. It was my mom’s car.
