Page 89 of The Proposal Pact
“I love how she makes me feel like anything is possible, or like life is worth it.” – Tom Hansen, 500 Days of Summer
Itake a fork and dig into the perfect flaky crust that crumbles under my fork but the gooey, honey filling inside keeps it afloat. “Oh, fuck,” I moan when I take a bite, and the sweet syrup mixed with nuts spreads across my tongue like butter. “This is amazing, Sophie!”
That slight blush peeks through her olive skin as she watches me from her spot on the couch with her knees drawn to her chest, her lips quirking into a smile. “Thank you,” she says softly.
“I didn’t know you could cook like this.”
“I can’t.” She lets out a quick laugh. “That is the only thing I know how to make. It’s my favorite dessert, so I always watched mymom make it, begging her for it every other day. She tried to teach me how to make it nearly every time, but I was always too busy, preferring for her to just do it instead.” She looks away, her mind traveling far past our living room walls. “It wasn’t until she passed away that I realized I’ll never taste her baklava again. I made Vassar teach me how to make it and I’m pretty sure he cut his lifespan in half while doing that.” Her shoulders shake with a silent laugh as I’m sure memories play in her mind. After all, that’s all we have left after they leave us. “I wish you could try hers. Mine’s not half as good.”
Sophie gives me a sad smile and looks away again, and my heart splits open for her. Because I know how that loss feels.
She looks so small, so vulnerable, so alone in this moment. All I want is to wrap her in my arms and protect her from the ugly world out there, to make sure no one and nothing can hurt her. And yet my own family tried to do just that this evening.
I slide onto the couch and drag her small frame into my lap. She stares at me, surprised but I ignore it and soon enough, she relaxes in my arms.
“How long ago?”
“Not long enough to forget the scent of her skin or how warm her touch was. Or the million Greek little sayings she used to teach us life lessons,” Sophie chuckles silently. “She was the best mom ever.”
“Sounds like it.
“What was her name?” I ask, quietly.
“Valerie.” Sophie sighs, dropping her head to my chest.
“That’s a beautiful name.”
“It is.” I can feel her smile. “Vassar and Kira named their youngest daughter after her.”
“How many kids do they have?”
“Three…but also five.”
“Um, how does that work exactly?”
“It’s a long story and not mine to tell, but if you ever do meet them, you’ll meet the three, Victoria, Killian, and Valerie.”
I nod, understanding and not pushing to learn something that I shouldn’t.
“Three is still a lot of kids.”
“If you’d ask them, they’d say it’s not enough.” There’s a smile in her voice. “Do you want kids?”
My throat tightens at her question. “No.” The tightness spreads all over my body, in anticipation of her next question. Her inevitable inquiry as to why I don’t want any kids, but once again, Sophie surprises me.
“I want as many as I can have. Do you want to watch something? I don’t feel like sleeping yet.” She changes the subject before I have to come with a response I don’t have.
Does she know that? Can she somehow feel it when I don’t want to talk about something? Because it clearly seems like it.
Clearing my throat, I nod, “Sure. Any hockey on tonight?”
Sophie sends me a grin. “You bet.” She turns on the sports channel, and it’s not her favorite team playing, yet she still picks a team and screams like a banshee every time they don’t score or the puck ends up in their net.
Admittedly, I watch Sophie more than the game tonight while that burn inside me grows from a kindling to a small fire, but I ignore it.
Eventually the game ends, and we start getting ready for bed. And that’s when it hit me.
I groan. “Fuck.”
