Page 135 of Falling Backwards
He hesitates, then admits, “Yeah.”
Actually, I vaguely remember what he said when I gave them to him—that they were the most special gift he’s ever gotten.It doesn’t seem like they really would be, but who am I to judge why something matters to him?
My grin fades away, too, into a little smile.“That’s…really nice.But just so you know, it won’t hurt my feelings if you wake up tomorrow and wanna chow down on them for breakfast.”
Oh, that laughter.
It’s a simple truth that Luke’s laughter owns some part of me, and God, I really don’t know anymore if it’ll ever let go.
“I still love the way you laugh,” escapes me in a hush.
There’s no time to hope he didn’t hear it before he quiets in a way that assures me he did.
My insides suddenly feel trembly.Timid.Nervous.
I amend, “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.I’m sorry.”
“I’m glad you said it.”His tone is lower too.“I’ve been thinking it about you all day.”
I don’t know how to describe how that affects me.
All I know is I like how it feels.
That’s been an all-day thing onmypart—how he’s made me feel.Everything was so nice.We got along well.And holding his hand had been the opposite of how it felt when Kyle grabbed my hand that day at Mellow Burger; it was better than‘nice’and we fit better than‘well,’and thinking about it now makes me miss it.
I spend a moment letting that reverberate through me.
Then I recall the questions we exchanged.We didn’t literally count out twenty to ask each other, but we still learned new things and got refreshers on old ones.And I realize that even though it’s late, I’d be happy to keep going down those random paths with him right now.
I ask, “Do you need to get off the phone and go to sleep, or would you wanna ask questions again?”
“Questions sound great,” he says without pause.“You go first.”
“Oh, great.Okay.”
I think back on what we’ve already gone over.Some of his favorite foods are Thanksgiving foods, so he’s really looking forward to going to his mom’s house for that soon.He wants to try skiing someday and he wants to get a tattoo, though he’s not sure what kind.He likes kids but doesn’t know if he wants any in the future, same as me.His least favorite adult thing to do is go for dental checkups; love of gummy worms aside, he takes care of his teeth, but he hates all the poking and scraping and flossing that happens at the dentist.
That last thing leads me to thinking about professions, which leads me to ask, “Do you wanna be a bartender forever?”
He thinks about it.
When he says, “I don’t know,” he sounds casual and cautious and curious at the same time.“I don’t know what else I’d be good at, honestly.”
“A lot of things, I’m sure.What could you at leastpictureyourself working with?Numbers or computers or law or medicine or handiwork or the arts or…?”
“Oh, I….”
I can practically hear him trying not to repeat,‘I don’t know.’
This time, I frown about it.
He really doesn’t think he’d be good at anything else?
The longer his silence goes on, the more discomfiting it becomes, and the more I realize the answer to my internal question seems to be yes.
And that strikes me as sad rather than pathetic.
“I like people,” he finally says.“Being a bartender is fun.Mixing drinks is fun.And I get to connect with people in a unique way, get to listen to stories and give advice sometimes—not that I’m really intelligent, obviously, but still.”
