Page 50 of Waiting for Acceptance
“What do you mean?”
“Like you tell me your coffee order then I tell you mine—well, apparently you already know mine—but for the other stuff, and we just go down the list like that until we’re very well acquainted. We could put it in a shared note on my phone so we can look back if we forget.” I pull my phone out of my bag and open my notes app as he studies me—his expression is one that I can’t quite read.
“Brown sugar oat milk shaken espresso. You won’t drink it if they forget the vanilla sweet cream cold foam, though they almost never forget. Your birthday is September 5th. You graduated from UT with a marketing degree and got your realtor license while in college, interning at Coleson until they could hire you on full time. You eat clean most of the time, chicken wraps, salads, or other rabbit-like food, at least for lunch, but then there are times when you’ll only eat tacos or a cheeseburger from the diner down the road. How am I doing so far?”
“What the fuck?” I am certain that was not supposed to actually come out of my mouth. “Why do you know all of those things?Howdo you know all of those things?”
“I pay attention.”
“To me?” I hate that I sound so surprised by the fact that someone has bothered paying attention to me. What I like. My routines.
“Yes, Trouble. To you.”
“Why?”
He ignores my question and continues talking. “My favorite food is pizza. Specifically, this place called Milano’s—” He goes on telling me about the way no one makes pizza like them, and how he would kill for a slice of meat lovers with extra cheese. My stomach is growling now but I’m still having trouble coming out of the haze of having someone tell me, so directly, that they pay attention to me. “I’m taking you there as soon as we land,” he concludes.
Holy shit this man is passionate about pizza.
I absentmindedly nod and he lets out a dramatic sigh before grabbing my phone from my hands.
“Something tells me you’re not going to remember anything I’m saying right now.” He begins typing the details of his love of pizza and I roll my eyes.
“Meat lovers smothered in cheese and something about Bruschetta, I think.”
“I’m impressed. I only barely slipped that detail in.” He smirks and continues. “My birthday is June 25th?—”
“What! That’s like…soon!”
“It’s not a big deal. I don’t really celebrate my birthday, I just know it’s one of those facts couples seem to know about each other, so…” he trails off with a shrug.
“How come?”
“What?”
“How come you don’t celebrate your birthday?” I wrap my arms around my legs, hugging them closely to my chest.
“I used to. Just haven’t for a while.” I can tell he doesn’t really want to talk about it and for the sake of staying positive during this flight, I leave it alone.
Though I’m very curious why he doesn’tanymore. Did something bad happen? Did he just grow out of the celebration?Does he not have friends to celebrate with? That doesn’t seem too far-fetched since he literally lives at work. I mean, I do too but my friends were sealed to me in sixth grade so that’s a little different.
I grab my phone back from him and add his birthday to my calendar with a little heart next to it—very fake-girlfriend-esque of me. “Okay, I think I can take it from here. What else? Where did you go to school?”
He cracks a smile. “Um, Berkeley.”
“Shut up. No, you didn’t.” I drop my phone in my lap, thumbs hovering over the screen to add it to my notes—though I’m sure I’llneverforget that.
“You’re surprised?” he questions.
“Not surprised just… Ithadto be Berkeley?” I laugh and his eyes soften.
“Silver lining. I’m not an accountant,” he offers as reprieve, and my lips purse.
“But you could be, couldn't you?”
“What makes you say that?” I shrug and readjust my position again. God this is going to be a long flight if I’m already fidgeting.
“You just give off like…really smart guy vibes. Like, multi-major smart.”
