Page 117 of Like You Want It
“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.” And then he turns and continues his work at the island, chopping up tomatoes and garlic.
They aren’t the words I expect from him. And yet they are.
And how I feel about them gets lost.
«««« »»»»
Dinner is uncomfortable and silent. Two of my least favorite things. So I try to lighten the mood with stories about Susie and Nell and Fin. Just random things, nothing important.
When I finally leave for the evening, I see Caleb tucking his suitcases back into his car. He looks at me for a long moment before he leaves. A moment when I wonder what his future is going to look like.
What will happen between him and Christine? Will he tell her that he planned to leave? Can they fix things between them? Or is their relationship already too far gone?
I wave goodbye to my dad, who watches stoically from the porch.
He’d watched me uncomfortably through dinner. Stayed uncharacteristically silent when I handed up opportunities for him to critique me.
I honestly don’t know how to feel right now.
So when I drive home, I take the long route, avoiding the freeway and taking backstreets.
My mind is exhausted. Which is why I’m thankful when I hear heavy steps coming down the stairs later that evening. A knock at the door.
Open it to Fin.
Invite him inside with a kiss.
Enjoy the delicious distraction his body provides.
I drag him into my apartment by the shirt, close the door, and lead him to my bedroom with a trail of removed clothing.
And when we’re finished, both sweaty and sated and panting on my bed, he says exactly what I need him to say.
“So, what are we watching tonight?”
We watchUnbreakable Kimmy Schmidton the couch, both of us naked and wrapped in a blanket.
Halfway through the episode, I turn around so that I’m facing Fin. I let my hands stroke along his skin and he gives me a soft smile at my caress.
“Tell me about your tattoos,” I say, leaning forward to kiss the one on his chest.
Fin clears his throat, adjusts slightly, and I wonder if he’s going to shut me down. If this will be the moment when he draws a line in the sand.
But then, to my surprise, he starts talking.
He tells me about the first one he got, on his forearm. The Budweiser that he got with his friends. He talks about the one on his chest, that covers his left pectoral muscle. A combination of machine and muscle and smoke. “What I was expected to be, what I was and what I could be,” he said, twisting something in my stomach.
“Do you miss it?” I ask, my voice a whisper.
He nods, his eyes sad, then pulls me in so I’m pressed against his chest, breathing in his scent.
Sometimes, he seems so unbreakable. So strong in a world of weak men. And then there are moments like these, when I’m almost certain his heart is breaking in his chest.
Cabbie jumps up on top of me, pushing her head into Fin’s hand.
“She wants you to pet her,” I say, giving him a smile. “I’m surprised she’s even letting you see her. She hates new people.”
“Well,” he says, that smirk creeping back on his face, the earlier moment pushed to the side. “Iampretty amazing.”
