Page 51 of Hate You, Maybe
“My mom used to read the book to us kids all the time,” he says. “The words are actually in my mom’s handwriting.”
And now I think I might explode from the sweetness. “You’re kidding.”
“I am not.”
Something stings behind my eyes, but I blink to avoid any tears. Dex examines my face, like he’s looking for signs that this conversation might be too uncomfortable for me.
“You recognized the line,” he says. “Did your mom read this to you, too?”
“That wasn’t her strong suit,” I say. “Still isn’t.”
“Then how do you know about the rabbit?”
“Loren has the book. It was her mom’s favorite, too.”
“Was?”
I swallow down the lump gathering in my throat. “Loren’s mother passed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I only read the book myself a few times,” I say. “But the lines stuck with me because … Well.”
He hazards a small, tentative smile. “Because you’re a theater teacher who can’t help memorizing dialogue?”
“No.” Emotion swells in me, and I struggle to put the feeling into words. “Because I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have somebody love you so much they’d cross the sky to prove it.”
The creases around Dex’s eyes soften, but he says nothing. He doesn’t minimize what I just shared either, or tell me my mom’s probably not good at expressing her emotions. He just lets me sit with the feelings. Which is, honestly, the only thing I need.
“I don’t know why I told you all this,” I say at last, trying to shrug off the moment. “I don’t talk about my mom with anyone.”
“Except Loren?”
“She knows a little, yes. But I try not to go on about how hard things were for me when I was a kid. Not when my mother’s still around. And Loren’s still got plenty of hard stuff she’s dealing with now. Her dad’s got early-onset dementia, and the medical bills plus the cost of his care are ridiculous. So I’m not about to jump in and try to one-up her with my mommy issues, you know?”
“That’s kind of you.”
“Spoiler alert: Iamkind, Dex.”
“So you walk about Stony Peak pretending to be tough,” he says, “But underneath you’re just a big softie, huh, Kroft?”
I smirk. “Think what you want about me, Prince Charming. Just as long as you know I won’t ease up on winning the FRIG.” I allow a healthy dose of sarcasm to accompany mysmirk. We were getting entirely too vulnerable and serious there. And Dex must read the room because he shifts tones, too.
“Me either,” he says, with a sloped smile. “Ever.”
“And only one of us can win.”
“Obviously.” He bobs his head.
“So we should probably say goodnight before we do something crazy, like call a truce.”
“Or become friends?”
I feign a gasp. “Heaven forbid.”
“Right.” He crosses his arms. “So. Collaborate tomorrow, then?”
“Solid plan, non-trucey roommate.” And with that, I collect my pajamas from my suitcase and scurry to the bathroom to change.
