Page 79 of That Fake Feeling
Iput down the box of pasta, turn to face her, and rest my hand about an inch away from hers.IfIstretched out my thumb,Icould stroke it.
“Tellme why everyone we saw today was so shocked to hear you have a boyfriend?Andnot just shocked—astonished.Flabbergasted.Likethey simply couldn’t comprehend you finally have a man in your life.”
“Idon’thave a man in my life,” she says with a hand covering her full mouth.Apparently, this was an important enough correction to defy table manners.
“Youknow whatImean.Thekids were all like ‘Wecan’t believeMissBellamore’sgot a boyfriend’ and ‘Weworried she was lonely’ and ‘It’sgood you love her because we didn’t think anyone ever would,’”Isingsong in my best kiddie voice.
Shesnorts with laughter and coughs through the rice.
It’sa good excuse to make the physical contactI’vebeen craving.Ipat and rub her back while she recovers. “Youokay?”
Thelines of her bra under my hand make my mind flash to what it would be like to undo it and slip my hand inside.
Rosefinally swallows, her face flushed from the spluttering, eyes watering.
“Thekids really said that?”Shetakes a drink of beer to clear her throat. “Christ, it was bad enough hearing it from all the staff, but the kids too?Andthey don’t thinkI’mlovable?”
“Thatlittle girl worded it badly.Shejust meant she wasn’t sure you’d find the right person.”
“MaybeIwon’t.”
“Oh, don’t be silly.You’resmart and caring.”ShouldIsay it?Ah, fuck it, what’s to lose now? “Andyou’re hot.”
Hereyes widen and lock onto mine.Shetakes another swig of her drink without breaking eye contact.
Welook at each other in silence while she removes the bottle from between her lips and swallows. “Ibeg your pardon?”
“Ofcourse you’re hot.Youmust know that.Andwe kissed, for fuck’s sake.Soyou knowIthink you are.”
Idevelop an urgent urge for salad to refocus my attention and stop me from trying for a repeat performance.
“Butyou thought that was a mistake,” she says, playing with her ring.
“Itwasyouwho thought it was a mistake,”Isay, stabbing simultaneously at some mozzarella and a piece of tomato.
Isense her eyes on me asIraise the fork to my mouth.
“Butyousaidit was a mistake,” she says.
“OnlybecauseIknew you thought it was.”NowI’veaccidentally told her it wasn’t a mistake—to me anyway.That’sdefinitely not somethingIintended to admit this evening.Orever.
“Itprobably was,” she says softly as she reaches toward the table.
Only“probably.”That’ssomething,Iguess.
“Yeah, probably.”Thisis an entirely pointless conversation.Allshe wants is to get back to school and as far away from me as possible, soImight as well change the subject. “Anyway, what’s the deal?Doyoureallynot date?”
Shepulls the box of fusilli toward her and sinks her fork in. “Nope.Toldyou.Notdoing it whileI’mstudying.”
“Andyou don’t see your aunt in person?Justvideo call?”
“Don’thave the time or the cash for anything else.”Shetakes a mouthful of the pasta, then makes a dreamy face and points at her mouth to indicate its deliciousness.
“Yeah, but it’s not the same, is it?Myrelationship withTomis different than it is with the others because we hardly ever see him in person.”
“Ijust have to do the bestIcan.”
“Okaythen.”Ifold my arms. “Myturn.TimeforDoctorDashwood’sdiagnosis.”Itap my finger against my lips and narrow my eyes as ifI’massessing her condition. “WhatI’mseeing here is someone who’s dedicated themselves to a hugely noble cause and uses that and all her work and study as an excuse to isolate themselves from human relationships.”
