Page 77 of Plight
“Ease up, boa constrictor.”
“Get. It. Off.”
“No. It’s tasting your hair.”
He shook his head like a dog post bath time, let me go and hurried off, ducking as if he was in the process of being swooped by birds.
“Where are you going?”
“Outside.”
“Lots! I trust you,” I called out. “I trust you enough to love you and know that when you say we will always be friends, we will.”
Elliot paused then slowly looked back over his shoulder at me, the exit door handle in his hand. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I love you, Elliot Parker. I love you enough to love you like I should … like I do.”
He let go of the handle and walked back to stand in front of me, a butterfly landing on his shoulder before his lips could touch mine once again. His eyelids lowered, and he sucked in a breath before opening them again. I waited, which was when he gently coaxed the butterfly onto his finger and delicately placed it on my head. “I love you, too, crazy girl. Always have. Always will. Butterflies and all.”
After our zoo date, weheaded back to my house for dinner. I wasn’t much of a cook — having been spoilt by Chris’ culinary expertise more often than not— so our choices were frozen Ramen noodle bowls from Costco or … frozen Ramen noodle bowls from Costco, which I was quite the fan of.
“Dinner is served,” I said proudly, placing the black microwavable bowl on the table in front of him.
His mouth curved into a smile, but it was one of those smiles that held knowledge you weren’t privy to.
“What? What are you smiling about?”
“Nothing. Smells good.”
“It does. And it tastes good, too.” I sat down opposite him and dipped my spoon into the soup. “You should know that by loving me, you must also love and accept the fact that this is as far as my cooking skills go.”
“I can live with that,” he said nonchalantly, his smile still hiding information I wanted to know.
I put down my spoon. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are. You smile funny when you’re not telling me something.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m lying.”
“Yes, it does. It does when you won’t tell me what it is.”
I stared him down but he wouldn’t budge, and it only made me more frustrated, more determined.
“Fine,” I said, smiling to myself, trying to mimic his stupid I-know-something-you-don’t-know grin. “I won’t tell you what I’m thinking then.”
He slurped his soup. Loudly. “But you want to tell me, right?”
“Meh. Don’t really care.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“You do more.”
