Page 35 of His Curvy Obsession

“We’re getting off track,” he says, looking down at the dictionary between us. “Unselfish loyal and benevolent concern for the good of others.”

I put my hand over the page he’s reading, forcing him to look up at me.

“Eric,” I say. “What’s this for? Because I don’t need to be told the definition of love. I know what love is.”

“But I don’t,” he says. “Or, I didn’t. I didn’t think I loved you Rebecca but look. It’s right here, right in front of our faces. I love you.”

I shake my head.

“You’re supposed to just feel love,” I say. “Not read from a dictionary and diagnose yourself with it. You’re reading all of these symptoms like it’s some kind of virus that you’ve caught.”

“It kind of is,” he says.

“How romantic,” I reply, still laughing. “Just what every girl dreams of one day. A man coming to her and informing her that his feelings for her are like catching the flu.”

“I’ve got bad news for you,” he says seriously. “If you want to be with me, the word romantic isn’t one you’re going to be using to describe me very much.”

“I’m aware.”

“But,” he continues, pointing at the dictionary again. “This is love. It counts, and it’s real. Just because I’m not like Romeo or…or that douchebag fromThe Notebook-”

“Noah,” I reply, recalling a detail from the movie I’ve seen maybe a hundred times at least. “The guy in that movie was named Noah.”

“Right. Well,fuckNoah,” he says. “First, her dad says they’re not allowed to be together, and he just accepts that and lets her go. Then she moves away and all he does is write her a bunch of stupid letters instead of growing a pair of balls and -”

“That’s so unfair,” I argue. “He was drafted into the war, letters were all that he could…wait. Are you saying you’ve actuallyseenThe Notebook?”

I gape at him.

“We’re off topic again,” he replies stiffly.

“No, this is important,” I insist. “When the hell did you see The Notebook? We’re not moving on until you explain.”

“Elijah’s wife made us all watch it,” he replies. “Happy?”

“Wow.”

“Stupid sappy movie,” he says dismissively. “Two hours of my life that I’ll never get back. Can we move on now?”

“Fine.”

“This says that I love you,” he says, pointing at the dictionary and looking at me.

“Okay,” I reply. “That’s…very interesting. I’m glad you did some research on love.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“What else is there to say?”

“I tell you that I love you and you tell me that you’re glad I did research and that it’s very interesting,” he says frustratedly.

“You said thatthe dictionarysays that you love me,” I reply. “You didn’t say ‘I love you’.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“It’s really not,” I reply.

He searches his breast pocket for something, pulling out a velvet ring box and setting it on top of the dictionary between us. I stare at it.

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