Page 57 of Book Boyfriends
“She hasn’t.”
“Then why?”
“Because my mom is the only mother Lena has ever known, and Lena is the last remaining tie to my mom’s sister. My aunt died when Lena was a toddler, and my mom stepped in to help my uncle raise her.”
Mouth dragging into a frown, the storminess in his eyes dulls, and his shoulders slump. His demeanor mirrors the resignation that sighs within me over this situation.
It may hurt. It may not make sense to anyone else. But there are times we just have to do things for the sake of others, even if they don’t ask us to do it.
“It will be fine.”
“For everyone else, but what about you?” His gaze links with mine, causing an unsteadythump-thumpin my chest.
“It will be fine,” I repeat, ignoring the twinge in my heart.
“They sell pints here.”
“What?” A nervous laugh falls out of me with his abrupt topic change.
He tips his head toward the glass door freezers along the parlor’s wall. “I’ll get an assortment of pints, and we can do aTNGmarathon after the wedding.”
“You don’t have to.” I pull my hand from his and pick up my spoon.
“I want to.”
I clear my throat. “Sorry for just emotionally dumping on you.”
He picks up his spoon. “I did it last time, so it was your turn.”
“Perhaps, we should switch to something more fun.” I tap my fingernails against the tabletop. “FavoriteTNGepisode?”
“Easy—” A lopsided grin slants his mouth. “Rascals.”
“The one where Picard, Guinan, and others are transformed back into children after the transporter malfunctions?”
He nods.
“That’s my favorite, too!” I bounce in my seat.
“Favorite movie?” He grins.
We continue like that throughout the remainder of our ice cream and our walk home. Taking turns asking questions, trading answers. Some silly, like what our favorite board games are; mine,Scrabble,and his,Monopoly. Others more serious, like who our favorite person is; mine, Hope, and his, Doc.
We get so lost in our little game that I walk past my house. Four blocks. Embarrassment flushes my cheeks when the realization hits me, but he says nothing. He just falls into step once I turn us back toward my place.
“Favorite ice cream?” I ask, walking up the sidewalk to the house’s back gate, the crickets’ melody humming in the night air.
“Cookies and cream,” he says.
Face scrunched, I twist to face him. “Why’d you get chocolate?”
“I like chocolate.”
“But it’s not your favorite.” I arch a brow.
“Cookies and cream isn’t in the GF section.”
I fiddle with my dress. “You don’t have to only eat GF around me. It’s not necessary. I can be around it. I just can’t have it.”
