Page 18 of Road Trip to Forever
“Because it’s too ambiguous. There are so many better words out there begging to be used.”
I narrow my eyes and flick his ear. He’s deflecting, trying to segue us to a different topic but I refuse to budge. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Hanging out with our friends is more fun when you’re there,” he says. “I feel out of place when I’m alone, like I’m the seventh wheel.”
“What about Noah?”
“I like you more.”
“You know I’m definitely going to use that to get my way one of these days, right?”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
“What about Jessica? Was she busy? Also out on a date?” I joke.
Patrick’s been dating her for half a year. She’s the sister of a teacher at his school, and they met during drop-off one morning. She chased down her niece with forgotten multiplication homework and ran smack dab into Patrick’s chest. Pencils went flying. A backpack ended up in the bushes. He caught her before she fell onto the hood of a car. She offered to buy him coffee, and the rest, as they say, is history.
I’ve met her a few times. She’s nice. Quiet, smart. A woman who usesacrimoniousin casual discussions and goes to yoga on the weekends. She sits on the board of three different charity organizations and when given the choice of what she’d like to read, she’ll pick nonfiction every time.
Perfect for the man who has a stack of books that have won the Nobel Prize in Literature on his bedside table.
“Maybe she was,” Patrick says. “I don’t know. We broke up.”
“What?” I almost tumble off the couch. “When? Why?”
“A couple months ago. I’m not bent out of shape about it.”
“Months?”
“Five, to be exact. We only dated a few weeks.”
“What the hell, Patrick? Why haven’t you mentioned you’re going through a breakup that happened eons ago?”
“You were busy sewing and stuffing your face with gelato. I didn’t want to burden you with something insignificant.”
“It’s not insignificant and it’s not a burden. You’re my best friend. I want to hear about these things. We don’t just share the pretty things with each other.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him, hoping to get my point across. “I want to see the ugly parts of your life, too. God knows I’ve shown you mine.”
“I guess I was embarrassed. Dating someone for a handful of weeks then breaking up isn’t an impressive feat.”
“People break up every day. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Your person is out there,” I say. “And until then, stop keeping secrets from me.”
“Fine.” He holds his hands up in defeat. “No more secrets. You give me your ugly. I’ll give you my ugly.”
I’m about to ask if he wants to eat his worries away, indulge in another slice of pizza or visit the ice cream shack a half mile up the road, splitting a large sundae to clear his mind, but he moves first. I blink, and he’s closer than he was two minutes ago.
We’re mere inches apart. Patrick sits upright and his nose almost brushes against mine.
My heart races in my chest.
This close, I can feel the warmth from his muscles. I can count the freckles on his cheeks, spots left behind from a weekend too many outside and a forgotten layer of sunscreen. I see the sun setting behind him. Color bounces off the wall and casts his face in shades of yellows and pinks, a glittering prism. Light spills over his features, the five o’clock shadow on his jaw and the laugh wrinkles around his eyes. I can hear his soft inhales, small puffs of air in a rhythmic pattern.
Patrick isbeautiful.
Handsome, yes, but also lung-seizingly beautiful in a way I’ve never found another person before. In a way I’ve never foundhimbefore, and now I want to stare at him for hours. I want to draw him with my charcoal pencils so I can commemorate this discovery with a sketch to show off his beauty.
