Page 54 of Broken Pieces
I raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you noticed I was there.”
“I always notice when you’re in a room,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Why?” I ask, surprise lacing my tone. My heart quickens, a million thoughts running through my head.
Does she think about me too?
She has this way of pulling me like a magnet when she’s in a room. Like a bright diamond that demands my attention. A sun that shines brightly.
Do I make her feel the same?
“You have a very commanding presence. It’s like when you’re in a room people just gravitate toward you. Must be your million-dollar suit,” she teases with a soft laugh.
A feeling of disappointment floods through me. I don’t know what I’d hoped for, but it wasn’t that. I act offended. “Okay, I may have a twenty-thousand-dollar mattress, but the most I’ve spent on a suit is like twelve grand, so you’re incorrect.”
She giggles, murmuring, “Whatever.”
She keeps looking around, and I follow her aimlessly. Her presence is commanding too. I wonder if she knows the effect she has on people—onme. My whole body gravitates toward her when she’s near. I always know, automatically, when she’s in a room. With her bright smile and golden freckles that can captivate anyone, and her red curly hair that cascades in such rocky waves and takes my breath away, every single damn time. With those fiery hazel eyes that I can get lost in for countless hours, and I wouldn’t even mind, because as long as I’m near her, nothing else matters. Having her by my side makes me feel like everything will be alright. She’s become such an important part of my life. Not sure when it happened, or how. It just did.
It’s scary trusting people, because that has never gotten me anywhere. We are made of all those who have built and broken us, and I’m so fucking broken. I never thought someone could filter their way back in and make mefeelso many emotions all at once. It’s a euphoricfeeling I don’t want to let go of. Somehow, along the way, she’s become more. And I want to keep it that way.
“I shouldn’t have slept on the plane, now I’m wired and hungry,” she whines.
“Well, lucky for you, we’re in the city that never sleeps. What are you in the mood for?” I ask, walking to the kitchen and opening the drawer where I keep the takeout menus.
She follows after me, humming. “I would kill for some dumplings right now. Know of any good spots?”
“I’ve never had dumplings before, actually.”
She takes a step back, her hand flying to her chest in surprise. “Yeah, no. We have to rectify that.”
I take out all the Chinese and Japanese menus I can find and hand them to her. “Here you go.”
She giggles excitedly as she sits down at the island, spreading out the menus in front of her.
My body hums with the need to get closer and touch her unruly beautiful curls, maybe even trace her freckles with my fingertips.
Is this what obsession feels like?
She looks at all the options, and I keep a safe distance between us because if I get any closer, my body will probably get a mind of its own and do things that can scare her off.
She looks up, locking her gaze with mine. “What are you doing over there?” She pats the seat next to her. “Let’schoose together. Maybe some flavors sound interesting to you. Let’s have a feast.”
I ponder for a moment, then I give myself an inner pep talk.
I’m not some horny teenager. I can keep my hands to myself.
Without saying anything, I sit next to her. As she explains what a dumpling is, and how many options or different ways we can eat them, I find myself nodding along, but not really listening, because all I can notice is the way her eyes gleam excitedly when she mentions a type of dumplings she prefers, and the way she scrunches her nose when she mentions the ones she hates. The way she takes a strand of her hair and plays with it as she keeps talking. We agree on ordering from different places, not repeating any flavors, and ordering all the types: steamed, boiled, pan-fried, and deep-fried.
As we wait for the food, we sit on the couch and watchThe Greatest Showman, a musical she suggests. I’m not even paying attention to the movie, because my view is so much better. She sings along to every single song and quotes the script before the actors even talk, as if she has seen this movie hundreds of times.
This, right here, is something I could get used to. Come home every day and watch whatever musical or silly movies she wants to watch. Order takeout. Teach her how to cook every Sunday. Just live a happy, normal life.
I quickly shut those thoughts down, because really, who am I to think I deserve something like this? To have a partner to love and spend the rest of my life with?
What makes me think I deserve her?
The food arrives little by little, and we definitely underestimated how much we ordered. We have a total of twenty bags, from twenty different Chinese restaurants, and some Japanese ones as well. We opt to sit on the floor of the living room and open all the bags, but she does it in a very specific and organized way, so we can know which places we liked and didn’t.
