Page 68 of Falling Madly
“Yeah.”
Teresa turned back to her paintbrush, circling the cardboard car to help me finish the other side. “They didn’t have to hate each other for eighteen months. They just fell in love.”
“I never hated you, and you know that.”
She sighed. “Fine. But you have to admit, it’s not been that easy for us. And it should be easier, right? If it’s meant to be.”
“Why’s that, then? Is there a rule for it? Some kind o’ hardship quota?”
She looked at me over her shoulder, her nose rosy, dark curls wet from the snowflakes blowing in. “Sounds legit.”
“And how was yer relationship with Richard the Dick? Easy or hard?”
“What do you mean?”
“How did you get together? Just fell in love, did you?”
I braced myself as she shook her head, an incredulous look in her eyes. “My friend played matchmaker and set me up with her colleague. I should have known since her work stories are dreadfully boring.” Her mouth twisted. “And we didn’t fall in love. We dated… We enjoyed ourselves. Or so I thought.”
The way she emphasized “fall in love” felt like air quotes.
“Do ye think it’s ridiculous to fall in love?” I asked.
Teresa looked surprised. “Oh… I didn’t mean that. But I’ve never been in love, I don’t think.
“Never?”
She looked a little embarrassed, shaking her head. “I know that’s weird. And I’ve had crushes… Maybe it’s the same thing. How do you even know?”
“How do you feel when you’re crushing on someone?”
She blushed, looking at the ceiling. “You know how it feels! You think about them way too much and wonder what it would be like… Wonder if they like you. You dream about all kinds of stuff.”
Teresa finished the last spot of painting, dropped the brush into the tray and picked it up. “I wasn’t in love with Richard.”
“Okay,” I said, standing up with her.
We left one of the windows ajar and closed the door, leaving our strange, purple cardboard sled to dry.
It was late and pitch-black outside. Charlie and Bess must have moved to the bedroom.
“Oh, my God!” Teresa hissed as she spotted the sock on the doorknob.
“Thatischeeky,” I admitted. “Even from Charlie.”
“Do you think they’re really…” She looked at me, eyes wide.
“Apparently, pregnancy really increases the blood flow down?—”
“How on earth do you know this stuff?” she hissed back.
I shrugged. “People tell me stuff and I listen.”
I’d been called a human sponge for all I heard and absorbed, and I’d never felt like I had to limit my interests to my own gender or age group. I often had to write copy from a female perspective or communicate to women, elderly people, or teenagers. Each target group was fascinating.
I grabbed a chair and propped it under the bedroom door. “There. Now we both have privacy.
She smiled, stepping so close her coat was brushing mine. It was warm here, with the fire still on, red-hot embers glowing behind the glass doors. Charlie must have kept it going.
