Page 42 of Perfectly Complicated
Janie
“So,” I say, breaking the silence that’s become almost unbearable. “What should we do now?”
I shift to face him cross-legged, acutely aware of how his sweatshirt rides up on my thighs when I move. From the way his gaze flicks down, then quickly back to my face, he noticed too. I pull his blanket over my legs a little more.
“Want to play a game or something?” I ask.
“What kind of game?”
“Two truths and a lie? You tell me three things, I have to guess which one is the lie.”
“Okay,” he says, leaning back on his elbows. “You first.”
I think for a moment, chewing on my lip while I try to come up with some ideas. “All right. I can speak some Spanish, I’ve never broken a bone, and I wanted to be a teacher from the time I was five.”
He studies my face a little too intently, like he’s reading my thoughts. “The teacher one is the lie. You decided later.”
I sit up straighter. “How did you know that?”
“You have your tells,” he says, a smile playing on his lips.
“What tells?” I want to know how he could read me so easily so I won’t do it again.
“That’s for me to know.” He gives me a pleased smirk.
“Fine, it’s your turn.”
He looks at the ceiling, thinking. “I can juggle, I’ve never been to Europe, and I hate chocolate.”
“The chocolate one is definitely the lie,” I say immediately. “I saw how fast you consumed that hot chocolate…even though you were appalled by the price.”
He stares at me. “You were watching me?”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I notice things…kind of like you know my tells.”
The corner of his mouth curls. “Apparently.”
There’s something in his smile that makes my heart feel jumpy. “What can you juggle?”
“Anything, really.” He pulls up the corner of my blanket to cover his feet. “Hockey pucks, tennis balls, fruit. Started when I was bored during the off-season.”
“You should show the kids in my class. They’d be so impressed.”
“But not the teacher?” he questions, lifting an eyebrow.
This feels like a trick question. One I can’t answer without giving too much away. “It takes a lot more to impress the teacher,” I say, flashing him a grin.
We play several more rounds, and I learn that he’s never had a pet, can play piano badly, and has been in love with the same car since he was sixteen. He learns that I’m afraid of spiders, once wanted to be a zookeeper (what kid doesn’t?), and got food poisoning so severe I was hospitalized.
As we play, we keep huddling closer under the blanket as the fire burns down. I tell myself it’s for warmth, but there’s an unmistakable pull that makes me want to lean against him and fall asleep.
“Your turn,” he says when we’ve been at this for almost an hour. The fire has died down to a warm glow, and somehow we’re close enough that I can see thedying flames reflected in his eyes.
“Last one. Because you’re about to fall asleep.” He brushes a finger lightly over the tip of my nose.
“I’m not ready to stop,” I protest. “This is fun, and I never get to have a night just for myself. I’m always on call as a mom.” My eyelids are growing heavy, and I’m dangerously comfortable sitting here with him in the flickering light, wearing his sweatshirt, which smells clean and woodsy.
“All right,” I say, trying to think of something safe. But what comes out isn’t safe at all. “My ex cheated on me, it was with my best friend, and I’m completely over it.”
