She's thinking, "Don't do this: don't ruin the moment; over complicate things; put him on edge; cast a pall on the here and now. Don't. Don't. Do. It." But it's there. It's niggling in the back of her mind. In recent days it has been pushed, shoved, unwillingly to the forefront - demanding to be acknowledged. Standing still is one thing. Waiting patiently is fine. Stagnating is not healthy. She runs her fingers down the ribbed concave body of her coffee cup and makes eye contact with him, nodding at what he's saying while inwardly trying to suppress this veritable bout of Tourette's that is getting ready to spring forth from her.
"What do you want from me?" she asks.
She's amazed that he doesn't miss a beat. Was he thinking the same thing? Was he so in tune with her that he noticed a vague glaze in her grey eyes as she tuned him out and started to explore this other tangent? He says, "I want you to always be there for me."
She nods, hard. Her hair is falling into her eyes. She knows this is what he wants and this is always what she will give. "But what does that mean?"
That's the question. That's the one. Is she a friend, a lover, a confidant? Has she lost all appeal in his eyes? Does he harbour any impure thoughts towards her? Has he been dreading this question? Does she really want him to answer?
"Is it unbearable?" he asks.
"Unbearable?" she parrots, smoothing the place mat, gazing outside, caressing the granite counter top.
"When I'm not here: is it unbearable?" he quantifies.
"Unbearable: no. I like being with you, but I like being alone," she pauses. "Is it unbearable for you?"
He shakes his head and she wonders, is that what love is? Is it supposed to be unbearable? Has she misjudged this?
Later, they're wandering through the mall and he's teasing her about something. Sometimes he smacks her on the ass and she alternates between being mildly flattered at this form of intimacy, and realizing the inappropriateness of it, given their supposed platonic relationship.
"What's brickabrack?" he demands.
"I don't know. Isn't it like knick-knacks? It sounds like something that I would hate," she laments.
"Because they have a 'brickabrack' section in the dollar store near me," he continues.
She stops. He's standing very close to her, having this inane conversation but she knows that he's having fun. She kisses him. He accepts it. They continue to walk down the aisle and he holds up a brightly colored feather duster and says, "Maybe for later?" and gives her a conspiratorial wink.
Later still, they part ways. As she watches him walk away she feels panicked, she wants to call back to him, to take him up on whatever arbitrary excuse he had thrown out at her in an attempt to get her to come up to his place. Instead she watches him walk away from her. It feels like a loss, it feels unecessarily lonely, it feels somewhat unbearable.
"What do you want from me?" she asks.
She's amazed that he doesn't miss a beat. Was he thinking the same thing? Was he so in tune with her that he noticed a vague glaze in her grey eyes as she tuned him out and started to explore this other tangent? He says, "I want you to always be there for me."
She nods, hard. Her hair is falling into her eyes. She knows this is what he wants and this is always what she will give. "But what does that mean?"
That's the question. That's the one. Is she a friend, a lover, a confidant? Has she lost all appeal in his eyes? Does he harbour any impure thoughts towards her? Has he been dreading this question? Does she really want him to answer?
"Is it unbearable?" he asks.
"Unbearable?" she parrots, smoothing the place mat, gazing outside, caressing the granite counter top.
"When I'm not here: is it unbearable?" he quantifies.
"Unbearable: no. I like being with you, but I like being alone," she pauses. "Is it unbearable for you?"
He shakes his head and she wonders, is that what love is? Is it supposed to be unbearable? Has she misjudged this?
Later, they're wandering through the mall and he's teasing her about something. Sometimes he smacks her on the ass and she alternates between being mildly flattered at this form of intimacy, and realizing the inappropriateness of it, given their supposed platonic relationship.
"What's brickabrack?" he demands.
"I don't know. Isn't it like knick-knacks? It sounds like something that I would hate," she laments.
"Because they have a 'brickabrack' section in the dollar store near me," he continues.
She stops. He's standing very close to her, having this inane conversation but she knows that he's having fun. She kisses him. He accepts it. They continue to walk down the aisle and he holds up a brightly colored feather duster and says, "Maybe for later?" and gives her a conspiratorial wink.
Later still, they part ways. As she watches him walk away she feels panicked, she wants to call back to him, to take him up on whatever arbitrary excuse he had thrown out at her in an attempt to get her to come up to his place. Instead she watches him walk away from her. It feels like a loss, it feels unecessarily lonely, it feels somewhat unbearable.
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