“I might have noticed.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to your lungs.”
While he showers, I change into my BAHAMAS PAJAMAS!!! and turn on the television. When he comes out of the bathroom he looks (and smells) much better.
“Are you tired?” I ask.
“No. I have emotional meltdown endorphins.”
“Want to watch an overpriced pay-per-view movie?”
“I wouldn’t mind something chill.”
“NotPaul Blart,” I say. “Sorry.”
“Fine. We can compromise.”
I pat the bed beside me. We’re clothed and he keeps a few inches of distance, but it feels nice to be near him. Companionable. It occurs to me that watching a movie is probably the most normal thing either of us has done in eight days.
We settle onInside Out, the Pixar movie about personified emotions. When it makes me tear up—all Pixar movies do—he pats my hand like a granny.
“Your turn for an emotional meltdown?” he asks.
“Don’t make fun of me. This movie’s so sweet.”
“You’re so sweet,” he murmurs.
His eyes are still on the screen, but the words make me seize up.
I don’t know how much to read into his affection.
But my brain drifts back to his confession to me last night: “I was falling for you.”
I wonder how much of that lingers.
Not just in him.
In me.
I consider snuggling up against him. Seeing how it feels to be close. But I think better of it. We’ve made peace. We should end it there.
At some point I must have drifted off, because when I wake up it’s ten a.m., Felix’s bed has been slept in, and he’s gone.
He left me a note.
WENT TO A MEETING—BACK BY NOON.
I BOOKED US A PIG EXCURSION LEAVING AT 1 PM.
THANKS FOR LAST NIGHT.
XX
And it’s dumb, but at the sight of those two xx’s, I wonder if I made the wrong choice last night.
10THE LAND LOVERS
