Page 40 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind
“Mmm,” Soren says, a thoughtful expression on his face. He leans back, settling further into my little sofa. I can objectively admit that he is the most attractive person who ever sits there. “How so?”
“It’s just—life is such a big thing,” I say. I stare at my hands. “Livingis such an all-consuming thing. And yet people die so quickly, so easily. One second you’re here, and the next second you’re gone. It really can happen that fast. Things can change that fast.” I swallow, looking more intently at my hands, idly examining my fingernails. “My mom is selling the house we grew up in, me and her and Eric. She sent me pictures of the empty rooms, and whenever I think about it, I keep wondering how someplace that was so full can suddenly seem so empty.”
I don’t know where all this is coming from, and I feel stupid for saying it. At the same time, though…I’ve let loose the thoughts that have been swirling around, and somehow it feels easier to breathe now that I have. Isn’t it strange, how speaking your thoughts can feel like removing a thorn from tender skin? You feel better when you get it out.
I risk a glance at Soren again, and my heart stutters; his eyes, vivid and blue, are darting over my face, and he’s wearing an expression I can’t quite place. My little sofa doesn’t allow for much space between us; his side is pressed up against mine, radiating the kind of warmth you want to curl up in.
Silence falls, laced suddenly with awareness. It’s not a scary silence or a damning silence; it’s a tentative, blooming thing, like the flowers that are starting to peek through the rich soil outside—alive, full of possibility.
What is Soren going to do with the piece of my mind I’ve given him? Laugh? Scoff? Shrug it off? Embrace it? And why is he the one I say these things to, anyway? Why him? Why not any of my other friends, or Eric?
But the answer to that comes, unbidden, in a flash of realization: because Soren is the person who has never once looked at me with judgment.
We argue and bicker, but there’s a level of play to it that stops things from ever becoming truly contentious. Even with all of our quarreling, he never judges me.
“It is kind of weird, now that you mention it,” he says with a nod, and the anxious fist that was clenched around my insides loosens a bit. Then, hesitantly, he reaches up and brushes my hair away from my face, his eyes lingering on my bandaged forehead. The skim of his fingers over my skin sends a strange thrill through me, a current of electricity that’s both foreign and familiar. “How does it feel?”
“So good,” I breathe without thinking.
His hand freezes on my forehead; his eyes flare wider, and a muscle twitches in his jaw. The hand that’s on the armrest clenches tighter until his knuckles are white.
Hot. It’s hot in here. It’s really, really warm in here, especially where our sides are pressed together.
“It’s fine,” I say, trying to keep my voice strong and firm. I clear my throat. “That’s what I meant. It’s good. It doesn’t hurt too much.”
He hesitates for a beat and then nods, looking away from me. His hand drops from my face, rubbing over his newly trimmed scruff instead. Then he crosses his legs and rests one ankle on his knee, a manly stance that’s…weirdly attractive?
I shake my head, tearing my gaze away. What is wrong with me today? Why am I like this? It’s Soren. Yes, he’s handsome, and yes, he has the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen, and yes, he smells good—a sharp, peppery scent—but still.
That’s no reason for me to lose my mind.
“Yeah,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear despite the fact that he just did it for me. “Anyway.” I hunt desperately for words, seizing gratefully upon a question when it pops into my mind. “Uh, how do you know Carmina’s address?”
“I saw her ID when I was picking up the stuff that fell out of her purse,” he says with a shrug.
Good. This is good. A shrug is very natural, very easy, very casual—all good things.
“And you’re positive you remember what it said?”
“Yeah, I remember,” he says. “It was over in Maplewood.”
Maplewood—one of the two sprawling neighborhoods where I did my ill-advised dog-walking stint.
“A townhome or a house?”
“I don’t know,” he says with another shrug.
“All right,” I say. “We can try that.”
Despite all the shrugging and the return to normalcy, it still feels warm in here to me, and I’m still unnaturally aware of Soren’s body pressed close to mine. I stand up, which takes a bit since I’m wedged in there pretty good, and then try to walk as casually as possible to the refrigerator. I open the freezer and rummage around for a minute, doing absolutely nothing productive, welcoming the icy breath on my skin.
I do not press my single-serving frozen dinner to my cheeks like I want to, because I would have no explanation for that. I just waft the air toward me a few more times before closing the freezer and turning back around. Then I say, “So how about…”
But I trail off when I register what it is I’m seeing, my mouth still hanging open unflatteringly.
It’s Soren, standing next to the couch, and he’s holding something in his hands.
Something…pink.
