Chapter 14 Grace
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Grace
“You know, I’ve never built a LEGO set?”
Andrew’s head jerks up from his freshly put-together rose stem. “Never?”
I shake my head just as I snap a petal in place, smiling proudly at my work. “Nope,” I answer, holding the rose by the stem and twirling it between my index finger and thumb. That proud smile widens into a grin.
“And it looks like you’re a natural.”
We’ve been building the LEGO set for the last hour.
We have a few more roses to go, and I think I’m slowing us down a bit because I’m still getting the hang of the Ikea-style of instructions, but I don’t even mind.
I ordered a pizza when my stomach started rumbling.
I popped another bag of popcorn in the microwave, which Buster whined in front of the second I set it on the coffee table.
Andrew flips the page of the instructional booklet, a look of confusion mixed with determination on his face, and I suddenly realize I’ve spent the entire day at home.
I woke up, changed my pajama bottoms into a pair of black leggings—my sad attempt at telling myself it means I’ve been a productive member of society—took Buster out for a walk, and plopped myself on the couch as I started a New Girl marathon.
It’s my usual weekend itinerary so it shouldn’t surprise me.
Sometimes I choose something more enrapturing like Law and Order: Special Victims Unit or the Twilight movies.
And if I’m feeling especially adventurous, I’ll do some grocery shopping or take Buster to the park or the beach instead of just outside my building.
But right now, with Andrew by my side as we sip on our sodas and munch on the ends of our pizza crusts, it feels like a small ray of sunshine peeking through a narrow slit in the clouds.
It feels nice to have company. A friend to spend the day with without feeling like our time is flowing through the narrow neck of an hourglass, the sand dissolving right in front of us as if to constantly tell us the day will eventually end.
None of that seems to matter with Andrew. Time seems infinite.
We finally finish the last rose, and they’re laid out in front of us. We both smile, appreciating our handiwork along with the few straggler pieces—“extras” as Andrew claims—and I turn to him.
“I had no idea LEGOs were this fun.”
He nods in agreement. “You’re talking to a LEGO master here. I made a Millennium Falcon when I was eight.”
“A what?”
“Han Solo’s starship?” he asks in surprise.
“Who?”
“You don’t know who Han Solo is? Harrison Ford?”
“I know who Harrison Ford is,” I admit. “Is that like, a nickname of his?” I can see him growing a little flustered, and I don’t know whether to laugh or beg for forgiveness.
“N–no,” he stutters. “It’s a character he plays.”
“Oh.”
“But you know Princess Leia, right? Carrie Fisher with the space buns?” He does a gesture, holding his cupped hands to his ears.
I want to laugh at the way his voice turns nervous and uneasy, but I refrain from causing any more distress when my lack of Han Solo knowledge already has him a little shaken.
“Oh, is that Star Trek?”
He winces, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Grace,” he says hoarsely. “I didn’t know you were this uncultured.”
“I am not uncultured!” I exclaim defensively. “I’m just not a nerd.”
His eyes pop open. “And I am?”
My palms face the ceiling. “I mean, yeah.”
His gaze narrows, a silent stretch of a warning before he lunges for me. I squeal, jolting in the opposite direction away from him, but I’m not quick enough. He’s able to grasp my hips, and his fingers pinch at my sides, eliciting another loud squeal from me.
“Andrew!” I screech. “Stop!”
“Say I’m not a nerd then,” he bargains, shifting his weight so he presses me to the ground.
“No!”
Another hard pinch that has me bucking underneath him. “Say I’m not a nerd,” he repeats, adding a more authoritative tone to his voice.
“Okay! Okay! I give!” I plead. “You’re not a nerd.”
“Now was that so hard?” He has his arms braced at my sides, and he’s hovering over me. His hair hangs off his forehead, a little mussed and tousled from catching me mid-getaway. My chest heaves in deep breaths and his eyes flit down my body for a fleeting second. “You really like my shirt, huh?”
“I told you, it’s soft.”
His fingers move, soft and gentle strokes swiping back and forth over the soft material I can’t seem to get enough of.
I feel his chest expand against mine along with the rapid thumps of his heart beating.
It crescendos, going wild while matching the fast beats of my own banging against my ribcage.
I press my hand into his chest, pushing him off me so I can get away from the heat drifting between us.
We don’t need to be in this position right now.
In fact, there should be a good amount of distance between us at all times.
Preferably the size of a large mammal. Like a dolphin or a pony.
I push off the floor, stepping out of his grasp, and walk toward my kitchen.
I get a quick glimpse of Andrew sitting on my living room floor.
One knee bent where his forearm rests, a contemplative look on his face as if rewinding the last two minutes that led us to a horizontal position right where he’s sitting.
An uncomfortable flux of guilt and shame trickles down to my heart, making me wonder what the fuck I’m doing.
Why I’m letting Andrew spend the day with me, building LEGO and eating pizza and wrestling each other to the ground.
Doing shit that people in relationships do.
It’s so reckless. Not to mention risky while leading to this, a strong undercurrent of regret making me want to rush back and wrap my arms around him.
But of course, I don’t do anything of the sort.
Instead, I ignore his rapt gaze narrowed at the floor and reach for my cupboards above the stove.
“What are you doing?” Andrew asks. I hear him shuffle followed by his sock cover feet padding closer to me.
He’s right next to me when I swipe my fingertips at the edge of the cabinet.
The object I’m looking for is beyond my reach, and when Andrew looks up at the top shelf, I decide it’s okay to push aside the thought of his hands on my waist and his weight pressed on top of me and ask him for help.
“Can you get that please?” I point my finger at the glass vase. It’s hourglass shaped with a thick base and trumpet-style opening.
“This?” he asks, peering down at me.
I nod, and he grabs it with ease. Not while on the tips of his toes like I did but with barely any strain on his arms or legs.
He hands it to me, and I walk it over to the LEGO roses on my coffee table.
I’m on my knees, plucking each one by the stem and gently placing them in the vase as if they’re real roses instead of made of plastic.
I might as well walk the vase over to the sink when I’m done and fill it with water.
“You have to display them,” I tell Andrew as he settles back down next to me. “Otherwise, they’re just going to sit somewhere in a closet and collect dust.”
“You are so right,” he says, not bothering to hide the mocking tone in his voice. I nudge at him with my elbow, and he smirks at the same time I let out a soft, contented scoff. A little quiet banter to match the teasing we’ve been doing all day.
He watches me with rapt attention, a chuffed grin on his face, and he reaches for the last rose stem lying alongside a few sprigs of plastic baby’s breath.
He brings the vase closer to him and arranges the pieces so they look nice.
The whole act, me providing the vase and him adding the finishing touches, feels so domestic and homey.
“Thank you,” I say to him. With our recent history, a kiss feels expected.
But we both know that’s too dangerous. A hug feels more appropriate, but even that feels risky.
So, I settle for a light punch to his shoulder, to which he responds with his own soft punch aimed at my arm.
We both laugh. A soft, afflicted laugh filled with a gentle reminder. “I really enjoyed myself.”
He reaches into his pocket, wiggling out his phone. He unlocks the screen and places the lit screen in front of me.
“Put in your number,” he instructs. “So I don’t have to show up unannounced next time.”
I do as he says, though a part of me wants to fight him.
Have a little sparring action of bickering and taunting.
But I don’t. Because I actually want him to have my number.
Maybe next time, I can choose the activity.
Put together a puzzle or play a game of Scrabble.
Or have a Twilight marathon or do some crafts like learning how to crochet.
Maybe even cook or bake something I’ve been wanting to try from the long list of YouTube cooking videos I’ve flagged. As friends, of course.
He takes his phone back. I expect him to shove it back into his pocket, but before he does, he taps away at it and opens up his camera app.
He angles his phone at the bouquet of plastic roses and takes a snapshot.
He takes a few, making sure to get it at the right angle and not have a single petal or stem out of focus.
I watch him document our day in the form of more than our memory while shooing away that wave of guilt that starts to swell inside of me.
He smiles at me once he’s satisfied with his photography work. He looks at me with a poignant afterthought that leans just the smallest angle toward grief. I can see it hidden behind his pursed lips and the twinkle in his eyes as he says, “I really enjoyed myself too.”