26. Attachment Issues
26
Attachment Issues
I wasn’t supposed to fantasize about anyone, even in a platonic play-games-and-share-snacks kind of way. I was supposed to take baby steps. Make friends. Or at least learn to handle everyday social interaction again.
I sighed and sidled up to Sal for warmth. All this affection probably just stemmed from the weird psychological fear I’d be alone once Victor officially moved in with Kat. Being alone wasn’t so bad. I’d have the mall crew for as long as I worked there. Once I left, though, I wasn’t going to show up at the bar on Wednesdays begging for a scrap of attention. After all, Sal was nice, but he wasn’t hurting for company. The girls his friend tried to set him up with probably wouldn’t ugly-cry on his shoulder or make him hide in a basement with no clothes on. He deserved someone who could make him as happy as he made everyone else. Someone kind. Unfortunately, that was a trait people didn’t really associate with me.
“Sorry for all that,” I muttered, standing and offering him his shirt. “You should finish getting dressed. I’ll remake your tea. Victor stole a mug for himself.”
He spread his legs to block the stairs. “Don’t worry about the tea. Come on, talk to me. ”
I sighed, trying to ignore his puppy-dog eyes. “I don’t have the energy or tissues to do this emotional thing.”
“Maybe after breakfast?” He raised his brows, hope bright on his face.
I screwed up my face and leaned back. “Don’t you want me to stop crying? Or is this a martyr, schadenfreude kinda thing?”
He frowned at the floor. “No, I just think if we talk about it, maybe you’ll be…”
“Well-adjusted?” I arched my eyebrow.
He laughed, his dimples deep. “Lighter, maybe.”
“Lighter, not necessarily happier.” That made more sense. “Interesting.”
Sal followed me upstairs, then wrangled his shirt on as we sorted breakfast. I eyed him over scrambled eggs and toast. How was he so ‘light’ all the time? Didn’t he have family drama?
“Are you an only child?” I asked.
He covered his mouth, coughing thanks to a gulp of steaming tea. “What gave it away?”
“You’re ‘light.’”
He chuckled and slumped over the kitchen island. “Yeah…”
Was that not the case? I frowned. “Sorry, I don’t know much about you.” Maybe it was better that way, but I wanted to understand him. That could apply to my research…at least about making friends. I shoveled some more eggs onto his plate. “What’s your family like?”
“Um, Mom and Dad divorced.” He combed his goatee as if lost in thought.
It was probably an unpleasant topic. I adjusted my glasses. “Did you spend a lot of time with your grandparents, then?”
“Yes.” He stood straighter, his amber eyes glinting in the light. “They loved to babysit. ”
“It wouldn’t be much of a burden. They ran a toy store, so I bet you could go to work with them.”
“I did.” He beamed. “Assistant manager by the time I was ten.”
I wagged my brows. “Huh. Nepotism at its finest.”
His laughter exploded, electrified sunlight. How could one person be so bright?
His joy made my insides whir like an overheated CPU. Embarrassing, really. I sipped my tea to hide a stupid grin from forming.
He raised his chin. “Ten years of experience taught me a few things. Worked my way up the chain.”
Toy demonstrations weren’t exactly educational, but surely there was more to it. Puzzles. Stocks. Sales. “So, the store was your school and a home away from home,” I said.
“Yeah. I mean, I did go to high school. Graduated with a respectable place in my class.” He scooped his eggs onto the toast, then took a triumphant bite, his breakfast gooping and crumbling everywhere. He held his hand under his chin and swiveled to the sink. “Mm, sorry.”
“I’ll get you a napkin.” I smiled, reaching beyond him. “Apparently, they didn’t teach you how to eat.”
He wiped his mouth. “Nope, but they did feed me. A lot. You should see our family Thanksgiving. So many people, so much food, you can’t even take a seat.”
“Sounds…welcoming. Much better than the two neat turkey slices with sweet potato cubes and a dollop of peas from my family. Victor brought salad from the theater, I’d get boxed pie, and we’d all disperse by 2:30. Probably to sleep.” I sighed and prodded my breakfast with a fork. “I should book tickets if I am going back home.” I doubted it, though. They wouldn’t miss us. Their email said we were welcome to join them at a colleague’s ‘tasteful dinner party.’ I’d rather order takeout with Victor and stay in watching movies again, but that wasn’t guaranteed. “I bet Kat’s family plays board games or something,” I mumbled.
“You’re still not sure what you’re doing this year, right?” He licked his lips and juggled the crumpled napkin. “Um, why don’t you stop by mine?”
“Wh… That wouldn’t be appropriate.” I wasn’t his girlfriend.
“Everyone comes by. It’s half the neighborhood,” he said.
I scratched the sweaty tingle on the back of my neck. So many people. Strangers. Men.
He grabbed the edge of the counter and rocked himself back and forth. “Ash might be there.”
“Oh.” So, it was also for mall friends. I brushed my hair behind my ear. “Maybe. I appreciate the option.”
He nodded, subdued. “Yep. It’ll be at the cross-street by the bar, actually. Big Italian flag outside. I’ll text you the address. Just gotta find my phone.” He patted down his clothes.
“Thanks. Is it a potluck style or–”
“Don’t worry about bringing anything.” He waved me off and scanned the kitchen. “Did I…set it down…aha.” He nabbed his phone from the counter.
God, were we so obvious as to leave our things out? No wonder my brother enjoyed taunting my attempts at discretion.
Sal opened up his text messages. Janice’s face lit up the upper corner of his contacts. In the photo, she was kissing his cheek. He copied the address from their thread exchange. I scanned it quickly:
Janice: Am I still invited?
Sal: Sure, swing on by whenever
Janice: Thanks [heart emoji] I miss you and the whole fam
Sal: We miss you too
Janice: I don’t know if I’ll go. It could be awkward. They’re not mad at me?
Sal: Nobody’s mad at you, boo
Oh, god. He invited Janice? Did he want to reconnect as more than friends? Maybe he only invited me as a distraction if she bailed on him. After all, my contact information didn’t have a photograph. Not that I’d ever let him take my picture. Or send him one.
His phone pinged. Was it her again?
He sighed and stuffed it in his pocket. “I’ve got to get going. Thanks for breakfast.” He clasped my shoulder and bobbed in my vicinity. “What do we do? Kiss? Hug? Brofist?”
“Uh…” This was too sudden. I vaguely leaned into him and tilted my head up. “Kiss?”
“Perfect.” He pecked my cheek, then ran to my room. “Oh, keys; gotta get my keys.”
What the hell was happening? What was the hurry?
I thought we were supposed to chat about emotions again after breakfast. Not that I wanted to, but I thought we’d get to hang out another hour at least.
Victor sauntered into the kitchen with his empty mug and glanced over his shoulder. “He’s not leaving because of me, is he?”
“No.” I glowered, cupping my mug for warmth. I had the unsettling feeling he was leaving because of me.