Chapter 12 #2
“Sometimes that mindset is a good thing. I’ve had a lot of super fun experiences because of it, but there are times it’s a little…
lonely, I guess. I’ve had people tell me—coworkers, boyfriends, family—that they can’t keep up with me.
That I’m unstable. That I’m too much for them to handle.
Been dumped because of it too many times to count.
” She shakes her head, eyes still fixed on the counter.
“Someday I’ll find a guy who doesn’t yell at me or use me for whatever random fixation gets his heart racing. If that person exists. But anyway…”
A sniff from Avery cracks the growing silence as I search desperately for a response.
At her core, Avery seems to be built of words.
She’s always got something to say, and I almost feel guilty that as much as I want to be able to comfort her, I can’t.
I could read an entire library of books and still not have the right words.
A fear slithers in that I’ll spew the wrong thing, but when the quiet becomes too much to bear, I throw something out there. “Someday you’ll find a guy that isn’t a walking trash bag.”
Really eloquent, Ty.
“Thanks,” she says softly.
I suck in a long breath and release it, heading to grab a menu off the fridge. “So, Chef… Pizza instead?”
She leans against the counter, hanging her head like it weighs a thousand pounds. “Is that what professional athletes eat?”
“Sometimes. If the piccata’s burnt.”
She groans. “I was trying to do something nice.”
Finally, she lifts her head, and I realize her eyes are watering.
Is she about to cry? I’m torn between comforting her and pretending it’s not happening.
I barely know this girl, and somehow, she keeps baring her heart to me.
The thought nails me in the chest. Excessive displays of emotion aren’t really something I do, while Avery seems to be the opposite.
But part of me wonders—maybe even hopes—that I’m the reason she’s so open.
Maybe she feels comfortable—safe—enough with me to show that side. It’s a stupid notion.
“It’s uh… My mom always said it’s the thought that counts,” I try.
She presses the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “Stop being nice. Be scary again. Don’t give me your pity, that’s worse.”
A laugh bursts from my throat, and she drops her hands. Her eyes are wet, but there’s a smile on her pink lips.
“You think I’m scary?” I ask.
“Wait. Did you laugh?”
“I can’t believe you think I’m scary.”
She sniffs, wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Don’t act like this is the first time someone’s ever said that to you. Look at you.”
And then it’s like she’s seeing me for the first time. When her eyes drag down my face and land on my bare chest, she presses her palms over her eyes again. Somehow it’s satisfying to see her get flustered.
“Do you ever wear a shirt?” she asks.
“Not when someone is burning down my kitchen, wrecking ball.”
Her hands drop again. “Did you just call me wrecking ball? I’m not—”
“Pizza or no?” I ask, biting back my smile.
“Sushi,” she answers, a challenge in her eye. “Because it’s my favorite, and I need a little pick-me-up.”
“You need a little pick-me-up?”
She shrugs.
“Fine. Sushi it is, but only if you promise to remember to shut the stove off next time,” I say, turning to leave.
“With extra eel sauce.”
“With extra eel sauce,” I repeat back, committing it to memory as Avery twists a piece of her hair around her finger until the tip turns purple. “You’re good though?”
“I will be once I get that sushi.”
“Sushi does heal all wounds.”
She nods toward the bandage on my arm. “Lucky you.”
“Lucky me.”
A smile splits her face as I back away. Something rushes through me like I’m prepping for a big game.
“Friend date!” She claps, any thrill I’d felt disappearing with each shrill blow.
“Friend date?”
She looks like someone stole her pompoms. “We’re friends, yeah? I’m sorry. It’s probably too soon to label it. I thought—”
“No, we can label it. I mean, we can call ourselves friends. Just haven’t heard of a friend date before. Never been asked on one, I guess.”
She beams up at me. “Well, consider this the first of many. At least for the next few months.”
“Our first friend date.” I try out the words, but they feel wrong. Not waiting for a reply, I head back upstairs to place an order on my phone. And grab a shirt.
It isn’t lost on me that Avery has just cobbled together what I’d probably consider the perfect date. The perfect regular date. But she looks excited to have dinner with me, and that’s enough for now.
Avery snatches up the last piece of our shrimp tempura roll, pausing to stare at me over the coffee table.
“Go ahead,” I say.
She pops it into her mouth, moving it into her cheek as she chews. “Just didn’t want to be rude.” She chews a little more, then swallows. “Can’t be the one to take the last piece.”
“Nah. That’s all you.” I twist my soba noodles around a fork and shovel the last few bites into my mouth. “I can’t eat any more after this.”
She sighs. “One time, at my sister’s sixth birthday party, I drank so much soda that my parents almost took me to the ER. The carbonation had me dying.”
“You know, sometimes you say the most random things.”
“Sorry. I tend to do that.” She ducks her head. “I have ADHD. Don’t know if I told you that. I forget that some people think my topic hopping is annoying.”
“Definitely not annoying. Just a little random.”
Her eyes lift to mine. “There’s a thought process behind each random thing though, I promise.”
“Let’s hear it. How did sushi make you think of soda?”
Avery brightens. “Well, obviously you can eat—or drink—both. And I’ve been shoveling all this maki into my mouth.
And I’m starting to feel pretty full… Then my brain was like ‘What if you eat too much? What if you start feeling sick? What if it’s like the soda thing all over again?
’ And then out of my mouth—boom—soda story. ”
I nod along as her eyes dip back to her food. She’s cute when she tells stories, but by the way she initially hesitated has me wondering if maybe I’m the first one to think that. So without thinking, I say, “Don’t ever think your stories shouldn’t be told, okay?”
“Okay.” Her cheeks pink as she drags the last of a little spring roll through a thick brown sauce, mopping up her plate. “How much was this anyway?”
I can feel her eyes on me, but I leave my gaze trained on my empty bowl. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Ty, I can’t just keep racking up my debt to you.”
“Why not?”
She doesn’t find my smirk amusing.
I sigh. “I told you, it’s no big deal. Plus, you’re watering the plants and apparently doing the dance lesson thing, so we’re even.”
“Hardly.” She tosses aside the throw blanket she’s been nested in and stands to gather the paper and plastic cartons. “When are we starting your lessons, by the way? Tonight?”
I shake my head.
She eyes me up and down, like she’s making some kind of assessment.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She spins around, her ponytail flicking from side to side as she flounces toward the kitchen.
I shift in my seat as she dumps our trash in the garbage can, a loud sigh echoing through the open space.
“What?” I ask again.
She shakes her head, leaning against the counter. “I’m just thinking what a shame it is that you don’t want to start your lessons yet. I mean… Based on how weird you got when I proposed the idea, something tells me I have my work cut out for me.”
“I’m pretty good on my feet.”
“Yeah, when they’re in cleats, and you’re blitzing the quarterback.” She crosses her arms. “Prove it.”
I try to hide my amusement. “No.”
She scoops up Dolly just as he springs onto the island from somewhere below. In a second, she’s flipping him onto his back, cradling him in her arms like a newborn. I cock a brow.
“He likes it. He’s my baby,” she says simply. “Don’t think you can get out of dance lessons. They’re happening. And while we’re at it, I might as well teach you how to care for these orchids. Half of them look like they’re about to croak. I can’t be your live-in plant lady forever.”
“Aye, aye.” I salute her.
She points a finger in my direction. “No more handouts.” When I don’t say anything, she rocks in place. Dolly closes his eyes. “Except for the house. But this is temporary. I’ll be outta your hair before you know it. Once I get back on my feet. Once the business takes off.”
“Got it.”
“Good night, Ty,” she says with finality. “We start lessons soon.”
“Can’t wait.”
She smirks and disappears down the hall, her footsteps much softer than what I would ever assume could come from the wrecking ball I found in the kitchen earlier.
Despite destroying dinner, my pan, and my plans for the night—though I should be thanking her for that.
If this is what it’s like to live with her, it’s not bad.
She may be chaos embodied, but it keeps things interesting to say the least.
And I’d never say this to her, but dance lessons with Avery might not be half bad.