Chapter 22 #2
“Exactly.” I nod, covering my mouth as I chew.
This sandwich is exactly why I never change my order.
Mozzarella, pesto, and sliced tomatoes, I’ll take that combination in pretty much every form.
It’s probably the only thing I’m really nailing about being Autistic: finding a safe food that’s good no matter where you get it from, and is available in about seventy percent of places.
“But my mom must have made a dozen sweaters for my dad.”
“That’s the exception, once you’re married, the curse is broken,” I explain sagely.
“But if you’re not married, then…”
“Doom and gloom.” I shrug, fighting back another grin.
“And you believe in this?” Oscar asks, wiping his hands on a napkin and dropping it onto his empty plate.
“I don’t know, but I guess I never wanted to tempt it.”
“So, no sweaters for anyone you’ve dated?”
“He wouldn’t have wanted one,” I scoff. Shit, I did not mean to say that.
“Just one guy?” he asks, not unkindly.
“Just the one,” I confirm.
“Was he–”
“He was fine, it just didn’t work out.”
Oscar’s gaze focuses. I wish he’d look away and stop peering inside me.
“Is he like, the one that got away or…”
“No.” I don’t mean to snap, but I do. “It’s not a big deal. Doesn’t everyone have a shitty ex?” I pick up my glass and swish the ice around like it might help me go back in time and shut myself up before I ever let Aaron into this moment.
“Shitty how?”
“It really doesn’t matter.”
“Seems like it does.”
“It’s just stupid stuff, and we really don’t have to talk about it.”
“I’m asking because I care, Freya. If it’s upsetting you, then I wanna know.”
“Why? So you can go beat him up for me?”
“Does he need beating up?”
Yes. “No.”
He doesn’t look like he believes me, but he cuts me some slack anyway. “Then, maybe I just want you to know that I’m here. If you ever want to talk about it, then you can talk about it with me.”
The clinking of ice rings loud in the silence, and I set the glass down with a thud. “Thanks,” I force out.
He doesn’t say anything else for a long time and I can feel the familiar panic start to rise. Did I ruin this? Have I made it so uncomfortable that he won’t want to hang out again? I scratch at the edge of my thumbnail until the skin turns an angry red.
“Oh shit, I just remembered I have something for you,” he says.
I snap my head up at the change in Oscar’s tone. Gone is the serious, probing gaze. He’s back to his playful, goofy self—one I’ve been getting more and more of lately. He starts digging around in his pocket until he finds his phone.
“Look.” He makes a few quick taps at the screen, and then flips it around so I can see. “I finally got a picture!”
Peering at the screen I see a slightly grainy photo of Gloria and, just like the legend says, a brown-and-white cat is strapped to her front in a baby sling. She’s turned away from the camera, so I’m not getting the full effect, but I still cover my mouth to suppress a gasp.
“Holy shit,” I breathe out, reaching to zoom in further. “She really does wear the cat.”
“Told you.” His face is all smugness as he pockets the device again.
“That was a super creepy picture, though.” I put on a mock frown. “It had real stalker energy.”
“I followed her for three blocks trying to get one clear enough for you to see.”
“How many pictures did you take of this poor woman?” I exclaim.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Is your whole camera roll just, like, creepy pictures of the people around town.”
“No, I promise I only get weird when I’m trying to impress a pretty girl.”
I flush at the compliment. He threw it out so naturally, like he wasn’t even trying to flirt. I look down at my watch and realize I’ve had the store closed for almost ninety minutes. Usually I only close for an hour when I take lunch. “Crap, I’d better get back.”
He blinks a few times, then gives me a wide smile. “Yeah, of course.”
I stand, grabbing my coat off the back of my chair and hurrying to get it on.
When one of my hands catches in the lining, I end up flailing, flapping my arm around in an attempt to shake myself loose.
Oscar chuckles. “Here.” He takes my forearm and starts working the satin apart until my fingers come loose.
But even when I’m free, he doesn’t let me go.
He threads our fingers together and starts heading for the door.
There’s a moment before my brain catches up where I just stand there, watching the space between us stretch, only our linked hands tethering us to one another.
But just before it starts to pull, I finally get my feet to obey and follow after him, a wave of thanks to Becca tossed over my shoulder before we leave the diner, hand in hand.
It’s lucky he’s here to guide me across the road, or else I think I’d just step out into traffic.
My brain is a loop of Oscar, hands, holding hands, hands, hands, hands.
I stare at the place where our palms meet.
How is he so casual about this? How is anyone?
My skin tingles like cold hands over a fire and I never want the warmth to end.
I almost groan as we reach the shop and I have to wiggle out of his grip to fumble with the keys. After a second, we make it inside, and suddenly I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.
I turn to him and he looks almost as lost as I feel, the two of us standing in the center of the store, where the table used to be.
I scan his face, the beard he keeps carefully trimmed, framing full lips and barely concealing the cut of his jaw.
His nose turns up ever so slightly at the end, hardly enough to notice.
I bet they called it a button nose when he was little, but now it looks right at home.
When I reach his eyes, I realize that I must have been staring at his lips for too long because now he’s looking at mine, and his face is getting imperceptibly closer with each breath.
He wants to kiss me.
He’s going to kiss me.
Oh God.
There’s a part of me that wants to latch on to the front of his shirt and fuse our lips together until I can’t tell where I end and he begins.
But there’s another part, the quiet, terrified part of me that worries that this is too soon, that I’m letting someone too close, too fast and giving them the power to hurt me.
My fingers go numb as my whole body feels like it’s spinning. You’re fine, stop being weird. This is what people do. They go on dates and they kiss afterwards.
What is wrong with you? Just get a hold of yourself.
Oscar’s face flickers in front of me, morphing with someone else. I blink, trying to banish the image of him. I don’t want him here, not ever, but especially not now, when I might be on the verge of something good.
Oscar moves closer, a question in his eyes. I nod fast, hoping the action will hush my anxiety, all my well-honed instincts telling me just to give him what he wants, that I’ll like it once it’s happening and it’s just the build-up that has me in my head.
Aaron’s voice flashes through my mind: You’re thinking too much, this is how it goes.
My own voice interferes, banishing his but doing nothing to assuage the panic: He probably thinks you’re such a freak. You’re being ungrateful.
I lean closer. Why isn’t he kissing me yet?
You waited too long.
My cheeks start to ache with how hard I’m squeezing my eyes shut. Fuck, that probably looks weird. I snap them open again, ready to get this over with, hoping he’ll like it and won’t be mad at me for doing a bad job. But when I see his expression, something cracks inside me.
His eyes are wide, bouncing between mine. He looks so sad, like someone just broke his heart.
“It’s okay, Freya,” he chokes out.
“I know it is.” I try to sound cheerful, but it comes out all wrong.
Why does he look like that?
What did I do?
I look down at my shoes, hoping he can’t see the moisture gathering at the edges of my lashes. Why do I have to ruin everything? I wait for him to get mad, to make fun of me.
His hand finds mine again and gives a soft squeeze, but I can’t bring myself to look at him.
“It’s okay,” he says again, closer this time.
There’s the slight scratch of his beard, and then soft lips against my cheekbone. I can feel his breath tickling the strands of hair that have fallen out of place as he drops the most careful, gentle kiss to my cheek.
“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he murmurs against my skin.
I hold still, not wanting to do anything to make the moment shatter. It’s like the two of us are inside a soap bubble. Everything’s all shiny and iridescent, but it also feels like any wrong move could make it burst.
Oscar pulls away, one last squeeze to my hand.
“I’ll call you.” He sounds hoarse, like he’s fighting to get the words out. “And we’ll go out again, if you want to.”
He’s leaving? I thought he wanted to kiss me?
I said he could, so why is he going?
I straighten my shoulders, trying to seem calm. He doesn’t need to know what a fucking mess I am.
“I do want to.” I’m as quiet as he is.
“Good.”
“See you around, Oscar.” I give him a wobbly smile.
“Bye, honey.”
One more crooked grin, then he’s gone.