“Where would you like to go?” he asks.
“The park isn’t too far.” I shrug. “It’s a nice day so I vote we eat outside.”
He nods. “Good idea.” He moves the paper bag to his other hand and takes mine with his free one, smiling down at me. His brown eyes are light and carefree. I love seeing him this happy but it’s strange to realize that he’s this way because of me.
A five-minute walk later, we reach the park and find a spot in the grass beneath a tree, the shade providing a much-needed cover from the blazing summer sun.
We sit and Xander stretches out his long legs. It’s a little more awkward for me in my skirt, but I manage.
He opens the bag and hands me my sandwich and water bottle.
“It’s a nice day,” he comments, pulling out his own sandwich. “Don’t you think so?”
I fight a smile. “Are you seriously talking about the weather right now?”
He cracks a half smile and a bubble of laughter bursts forth. “Yeah, sorry.”
I smile and unwrap my sandwich. “Talk to me about anything but the weather. Please,” I beg, brushing an invisible crumb from my skirt.
He plays with the paper wrapping his sandwich. “If you were one of the Halliwell sisters, which one would you want to be?” He asks. “Is that better?”
I laugh. “Yes, and I’d want to be Piper. She seems like the most level-headed one—plus, who wouldn’t want to freeze time? What about you?” I take a bite of my sandwich.
He ponders it for a moment before finally saying, “Prue. She can move shit, and that’s pretty awesome.”
“Poor Phoebe,” I comment. “She only gets to see the future—and call me crazy, but I wouldn’t want to know that.”
He nods in agreement and takes a bite of his sandwich. “I think our futures are always changing.”
“You do?”
He chews and swallows. “Well, yeah—think about it. A decision you make today might affect something down the road and so on and so forth—just like we’re always changing as people. Nothing stays the same so who’s to say that the future will stay the same too? It has to be like the ocean, always moving like a current.”
“Wow,” I say, a tone of laughter to my voice. “You’ve given that a lot of thought.”
He shrugs. “I’ve had to.”
“What does that mean?”
He sighs and stares toward the sun, his eyes narrowed into slits. He turns to look at me and I can’t quite decipher his expression. “A story for another time.”
I’d normally pry to get information out of him, but something tells me not to press my luck.
We eat in silence for a little bit until he says, “Have you figured out your major yet?”
I sigh. “No.” I pull up a blade of grass and rip it between my fingers like it’s personally offended me in some way. “I have no idea what makes me happy. I just … I don’t want to be a teacher, I don’t want to be a lawyer, or an accountant. There’s nothing I want to do.”
He presses his lips together and his tongue sticks out slightly—a telltale sign that he’s thinking deeply. “What about something with sports? You love football. You should do something that makes you happy.”
“Well, I can’t play sports, for starters.”
He laughs. “I was thinking something more along the lines of physical therapy.”
“I failed health class my sophomore year—I don’t think I possess the smarts to do that.”
His laughter booms around me. “I forgot about that.”
“I was so embarrassed,” I mumble. “Who fails health class? Me. That’s who.” I point to myself, and we both laugh.