“Yes.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Do you want to go up there with me?”
“No.”
She frowns and huffs. “Okay.” Her lips thin out.
She’s upset?
“Do you want me to bring you something back then?”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because you need to eat,” she says slowly.
“I don’t have anything to add to the table.”
“That’s okay.” She smiles, and my stomach flips. “There are a lot of people who didn’t. Not everyone travels with food.”
I consider her words. “Okay.”
Her grin widens. I like this look on her. She’s pleased by something I did, and it lights her up like some sort of angel. I wonder what else I could do to bring her happiness. “Do you have any allergies or extreme dislikes I should know about?”
“No.”
“I know. Let’s exchange numbers. I‘ll take a picture. Then you can text me what you’d like. Will that work?”
I like the way she checks in with me.
“Yes.”
She holds her hand out for my phone. I hand it to her, confused as I try to figure her out. She’s not acting the way I’ve come to expect people to. There’s no reason for her to be this nice. Is it because I kept her safe earlier? Would it be rude to ask? I go through the mental checklist I’ve devised to help me decipher the right thing to do in different situations. I decide to keep my thoughts to myself. For some strange reason, I want her to like me. I want to be special to her.
“Okay, I’ll be right back.” Rising with a bounce in her step, she walks away. She’s a burst of sunshine in the darkness.
I watch her speaking with others and gracing them with her beautiful smile. I can’t help but notice it doesn’t look like the one she gave me. My heart rejoices at this. My phone vibrates, and I glance down. We go back and forth until she’s chosen potato salad, chicken, and cornbread. The meal comes with her company beside me, which is more than I expected to have this Christmas Eve. Unlike most, her presence doesn’t drain me, even with the conversation she makes.
“So. You like Star Trek?” she asks.
My heart lightens as she brings up one of my favorite topics. “Very much.”
“I do too. I watched it growing up. Spock has long been a favorite character of mine.”
“Me too.” I sit up straight and take a quick look into her eyes. “I enjoy the scientific way he dealt with problems.”
“I always liked his logic, too. I wish more people could be that way ... so open and concise.”
“Yes. It makes Spock easy to understand,” I say quietly.
“And take at his word. Did you know he once wrote a letter to a mixed-race girl in the sixties? She was sad because the other children didn’t accept her and mocked her. So, she asked him, as Spock, for advice on how to handle it.”
“I did know that. You relate to this?”
“In some ways.” She pushes the food around on her plate.
“Are you also mixed race?” I ask, taking in her caramel-colored skin.
“I don’t know.”