“I do,” I say. “Do you?”
“It’s beautiful,” she says, and I hate that even with something this simple, I can’t be sure she’s being genuine. Would she tell me if she hated it? I doubt she does, but I hate not knowing.
As she heads into the bathroom, I ask, “What were dinners like for you growing up?”
The question seems to take her by surprise. She grabs a loaf of freshly baked bread and starts slicing it, eyes on her task as she talks. “They were nothing special. We had fast food a lot of the time, or frozen food that someone threw in the oven. We only really ate at the table on holidays. When I first went to Mateo’s,” she says, glancing at me cautiously, but continuing, “I thought it was really nice the way they always ate dinner together. They dressed nice and sat at the table and were actually present with one another.” She shrugs one shoulder. “It’s nice. Growing up we usually just watched TV while we ate. There were a lot of times I sort of craved that togetherness like Mateo creates, and it just… I just never had that.”
“You were an only child, right?”
She nods, arranging the bread slices on a plate. Too many slices for just the two of us, but I don’t remark upon it. “My dad didn’t want more kids. I think my mom might’ve, but I’m not really sure.”
“What was their relationship like? Was it a good one?”
“I guess. I mean, they were still together. They had their issues like most couples, but it wasn’t bad.” Glancing up at me, she asks, “What about you? What was it like for you growing up? You never told me anything about your family.”
I shrug, leaning against the counter and watching her work. “I don’t really like to talk about them.”
“How come?”
I shrug one shoulder, fighting the urge to retreat into myself. “Doesn’t do me any good to think about it, I guess. To dwell on memories of things I can’t change, can’t get back.”
“Is it painful?” she asks softly.
“Used to be. I don’t feel it anymore.”
Turning to face me, she says, “It’s my turn to ask you a question. A homework question.”
The corner of my mouth tugs up slightly, but I nod, giving her permission to ask.
“Who do you miss? You’ve obviously lost people over the years… who does still make you feel, even now, when you consider having lost them?”
I stare at her for a moment, unsure how to answer that. I’m not exaggerating when I tell her I don’t feel the losses anymore—I’ve numbed myself to them over the years. I can lie awake in bed and vividly recall Matt’s wrath upon my family, the screams, the pain, the fire. It replays in my memory like I’m there, but I can’t feel anything.
It’s not that I don’t have attachments to anyone anymore. I’d like to think that sometimes, but obviously I haven’t turned off completely, or I wouldn’t be here with her, I wouldn’t have gone back to Mateo when he needed me.
But the truth is, she’s the only person who really makes me feel anything. I don’t know if she came into my life, a bright spot in my darkest day, at just the right time, or if it’s something more, but whatever the reason….
I don’t intend to tell her that, but I do. “Only you.”
Quiet shock graces her lovely features, then she frowns a little. Finally, she gives me a shy little smile. “Cheater. You haven’t lost me.”
I shrug. “Then what have I got to complain about?”
She doesn’t light up much around me, but she does now. I feel a little rush as she bites down on that lower lip of hers and looks at me like I’m something special.
I can’t help smiling back.
Elise finally turns, grabbing the plates she set out for us and handing me one. “Let’s eat.”
I glance at the couch, recalling how unenthusiastic she was about having eaten that way with her family. Glancing at the open floor where I need to put a table, I get an idea.
Putting my plate down, I head to the bedroom, grabbing a couple of boxes and a spare bed sheet from the closet. I put them down on the floor and drape the sheet across it like a table cloth.
“Until I get a real one,” I tell her.
She grins, putting her plate down gently and sitting down on the floor, curling her legs up to the side. “It’ll do just fine,” she tells me.
It’s been a hard stretch, a rough adjustment, but here in the floor at our makeshift table, I finally start to feel a little bit of hope.
Maybe everything will work out, after all.
Chapter Six
I end up at the bar with Colin for far too long. By the time I get home, Elise is in bed. I’m not drunk, but I’ve had enough to drink that I consider wrapping an arm around her again once I get in bed.