Counterfeit Love

I felt all those so acutely myself, that it made it easy to spot them in others. In some ways, it felt like things had just started with me and Finch. In others, it seemed like a lifetime had passed already.

"I bet you've heard all about me," Finch said, calm, collected, more so than even I felt, though I'd been coming here for so long it was practically a second home, "and in my defense, it's not my fault she is having nightmares about my living room furniture."

To that, Dr. Clark smiled warmly at him.

Another one bites the dust.

I'd yet to meet one woman immune to his charms. From little old ladies right down to brand new babies. They adored him.

And I couldn't blame them.

I adored him too.

"Did I tell you about the new chair?" I asked, tone grave as I looked at Dr. Clark.

"I don't think you did."

"Hold on. I think you have to see a picture to truly appreciate just how hideous it is. And we aren't even going to mention that it doesn't match a single thing in his place," I told her, fishing for my phone, scrolling through my pictures, finding the one I'd taken for the sole reason that I wasn't sure anyone would believe me if I didn't show them the evidence.

Because, really, who would believe you if you told them about this particular chair with metal legs. Not too terrible. But we are just getting started.

The seat cushion was a bright yellow. The back cushion, orange. And the side ones? pink. Yes, three colors. And if that wasn't bad enough, the outside of it was adorned with about three hundred little metal charms someone must have gotten in bulk at the craft store, each more ridiculous than the last. From a one-eyed frog to a flower-shelled turtle, dragon eyes, and flowers that looked suspiciously like a particular part of the female anatomy.

And the pièce de résistance?

The metal legs had giant red, pink, and gold bangles on them.

Bangles.

"Oh... my," Dr. Clark said, eyes huge, hand pressing to cover her mouth.

"Hey now. That doesn't sound very objective, Doc," Finch objected, but he was smiling while he did it.

See, Finch didn't get it because he actually thought it was unique. Even if that was what he claimed.

No.

He bought it because he knew it was the ugliest thing anyone had ever seen.

And because he enjoyed screwing with me.

"There was hardly even any room for a chair," I added, taking my phone back, shooting the chair a nasty look for good measure. Even if it wasn't its own fault it was so hideous. Someone had made it that way. "So, now when you come in the door, you have to move around the chair to get into the space."

"I was preparing for the future," Finch declared, completely at ease.

"What future is that?" Dr. Clark asked.

"One with a house near the beach. Full of furniture the better half over here will grumble at."

"I really don't think you can do any worse than that chair," I muttered.

"Is that a challenge, angel?" he asked, eyes dancing.

"Oh, God. No," I grumbled.

"So, you two have been talking about a future home? Together?" Dr. Clark asked.

"The conversation has mostly been a very detailed list of things we do--and do not--want."

"Does that bother you? The lists?"

"One of us has to be able to remember all that shit," he said, shrugging. "It works out. She remembers things in advance for me."

"That doesn't make you feel like she's taking charge?"

"Doc, can't imagine it's escaped you, but our Chris here is a 'take charge' kind of girl. You either like that, or you don't. I like it. Even if I like to screw with her sometimes."

"Chris, what do you like most about Finch?" Dr. Clark asked, making me suddenly feel like we were in couple's counseling when we were really just there because Dr. Clark wanted to meet the man who had made such a difference in my life.

"He's so calm about everything. Very little ever gets a rise out of him. He just goes with the flow of everything. It makes me almost anxious in some ways, but I find it calming in others. He is accepting and generous and absolutely ridiculous and over-the-top. He doesn't judge or expect things from people, just takes it all as it comes, takes people as they are."

To that, she gave me a soft smile before looking at Finch. "And Finch, what do you like most about Chris?"

"The whole package. And the gift wrapping it comes in," he told her, reaching over to give my knee a squeeze. "But I'm figuring you want more than that. I like her drive and her passion and the fact that she has the worst fucking taste in movies in the world. I like that she cares enough to bully me into quitting smoking, but softens the blow by always making sure I have lollipops. I like her connection with her parents. I like how she thinks that recipes should be followed perfectly, and that there is no room for interpretation. I like how she curls into me in her sleep, and damn near kills me every time we spar."