Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
That’s what I want, lately. Just more. I want work to be more interesting, more of a challenge. I want to be able to do more for the kids at YA, give them more of what Daniel never had. I’ve thought about Anders a lot too. Wondered what he decided to do about telling his parents—if he’s decided yet at all.
And fuck me, I want more of Rafe. More of everything to do with Rafe. When I’m with him, things feel… good.
But I don’t think Rafe feels the same way. When he got to my place earlier, I asked him if everything was okay and he said it was, but it seems like there’s something he’s not telling me.
Ever since he asked me to come to dinner with his family, things have been strained. I think he’s getting frustrated with me. Impatient. He wants something that I’m not giving to him.
We’re on the couch and I’m leaning into him, enjoying his smell and the feeling of his arms around me. I’m making stupid comments about the movie—some eighties action thing—and he doesn’t respond but he keeps touching me. Small touches like you might reach a hand out to your bedside table to check that something you put down is still there.
Then he lets out a sigh and my stomach goes hollow and tight. It feels like he’s trying to work up to saying something, and that is never good.
“Rafe,” I say when I can’t take it anymore, “just tell me whatever the hell is wrong. You’re freaking me out.”
He looks a little sheepish. “Have you given any thought to what I said?”
“What you said when?”
“About having dinner with my family?”
“Oh.” I knew it.
“Look, it was great seeing everyone at Gabri’s last week. They’re crazy and intense and they drive me nuts sometimes, but it’s home. Something was missing for me, though, because you weren’t there. My mom would describe some cat video her coworker showed her and I’d want to tell you that it reminded me of Shelby. Or Camille would use text speak and I’d want to laugh at you because you never know what the kids are talking about at YA when they use it. I just… wanted you there.”
On the surface it sounds perfect: exchanging knowing glances over the dinner table or laughing gently at private jokes. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? But it leaves out the part where I’m cringing just thinking about being introduced to Rafe’s family. About what it would mean. About us. About me.
He stops me from saying anything with a thumb to my mouth. “I know you couldn’t—that you already had plans. Family obligations. I respect that. And it’s not the point. It’s that I don’t know if you’ll ever be there. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to go out to dinner with you or… go on vacation with you or….”
He’s obviously sincere, but it’s kind of hard not to bristle at what’s basically a list of all the ways that I’m failing to live up to Rafe’s standards.
“I didn’t expect to feel this way,” he says, his voice more vulnerable than I’ve heard it. “I didn’t know that I wanted those things. Or, I didn’t think about it. Didn’t let myself think about them because I didn’t think—anyway. I know it hasn’t been that long. I’m not saying I need those things right now. But I want them. In the future. And”—his voice gets softer—“and you don’t think much about the future.”
“I—” I’m caught between relief that Rafe isn’t ending things and the sudden choking anxiety that his words bring. I guess it’s true that I don’t think about the future much. I’ve never had anything to look forward to, so there didn’t seem much point. Lately, though….
“I… um. We can go to dinner at your family’s. I—that sounds good, okay?” That’s what he wants, right? And it wouldn’t be in public where anyone could see. I can give him that if it means things will stop being so awkward.
He nods, but he doesn’t look happy. “Okay. I’d like that.”
He’s clearly waiting for something more, but I don’t know how to make promises about the future. Not when, for the first time, the present finally feels almost… okay.
“I don’t—I don’t know what you want me to say,” I mumble.
Rafe shakes his head. “I don’t know either.”
“I… I don’t want to tell them,” I choke out. Because that’s what he really means, isn’t it? Even if he says it’s not the point. I think about what I told Anders when he came to the shop. About how his personal shit is no one’s business and how it’s not worth making your life miserable just to tell people about it.
“I’m not asking you to do that,” Rafe says sternly. “I’ve never asked for that. It’s your family and your decision.”