“No. The room was poorly furnished.”
I moved a little closer.
“You have created everything that deserves to be seen.”
The expression that crossed her face was gentler than any I had ever seen.
He put the phone in his pocket.
“Then come up and have tea, Adam,” she murmured. “I’m not ready for this date to end.”
I went upstairs to have tea.
He appears calmer than he actually was.
Emma’s apartment was warm, bright, and filled with things that, once you knew about them, immediately seemed logical.
Framed student drawings on the wall.
Sketchbook on the table.
A blue ceramic bowl filled with candy near the door.
Plants on every windowsill, some flourishing, others surviving thanks to unwavering optimism.
She took off her shoes, left her backpack in the kitchen and said:
“I must warn you that my tea collection might lead you to believe I’m more emotionally stable than I actually am.”
“I’m going to try not to be fooled.”
“GOOD.”
She prepared a chamomile infusion for me and something with ginger.
For a while, we didn’t talk about dinner, or Mark, or the message.
We talked about normal things.
A plumbing problem.
The best smell in a bookstore.
The question is whether adults should be able to own more than one blanket without being judged.
Then he fell silent.
I waited.
Emma looked at her cup.
“The difficult thing about being the butt of jokes is that everyone expects you to be grateful when someone else puts an end to the joke.”
I understood immediately.
“Don’t you feel like being grateful for a simple act of decency?”
He looked up.
“Already.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that.”
Those words seemed to have touched her more than any compliment.
He leaned back on the sofa, holding the cup in one hand.
“I liked what you did. I really did. But I think I appreciated even more the fact that you didn’t treat me like I was fragile afterwards.”
I smiled.
“You threatened to judge my performance at the bookstore.”
“You were supposed to put pressure on me.”
“And I behaved well.”
“You did the right thing.”
The silence that followed was more subdued.
Not empty.
Complete.
Emma put down her cup.
“Adam.”
“Yes?”
“I’m not asking for a speech. I’m not asking you to reassure me. I just want the truth.”
He looked me straight in the eyes.
“Has what happened last night changed the way you see me?”
“Yes,” I replied.
His expression changed.
So I finished before fear made me say the wrong thing.
“That allowed me to see you more clearly.”
He didn’t move.
“I already thought you were beautiful,” I said. “But last night, I saw your strength. Your ability to refuse to be overwhelmed by bitterness, even when you’re given every reason to be.” How can you accept an apology without pretending the pain never existed?
I moved slightly closer to her.
“It changed the way I see you. It made me want to really get to know you.”
Emma’s eyes sparkled, but she was smiling.
“It was,” he murmured, “terribly accurate.”
“They told me that accuracy was important.”
“It is”.
Then he kissed me.
CONTINUE READING…>>
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