Page 61 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

“My eyes are gonna start bleeding. I need a break.” I just nod. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she says, not looking me in the eyes.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” I lean over, putting a hand on her thigh.

We go back to eating silently until she asks, “So how long were…you and her together?” I have to clear my throat to force the food down.

“Not very long.”

“Hmm,” she hums. “Are you going?” The tightening in my stomach has me sitting up straighter.

“What do you mean?”

“Their wedding, are you planning to go?”

“Probably not.”

“Okay,” she leaves it at that. I hope.

It’s a few more minutes of silence when I remember and ask, “Why am I saved as Table 19 in your phone?” She sort of smirks.

“That’s what table you were sitting at at the diner that night.”Cute. I give her a warm smile that she gives right back. And then we’re back to normal. Our normal.

She tells me about the art history book she’s reading. I tell her about driving past the pumpkin patches when I got groceries. And then she asks what I’m doing tonight.

“I don’t know. If you’re going to study, I’ll probably just go downstairs.”

“No, let’s hang out.” This would be new territory. It wasn’t that we didn’t hang out before; it was just always around dinner, and afterward, she would go her way. I would go mine, but we’d meet back for bed.

“I wanna watch something, go brain dead, and veg,” she says, stretching her arms overhead, then yawning.

“What are we watching?” I ask, picking up my plate and hers to put in the dishwasher. She follows behind me, grabbing water bottles for both of us from the fridge.

“Dealer’s choice,” she winks, slipping into the pantry, then squealing when she finds the packs of Red Vines.

Holding up a pack, she says, “I love you.” I shake my head and laugh.

She grabs the goods and heads for the great room while I clear the rest of dinner, start the dishes, and hit the lights.

She’s back to her corner of the sofa, and I take the seat beside her. Then, without much thought, my arm is around her, and she’s cuddling into my side. It’s just easy with her.

After the second episode of Alone, she tells me, “This was basically my dream, growing up. I wanted to just get lost in the woods and build a little shelter. In my mind, it was cozy, but watching this…” She shudders. “I don’t think I could stomach the parasites.”

I pull her in tighter, feeling warm that she shared something from her childhood with me.

“I had similar dreams, to be honest.” Probably driven by a need to feel safe and free, something neither of us had. She turns to look at me, running a hand up into my hair, and I tell her, “Look at you now, baby. You have your cozy house in the woods.” Her nose scrunches, and she sort of shrug-nods.

We go back to watching the show until she asks quietly, “Did you build this house for her?” I shake my head.

“I built it for me,” she’s content with that answer, nodding. It’s not a lie. I built it for the family and lifeIwanted. What that looks like has changed, but this house was built forus.

“I like talking to you, Alex.”

“I like talking to you too, Em,” she yawns, stretches out her legs, and cozies back in. She’s asleep five minutes later.

Emma

“Let’s go for a walk.” My eyes flutter once.Sleep.More. “We can make the sunrise, come on.” And then the covers are pulled away from me, and I’m freezing.

I gasp at the cold air while he hovers over me, looking at my naked body like I’m Botticelli’s Venus.