Page 146 of First-Time Caller
“In theory.”
“I have a question about that. About romance.”
“Okay . . .” I say slowly.
“What does it feel like when you fall in love?”
“What?” I ask, winded. It’s a bucket of ice water over my head. A fist through my papier-mâché heart. Somewhere next to me, Jackson’s chair creaks as he turns to me in concern.
“There’s this woman,” he says. He pauses, reconsiders, and starts again. “Have you ever woken up from a dream with your heart going a million miles an hour and no idea why? Just—just the vague impression ofsomething. Like a memory you can’t quite get a hold of or—” He huffs out a frustrated breath. “I’m not saying this right,” he grumbles.
“Then try again,” I tell him.
“I will,” he says. “I’m going to.”
My galloping heart settles. Hope flares. I asked him to give me a reason and this feels like—this feels like maybe he’s giving me one. Or trying to, at least.
“My entire life,” Aiden continues carefully, his voice softer.Wait, he’s saying.Listen.“I’ve done my best to not feel much of anything. Feeling almost always led to hurting and I didn’t want to hurt anymore. So I decided not to. But I think somewhere along the way, that choice became a habit I didn’t know how to break. I stopped believing in good things. I stopped believing in anything at all.”
I swallow, my throat dry, thinking of a boy with messy hair in a hospital hallway, his fingers clenched tight around an empty key ring. Aiden didn’t stop believing in good things. He forgot how to.
“So I’m hoping,” he says, and I hear the way his voice wobbles around the word. Hope has always been hard for Aiden. “I’m hoping you can help me.”
“With what?”
“Tell me what it feels like to fall in love.”
“I’m not sure I’m qualified for that,” I manage.
“Actually,” he says and I can hear the affection. A thumb at my chin, tipping my face toward his. “You’re the only one who is.”
“How do you figure?”
“You’ll see.”
“Okay,” I whisper. I decide to trust him. Trust that whatever he’s doing won’t end up with my heart on the floor. “What are you feeling right now?”
“To start with, I’m eating pineapple pizza.”
A laugh bursts out of me so quick and sharp, I ache with it.
“Pineapple pizza is the best. I’m not sure that’s something you need to be worried about.”
“Who says I was worried about it?” he asks lazily.
“Noted.” Another laugh pops out of me like a soap bubble. “What else is going on?”
“I think about her all the time. I wonder what she’s doing. I’ve got this hair tie on my wrist that I stole from her. She doesn’t know about it,” he adds as an afterthought, and the hope burns brighter. A solar flare in the middle of my chest.
“Do you keep a list of her favorite things in your glove compartment?”
He makes a short, amused sound. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. So I don’t forget.”
“What else?”
“She does this thing when she laughs . . . it’s like she laughs with her whole body. I’ve never seen anything like it. She holds her hands tight together like she’s—like she’s holding on to her happiness. Like she’s not afraid to grab it.” Aiden pauses, his breath gusting over the receiver. In the background, I hear the crunch of asphalt. He must be pacing, wherever he is. “I want to be the kind of man who deserves that laugh. Who earns it.”
“It’s not about deserving,” I say, my throat tight. “If someone gives you something, you have it. You don’t have to earn it.”
