Page 56 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
He thinks I have pretty eyes?
I... I really don’t know what to do with that.
“Go ahead. Tell her.” Storee nods in my direction. “You know you want to.”
Lips pursed, he lightly shakes his head, which causes Storee to roll her eyes.
“Oh stop. You were just telling me earlier how pretty her eyes are. Go ahead. She’s here. Tell her.”
The back of my neck grows hot as I glance toward him.
“I . . . uh . . .” He stumbles, taking a step backward, looking all sorts of uncomfortable.
It’s such an intense and awkward reaction that I feel like I need to give him privacy but don’t know how to.
If only my chair would swallow me whole.
Silence falls between us.
The awkwardness grows.
Until he clears his throat and looks at me, his expression serious. He wets his lips.
Clears his throat again.
Then meekly says, “I . . . uh . . . I think you have really pretty eyes.”
Oh God.
He means it.
And now things just took a turn, because I don’t know how to react to that, and when I don’t know how to react, my awkward instincts kick in, meaning... I’m about to ramble nonsense.
I know it’s coming.
I know it’s my only way to fight off the bumbling feeling pulsing through me.
And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
My cheeks flame. I look away and hear myself say, “Oh, uh, thank you. They’re, uh, they’re my dad’s eyes.”
They’re my dad’s eyes?
Who says that?
“Your dad’s eyes? You don’t say,” Atlas says. “Well, your dad has really pretty eyes then.”
I look up at him again, and he’s blushing as well. Probably just as much as I am. “I’ll, uh, I’ll let him know you think so. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the compliment.”
“That would be great.” He clutches the tray to his chest. “Because who doesn’t like a compliment?”
“Some people might not, but my dad does.”
“My dad likes compliments too.”
“Oh really?” I ask, wanting to slowly melt into my chair from the awkwardness of this conversation. “Glad your dad likes compliments.”
“He does. Would you like to, uh... would you like to pay him one as well?”
