Page 72 of What We Break
But things are going to change. I can feel it. And change has never been kind to me.
Reid's moving forward, building something real. And I'm still sleeping on a couch in my workshop.
He deserves this. He deserves her.
I just don't know where that leaves me.
15
LAINE
Spinach. Eggs. Bread.
I'm writing this stuff down on actual paper like some kind of domestic goddess. When did I become the person who makes grocery lists? I used to wander around whatever store was closest and grab things that looked edible. Once, in Honduras, my entire weekly shop was a bag of rice, some mangoes, and whatever the street vendor was selling that didn't look like it would kill me.
Now I'm sitting here planning meals for the week.Meals.Like I'm going to cook them in my own kitchen with my own pans.
God, I'm such a grown-up.
My phone buzzes. Mom, like she's got some kind of maternal surveillance system:How are you, sweetheart? Getting enough to eat?
I snap a picture of my list and send it.Making a list right now. Don't worry, I'm eating plenty.
Good girl. Love you.
She'd be so proud. Her wandering daughter, finally acting like a responsible adult. She probably doesn't need to know that half my "meal planning" involves leftover pizza and cereal for dinner. Or that the list I just photographed has "actual vegetables" underlined twice because apparently I need to bully myself into nutrition.
I add "fruit that isn't in pie form" and stare at it. That feels aggressive, but I leave it.
The apartment's quiet. Saturday morning quiet with nowhere to be and nothing urgent to do.
So why do I keep looking at my phone?
It's not like Reid and I have plans. We hung out Wednesday night — that was just two days ago. I can still feel where his hand rested on my thigh during the movie. The warmth of him pressed against my side on the couch. The way he'd lean over and whisper commentary during the slow parts, his breath warm on my neck, until I couldn't concentrate on the plot at all and honestly couldn't tell you what the movie was about if you held me at gunpoint.
I don't want to be that girlfriend who needs constant attention.
But I kind of want constant attention. From him, specifically.
Am I being that girlfriend? Are we even at the point where I can call myself his girlfriend? We've been dating for seven weeks. That's nothing. That's barely a free trial.
I set the pen down. Enough.
The list goes in my bag, keys off the hook, wallet from the counter where I always dump it. I shove my feet into sneakers without untying them and grab a hair clip from the bowl by the door. Groceries. Errands. Normal Saturday things that normal people do instead of staring at their phone mooning over a boy.
My car starts on the second try. Is that something I should worry about? It's not like I haven't been in cars that sputtered a bit, but this is the first time I've actually owned one. It seems like the grown up thing to get someone to look at it. I'm reaching for my phone when the screen lights up with Reid's name.
"Hey," I answer, trying to sound like a person with a full and independent life who didn't spend a whole bunch of time thinking about him this morning.
"Hey yourself." His voice is warm and a little rough, like he just woke up. That rough rasp sends a happy tingle through me. "What are you up to today?"
"Oh, you know. Living the dream. About to go grocery shopping."
Reid laughs, and my face splits into a grin that I'm glad he can't see. "Grocery shopping, huh? That does sound pretty exciting. Very adult of you. I'm impressed."
"Don't mock me. I've got a list and everything. I'm very organized today."
"A list? Damn, you really are adulting hard. I don't think I've ever made a grocery list in my life. I just wander around until I get hungry and then buy whatever's closest."
