Page 80 of A Crazy Kind of Love
I helped him out. “Malayalam.”
Pratosh said, “Cem’mn.”
Pratosh and I exchanged an amused glance when Micah tried to repeat it. Undaunted, he asked, “How do you say, ‘You have beautiful eyes.’”
“Niamaneaharamaya kaukau.”
Micah’s face dropped. “What about just ‘beautiful.’”
“Maneaharamaya.”
Micah repeated it, kind of. Close enough anyway.
I said, “Nandi.It means ‘thank you.’”
“Why do you get the easy one?”
I ran my finger across his cheek. “Micah, you aremaneahara-maya.And not bad looking either.”
As we ate, I told him more about my trip to Kerala as a child. “I was only there for a week, but those memories are more vivid to me than most of my memories of high school.”
“We should go there.”
“I’d love to go there with you.” I pictured myself introducing Micah to my dad and wondered if we’d end up in the same shouting match Dad had had with his father. It’s funny who we let influence our lives.
I thanked Pratosh for the wonderful meal and said to Micah, “It was sweet of you to do all this. Thank you for going to all the trouble.”
“You asked.” He poured himself another glass of the strawberry-lemon drink.
“What?”
“The first night you stayed here. Or that morning. You asked me to have more food.”
“I did?”
“You scared the hell out of me that morning. This is something I can do, Josie. This doesn’t have to be so hard. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I want to make you happy. And healthy. And just . . . here.”
After we burned off the calories from supper and spent ourselves so thoroughly Micah fell asleep even before me, I snuggled against him and processed everything I’d experienced during the day. Micah’s family proved that he’d been raised with an example of a long-term stable relationship, and yet so far in his life, he’d chosen to pursue short-lived shallow affairs that meant nothing. Why had he singled me out for his first attempt at something real?
Meanwhile, I was the offspring of a broken home, always on high alert to stay away from anyone who might turn out to be like my dad. So why had I gone straight for the one guy who’d burned through probably dozens of women, proving time and time again that he couldn’t be counted on to make a failing romance work?
More importantly, why was I letting him lure me in?
It troubled me that I wasn’t troubled. Despite all the historical evidence against him, I wanted to trust Micah. But I couldn’t figure out for sure whether my desire to trust him was blinding me to any warning signs. Was it all wishful thinking?
If I told him I’d had fun, but now I wanted to move on, would he let me go like he had with so many others? Or would he fight for me?
He made a snuffling sound and threw his arm up over his head—something I’d noticed he only did when he was here in his own bed, safe and content.
Tomorrow after work, I’d talk to him about how I was feeling. I closed my eyes and lay awake for another hour, already rehearsing every word.
Chapter 22
In the morning, I nearly cried when Micah set a plate of pancakes on the table before me. Pratosh had shown him how to make them with whole wheat flour, pears, and ginger. He’d jumped out of bed before I woke up and brought me my glucose meter. By the time I’d showered and dressed, he had half the batter sizzling on some kind of state-of-the-art griddle.
