Page 110 of Everything She Wanted

“I love Lucy already.”

“She likes you, too.” I remember our brief meeting when Rachel and I bumped into them at brunch. She has his same piercing blue eyes and golden blonde locks.

I drift around his living room, wanting to cherish every last detail of this night. I run my fingers along the couch and the wall, and even flip through the magazines neatly piled on the coffee table. I laugh when I see GQ.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

I guess I’ll always have GQ.

He fills me in on every single piece I ask about, just watching me as I wander and touch the intimate parts of his life. I came to say goodbye, but now that I’m here I want to delay that part and get to know him in a way that I never had the chance to before.

The silver bowl is from Granville Island, made by a local artisan; he bought it when he went with his mom a few years ago. The liquor cabinet is something he’s been stocking every time he goes through Duty-Free, which is why the selection is so impressive. I ask him about an Indigenous wooden carving sitting in his kitchen next to the coffee machine. He tells me he received it while visiting sacred lands in the interior of British Columbia from an elder who helped him ground and connect to the land and himself.

I wander to his living room and pick up the ornate Ek Onkar that’s displayed on Nick’s mantel. Crystals are inlaid on top of the sacred words. The symbol is found in every Punjabi home I know in Surrey and Brampton.

“Where did you get this?”

“Oh, my mom went on a yoga retreat in India. She got one as a housewarming gift for me. Said it represents our interconnectedness.” He looks at me with his bright eyes sparkling in the low light. “I’d love to learn more about what it means.”

I’d love to teach you.

Too bad I’ll never get the chance.

My eyes drift to the hallway where the door to his room must be, but I don’t dare go in there, not trusting myself still.

I stand behind the same stools I did when I first visited here.

“Drink?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

“Gin and tonic?”

“You always get my order right.” I smile softly.

He grins.

I watch as he expertly adds the gin, bitters, ice cubes, tonic water, and fresh berries to the shakers before pouring two drinks. He brings them over to where I’m standing by the stools.

“What are we celebrating?” he asks.

“This moment.”

We clink glasses, and I take only a small sip, not wanting to dull my senses as much as I normally do.

I walk over to the sectional and set the drink down carefully on the glass coffee table. He does the same, and then we sit down next to each other. Our thighs touch, just barely.

He looks at me like I’m something to him, and now I believe I am.

I move my fingers along his face as he closes his eyes with my touch, caressing his eyebrows, strong jaw, soft lips, then running my fingers through his golden locks and down his neck. I don’t go lower, not anymore.

“What are you doing?” he asks gently as he opens his eyes. “Not that I mind.”

A tear rolls down my face. “Memorizing every inch of your beautiful face.”

“Can I do the same?”