Page 52 of Love Me Not
Too curious to turn back now, I asked, “Will they come here?”
A deep sigh left his body. “Mom died on Christmas Eve. We haven’t celebrated the holiday since.”
Now I felt bad for prying. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“You didn’t know.”
We fell into an awkward silence saved only by the arriving waitress. The burgers hit the table and I put all of my focus into dousing my fries in ketchup.
“What about you?” Trey said as Maureen left us with our food. “You have a big family, right?”
Becca must have been talking again. “Yeah, I’m the middle of five kids. All my siblings have kids, so family gatherings are really crowded.”
“I bet the holidays are great.”
Christmas was the one time of year when my cynical side took a back seat to silly Aunt Lindsey. For a few days a year I was ready to dance, tickle, draw, and sneak baked goods whenever possible. The kids loved me for it, and their parents never let me hear the end of sending them home hyped up on sugar.
“It’s my favorite time of year. Probably because it was my Babka Maja’s favorite time. She baked for at least ten days straight every December, and despite my complete lack of any food-related skills, she still let me help.”
Trey squeezed a reasonably-sized dollop of ketchup onto the side of his plate, and then dipped the end of a fry. “Did she teach you how to cook?”
I snorted. “Heck, no. I can’t cook to save my life.” Venturing into dangerous territory, I added, “One of the many reasons I’m not wife material.”
He took a bite of his fry and dipped again. “Cooking isn’t required to be a wife.”
“Based on my experience, that is not a widely held opinion.” If I had a dime for every guy who told me I needed to learn how to cook, I could pay for this meal in change alone and still have coins left over.
Picking up his burger, he shook his head. “I’m not big on stereotypes. Everyone brings something different to the table.”
“Not everyone,” I mumbled, licking salt off my fingers. “With me you get an empty table.”
“That’s bull. Making food isn’t the only way to show that you care about people.”
To think I once said he sucked at arguing. “I’m not sure what delusions you have about me, but let me clear them up now. I don’t like people, I don’t cook, and I don’t clean. I suck at small talk, which you’ve probably figured out by now, and I’m stubborn to a fault.”
“Everyone has their quirks.”
“I’m also extremely independent, selfish, and impatient.”
Wiping his hands on his napkin, he said, “Are you done?”
I could go on, but this was enough for now. “Yes.”
“Good.” Trey returned the napkin to his lap. “Here’s my rebuttal. You have four friends who would fight to the ends of the earth for you. That tells me you’re a good person whether you’re willing to admit it or not. You’re staunchly protective of both your students and your friends, and probably of your family. What you lack in domestic skills—and I’m only taking your word for that—you make up for in intelligence, wit, and brutal honesty.”
Since when was brutal honesty a positive attribute?
“Though you’re quick to judgment,” he continued, “you also have no problem changing your view when presented with new information. Proof in point, you’re here with me right now, which wouldn’t have happened the first day we met.”
I paused before taking a bite of my burger. “You should forget about drama and go moderate the debate team.”
“Nah, I hate research.” Reaching for his water glass, he said, “You know not every guy is looking for a wife, right?”
An interesting suggestion. “I guess there could be men who are content alone.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“If you mean some are looking for husbands, then yes, I know gay men exist.”