“When they say things, it’s almost like they say them because they feel they have to. They look down their noses and say ‘your dress looks nice, Terra.’ Or one of them might say ‘I like your hair, did you get it cut?’ and they really don’t give a fuck. They’ll say it as they’re walking past me, and not even wait to hear my response. So, no, I don’t always appreciate compliments. But, with you? You don’t say things you don’t mean. At least it doesn’t seem like it.”
“If I despise someone, they’ll know it,” he said with a laugh. “And if I give a compliment, it’s from the heart.”
“I like that about you.”
The waiter walked up to the table, his hands filled with two large platters. “Here you are. One number eleven, and one number six. Who gets what?”
“We’re going to share,” I said.
I provided instructions on the soy sauce, use of ginger for cleaning the palate, and the wasabi—which I personally detested—and we began to eat.
“Well?” I asked.
“I like it. A lot. It seems.” He picked up a piece of ginger, ate it, and continued. “Clean. It seems clean. Fresh. Healthy. I like it.”
He reached for another piece. “The fish is raw tuna?”
I nodded. “Is it okay?”
“I’ve had tuna before,” he said. “I like it.”
I returned a smile, pleased I was able to make a suggestion that was something new and would be memorable.
“I just thought of something,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“You were a sushi virgin.”
He laughed. “I was.”
“And now, every time you eat it, you’ll think of me.”
He laughed again, this time carefully placing his chopsticks on the edge of his plate. “I don’t need to eat sushi to think of you.”
I started to respond, telling him how much I appreciated his kindness, but he continued before I had a chance to speak.
“I can’t do a damned thing anymore without thinking of you, Terra. Nothing. Some of the things I’m involved in with work are, well, let me just say they’re thought-consuming. And right in the middle of work, I think of you.”
I was flattered. I felt the same way, but I didn’t dare share my thoughts with him for fear of scaring him away. I met his gaze and chewed my lip anxiously. “Thank you.”
“I wasn’t done,” he said. “I think of you when I drive to my office. When I eat. When I take a shower. When I...”
He grinned until his dimples showed. “When I anything.”
I admired his dimples, pleased that he’d revealed them. It was a rarity. “Is that bad?” I asked.
“At first, I thought it was. Now? I’ve just learned to accept it.”
“How could it be bad?”
“It leads me to believe I’m dependent upon you. Or, if I’m not, I’m quickly becoming so.”
“And that’s bad how?”
“What if you decide to leave me?” He hesitated and extended his index finger. “What if you decide the no big deal relationship is too big of a deal for you?”
“I won’t.”
He shook his head and reached for the chopsticks. “You can’t make that promise.”
I did my best to look stern. “I just did.”
He looked surprised for a moment, and then reached inside his jacket. After fumbling around for a moment, he produced a small square envelope.
He reached over the table and handed it to me. “Here.”
“What is it?”
“What’s it look like?”
“A card.”
“Well, that’s what it is. I got it for you and forgot about it. Well, until now, anyway. You just made me remember it.”
I eagerly pulled the card from the envelope. The front was covered in various colored polka dots, but no script. Confused and curious, I opened it. The inside of the card was free of any commercially printed notes or sayings, and only contained a few very neatly crafted hand-written sentences.
He had purchased a blank card and made it himself.
I glanced at Michael, and then back at the card.
Terra,
When I’m with you, nothing else matters.
When nothing else matters, the world around me dissolves, leaving only you.
And. Nothing. Else. Matters.
Michael
My eyes welled with tears. I read it again. My throat constricted. A tear escaped me and I turned my head to the side, hoping he didn’t see. I carefully wiped it away and clutched the card in my hand, not wanting to turn loose of it.
I turned to face Michael, and had every intention of expressing my thanks, but the words didn’t come.
He smiled, revealing two slight dimples.