by Melissa Haag
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Just before I grew bored enough to start chewing on the table legs, I heard her car in the driveway. I hopped off the couch and hurried to the back door. Seeing her again made my chest ache. How could I miss someone I didn't understand or know?
She didn't acknowledge me when she stepped inside. She let her bag drop to the floor with a thump and moved to the fridge.
"I'm starving." She wasn't talking to me, but herself.
I stayed out of her way as she moved about, grabbing what she needed to make two sandwiches. She absently handed me one when she finished and stuck hers in her mouth, freeing her hands so she could carry her bag to her room. I quickly chomped my food down before she made it to the arch and followed her. Did she even realize I was here?
I wasn't expecting her to feel the way I did, but her complete indifference hurt.
In her room, she tiredly kicked off her shoes and set her bag on the mattress. She took a bite of her sandwich with one hand and started to read one of her books. Her gaze didn't leave the pages as she eased onto the bed and curled her legs under her, getting comfortable.
Hopping up on the bed, I joined her. She didn't flinch at all as I curled up beside her. In fact, she didn't do anything but read for a long time.
Eventually, she started to yawn.
"Come on, Clay. Out. I need to change." A yawn punctuated her request.
Suppressing a sigh, I hopped off the bed and left the room. When she opened the door again, I waited until I heard her get into bed before joining her. The soft rhythm of her breathing changed within minutes, letting me know she slept.
The next day followed the same routine. She woke, kicked me out, and left for class. I followed her to campus to make sure the piece of junk car didn't break down on the way, then went home to wait for her.
I was beginning to see why other people had made decisions for her. Her choice to go to college didn't seem like a smart one. It was boring as hell. But, I was near her, and if reading all the time made her happy...I sighed. I would just need to accept it.
Though I would have rather held her attention, I didn't mind watching her read. Observing her, I began to learn her body language. When she read something that confused her, she chewed her lip. When she read something interesting, she wrote it down. When she doubted what she read, she pulled out another book to see what that said. She often became so engrossed she forgot to drink anything at night; and she always studied until she yawned for the third time.
My time alone in the house was much harder to endure. I chafed at the situation, wishing I knew what to do to integrate myself into her life. Desperation drove me to pick up one of her textbooks. Maybe understanding what she read would give me insight into why she read it and her life. Instead, I quickly discovered why she went to bed after the third yawn.
Once I grew tired, the words tended to swim around in my head and made very little sense. I managed two chapters of biology before I closed that book and moved on to a different one. I picked at random from her dresser.
When she came home that night, she tossed me a sandwich, like she had the night before, and went to her room. She seemed to notice I'd moved her books around. I watched her study them, wondering if I'd upset her. She didn't say anything, though, just picked one up and started reading.
The next day she didn't come home with her usual distracted air.
"Hey, Clay," she called as she pushed through the door.
I stood abruptly from my normal waiting spot near the stove, wondering why she needed me. The movement drew her attention, and she looked at me with a slight smile on her face. My heart leapt at the sight. Was she actually happy to see me?
"Brought you something," she said.
The fact that she'd thought of me while she was out made me want to grin. My patience was paying off. I was sure of it.
Then, she pulled three books from her bag and set them on the table. Books? She'd brought me books? Of course she did. She read constantly, and had given me something that meant a great deal to her.
I eyed the titles. Books about plants and wildlife. Though I doubted they contained anything I didn't already know, I turned to Gabby, trying to figure out how to thank her for thinking of me. But she was already digging in the fridge, my moment of attention already gone. With a sigh, I waited, ready to accept my sandwich and follow her to her room.
That night, after she and Rachel went to sleep, I went to the kitchen, grabbed one of my books, and stayed up late reading. As I thought, the book didn't offer anything new; but it was better than her textbooks.
The following morning, after I returned from campus, I tried to continue reading but grew frustrated. The books were fine. The waiting at home wasn't. I wanted to walk with her to each class and face the men there as a man. Though she seemed to tolerate me, I didn't think she was ready to accept me openly. I needed to find a way to make myself useful, a way for her to need me.
Giving up on reading, I stared out the window. What could I offer her that she would need? She didn't seem to need or want a man's attention or affection. I recalled her sigh last night when we'd run out of ham. She needed someone to bring her food. Unless she liked fresh rabbit-which I doubted was the case-I needed money and a job to provide for her.
A car drove past, and I smiled.
If Gabby was willing to bring me books, maybe I could teach myself enough about cars to be useful to her. The rusted thing she drove would need attention eventually.
That night, after she went to sleep, I eased off the bed and shifted to my skin. I tore a page from one of her notebooks and picked up a pen. With the pen against the paper, I hesitated. How should I start? How would I end? Love, Clay? I sighed, looked at her curled under the covers, and knew I needed to keep it simple for both our sakes. She wasn't ready for even a hint of what I felt for her. The brief encounter with her in her swimsuit proved that.
I wrote the word mechanics, then leaned the paper against the stack of books she'd brought me. Hopefully, she'd understand.