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She’s the only girl in our family, and I’m starting to think teenage girls are just made of a different, harder steel than us boys.
Yet she brushes it off like it’s nothing. It’s like talking to a blank wall. Hell, is this how it feels to talk to me? That’s harrowing.
We stand there, blinking at him—smacked into the reality that, number one, kids are weird and random,
Her skin is so soft compared to mine. Smooth, as opposed to my calluses and tanned work hands. Wendy is practically an angel. It feels like a sin to touch her.
How long until we break? Until this situation feels untenable? Until the opinions of others, the risk of how they’ll react, no longer matter to how much we want each other?
“Lucky for you, I don’t flirt,” I comment. “Yes, you do,” she counters, the words accompanied by giggles bubbling out of her. “That eyebrow lift? That’s flirting.” “I’m just existing.” “Well, you exist very hotly. Just toss in a few choice words, and I’d be a goner.”
But Wendy sees a certain type of man in me, and I don’t know if it’s someone I used to be or someone I never knew I could be. But I like him. I like that he’s the type of man that has someone as captivating as Wendy walking closer.
I’m starting to wonder what type of man I truly am. Am I the hermit in the seaside shack? The man rattled by grief and nightmares? The overbearing dad? The terrible flirt? Or am I the man Wendy sees? Confident. Charming. A good dad. A man able to attract someone as radiant as her. And if I’m not that man, I wonder if I could be.
It’s funny how Jasper doesn’t need to say anything when he can simply lift an eyebrow and portray every dirty thought in his mind. His lack of words is just as seductive.
The magic of being a child is that complications like this don’t exist. If only adulthood could capture the same frank simplicity. The worst part about growing up is the sudden appearance of nuance.
Izzy’s own words are a little slurred as she throws back who knows what number of her clear-colored drink—pretty sure it’s straight vodka—without even a little bit of a cringe. I swear she’s made of steel. Or magic.
