If It Makes You Happy

by Julie Olivia

She has enough emotions for the both of us. I love that about her.

Still as stone, he breathes, “You deserve to be alone.” The words—definitive and concise—ring in my ears.

That same sensation—the feeling of being seen, our eyes snagging—overtakes me once more. His eyes scan my own before tracing over me—from my cheeks to my lips and farther, to my fist clutching Rocket’s collar.

Emily pokes her wooden spoon at my chest. “He’s a misogynist actually. Big one.” “Huge,” I sarcastically agree. “She’s gotta learn her place now while she’s young.”

We exchange another small smile, and he goes back to kneading the dough. Cliff can be frustrating. But I also kinda like him. A little bit.

He’s so different from me. If I’m autumn, he’s spring. He’s all smiles and glowing warmth. His blue eyes are so deep, like the first beautiful clear sky of the season. He likes to rest them on my breeze-blown hair, drift them down to my painted lips or to the cardigan falling off my shoulder.

And together, with our plates of potpie, we eat with tiny forks beside the dim lamp and the cool glow of the TV.

The world tilts. It suddenly feels like I’m falling through the ground, straight to the center of the earth. God, she’s breathtaking.

“Wow. I’m truly in the baker club,” I say. He scoffs out a laugh. “I’ll get you a membership card. They’re edible.” I grin and roll my eyes.

“I like how you talk about your sister,” he says. “She’s my favorite person in the world,” I admit.

I don’t want to go on more dates. I want Michelle. Not as a friend. Not as a fling. I want her.