Funny You Should Ask

by Elissa Sussman

He laughed. It was a great laugh, all low and dark and rich. If chocolate cake had a laugh, it would be that.

“I didn’t think it was possible for so many words to come out of somebody’s mouth that quickly,” he said. “And I auditioned for Gilmore Girls.”

It’s almost like I’m coming home. Not to a place, necessarily, but to a feeling. To a possibility of more. And that completely and utterly terrifies me.

“I could make you happy,” he says. I swallow. Hard. “Yeah?” I ask. “Yeah,” he says. “Show me,” I say.

“I thought we’d established that I’ve read everything you’ve written.” It’s one of the hottest things anyone has ever said to me.

All marriages, just like all countries, have conflict. Sometimes patriotism is strong enough to overcome it—weighing what is shared against what could be lost—but sometimes, the conflict highlights that the country itself was founded on unsteady ground.

“They’re just breasts,” I say for literally no reason at all. He looks up, and shakes his head, long and slow, his hair falling across his forehead. “There’s nothing just about you,” he says.

“I guess I really like dragons, then,” he says. “Because by the time you walked up to my front door, talking to yourself, I think I was already halfway infatuated with you. It wasn’t just the

story, I don’t think, though it was good. It was the way you wrote it. The way your brain worked. I liked that. A lot.”

“I love your clever mind. I love your hair and your butt. I love how fucking brilliant you are, how bold and how brave. I love that Teddy loves you. And I’m pretty sure that my family loves you too. I love your ideas, your stories. And mostly I love your very big eyes and your very smart mouth.”

It’s feeling like every day is the perfect day, even if the whole day isn’t perfect, but finding the moments that are.