Funny You Should Ask

by Elissa Sussman

I don’t want to be worshipped. I want to be loved.

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.”

I should go easy on him, but another part of me thinks that I’ve spent way too much time in my life going easy on men.

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.

Time inched forward as his lips moved toward mine. I thought dimly that if I could live in this moment, in this beautiful anticipation, I would be pretty damn happy. Then Gabe’s mouth touched mine and I realized that this was far, far better than I had ever imagined it would be.

“Smart and funny?” I ask. “Addictive?” “You disagree?” he asks. I don’t have an answer. “You’ve read them,” I say instead. “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.

“You’re a great writer,” he says. I revise my previous thought. That is probably the hottest thing 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.

“I want you,” Gabe says. “I’ve wanted you. Since the first moment.”

“There’s nothing just about you,” he says.

I close my eyes as he kisses me. My entire heart feels like it’s sitting at the base of my throat. Heavy. Tight. “It’s you,” he says.

“I think it was the short story,” Gabe says. “The story?” “I think that’s where it started,” he says. “When I read your story.” “It’s not that good of a story,” I say. “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.”

“In the midst of my very dramatic and completely unnecessary cinematic gesture, I forgot to say the one thing I should have said first.” Gabe looks at me. My breath fogs in the air between us. “I love you,” he says.

“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.” I swallow my heart down. “And my dumb questions?” He smiles at that. His hand is on my elbow. “Everything,” he says. “I love everything about you.” I let my heart settle in my chest. Where it belongs. “I love you too,” I say. “Everything about you.”

I didn’t want to be successful. I wanted to be loved.

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