The beans burn again. I’d whispered the trick to keep them soft, but still, they curl at the edges, blackened.
A quiet laugh echoes-not out loud, but in my head.
What’s so funny?
I just love everything about you, he thinks back.
Why?
You’re just so special.
Then you’re not in love with me. You’re in love with how special I am.
Why can’t it be both?
I stir the pot, unsure. I don’t know.
I don’t like the thought of you being alone. No one taking care of you.
How can you be sure of that?
Because I see you. I’ve been seeing you.
I don’t argue.
Let me take care of you.
You already take care of someone.
Then we take care of him—together.
I don’t know.
A pause. His thoughts flicker, pressed. What is it you want?
I hold the spoon too long over the flame.
Maybe I’m just so used to being alone, I say....
I don’t know how to be anything else.
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