I’m pleased with how comfortable she seems. I was worried she would get panicky again and kick me out and start the whole isolation thing over. I’m still worried that as soon as I leave her, she’ll start overthinking.
For now, though, as she sips her coffee, she seems totally at ease.
“What do you usually do on Sundays?” I ask.
Cynthia contemplates. “It depends. I like to read or watch TV, and then do some studying if I need.”
“You don’t take the full day off?”
“Not really,” she admits with a bashful shrug. “I like to get ahead before the week starts.”
“The semester is almost over,” I point out. “Isn’t your schoolwork letting up?”
“Yeah, I’m in mostly chill classes,” Cynthia says. “I just wanna finish strong so I can go into med school with my head in the game.”
I smile at her intensity. When she talks about medical school, her whole face lights up. It clearly means everything to her.
I’m wary of talking too much about the future, since we agreed to enjoy our present, but I also don’t want to force Cynthia to not discuss something she’s so excited for and has worked so hard for.
“Have you figured out where you’ll live in the city?”
Cynthia shakes her head. “Not yet. My mom and I were going to start looking this summer. I know apartments are pricier so I’ll probably find another med student as a roommate.”
“You’ll like the city,” I say. “Just walking down the street is an adventure.”
Cynthia props her chin on her hand and gazes out the window. “I’m a little nervous. I’ve grown so used to my routine here.”
“You’ll find a new routine.”
“I hope so,” she says.
She glances over at me and blinks, as if realizing the implications of our discussion. We’ve touched on a sensitive area. We’ve acknowledged that things between us cannot last forever. She’s not going to live next door to me for much longer.
“How do you usually spend your Sundays?” she asks.
I shrug. “Depends on how I’m feeling. I definitely don’t work though, I get tired of my computer screen by the end of the week.”
I reach over and touch her hand that’s resting on the table. I haven’t touched her since getting out of bed, and it’s unbearable to be in the same room with her without reaching out.
Instead of pulling away like I feared, she smiles and grips my hand in hers. She leans closer to me. “I’m glad you came over last night.”
“Me too,” I say.
To my utter surprise, she places a kiss on my mouth, lifting her hand to the side of my head. Her lips are gently and almost hesitant, but I deepen the kiss, grasping her waist in my arm and pulling her closer.
When we break the kiss, her cheeks are stained a pretty red, and she lets out a girlish giggle. I’m delighted by how affectionate she is being even though we’re not in the act of having sex. It feels like somehow we took some gigantic step last night, just by having a face to face conversation in which we were honest with each other.
She stands up and starts to clear the plates. “You cooked, so I’ll clean up.”
She carries the stuff into the kitchen and turns the sink on. I lean back in my chair and stretch.
I know I want to stay with her, but I don’t want to be clingy or pressure her to hang out. I consider leaving and giving her space, but the thought of returning to my empty house while knowing she was right here, so close to me, is unpleasant.
Just when I’m trying to figure out what to do, Cynthia calls from the kitchen.
“So I think I’ll shower, but then afterwards, do you wanna go for a walk or something?”
My heart leaps at the invitation. I stand up and lean against the door to the kitchen. “I would love that.”
“Good.” Cynthia nods at me and smiles.
I want to follow her into the shower, but I refrain. Instead, I head over to my place to wash and change clothes.
When I knock on her door, she opens it, a big smile on her face.
“Ready?” she asks.
I nod. I am ready for a day with her. But I’m also starting to think I’m ready for everything with her.
Chapter Nineteen
Cynthia
It took all my bravery to invite him to spend the day with me. Part of me thinks it wasn’t a good idea. If Nate is perfect for a sexual adventure, that doesn’t mean he’s an ideal spend-a-whole-Sunday together material.
In fact, that’s a boyfriend type of thing. Nate is not a boyfriend type of guy. It’s almost laughable to cast him in that role. He’s not some gawky student or young professional. He’s a man.
As I brush my damp hair after my shower, I wonder if he’s ever been a boyfriend. He must have, at some point in his life. It might be inappropriate to ask, but he did say he wants me to be honest with him.
Since the weather is nice, I pull on a plaid skirt over tights and a sweater, then complete the outfit with some durable boots.
When I hear him ring the doorbell, I grab my purse and skip down the steps. It occurs to me that I’ve never felt this excited for any of the dates I’ve ever gone on.
And this isn’t even a real date.
We walk out of the driveway and onto the sidewalk. Without discussing it, we turn away from campus. It’s so early, I highly doubt there will be any of my fellow students out, but I still don’t want to take the risk of running into them. Not that I’m doing anything wrong. And if anyone saw us walking side by side, it’s not like it would start any rumours. We’re not being overly-touchy, and I’m not exactly the type of person who gets
