I sit across from her, in a table by the window, watching each other across the almost bare table before us. My left leg touches her right, and my hand rests in hers on top of the table.
It's an amazing thing to be in love with someone. You can just sit in silence, no talking, and it is the most comfortable type of silence. To know you don't need to fill it. To look at them and know the connection you share, the love you have for each other.
The waiter comes up to the table, a tall older woman with red hair and an accent. "Hi, I'm Madeline, your server tonight, can I start you off with anything?"
"Water for me," I say and gesture for February to order.
"Same here." She says, and the waiter jots it down in her little notebook with a nod and walks off to her other tables.
"Thank you for doing all of this." February says, reaching her arm across the table and lacing our fingers together.
"I'll do anything for you." I smile, giving her hand a soft squeeze, taking in all her beauty. The naturalness of her light pink lips, her hair pulled into a intricate braid, the black lace revealing just enough of her tan skin.
The waitress comes back and we order, each getting separate orders so we can try both. February and I sit there for a while, talking about the things on our minds, small things like what type of chips are better or where we want to end up in life.
"For me," She says, closing her eyes a little and letting a small smile play across her lips, "I want to be a counselor, someone who gives advice and helps people become the best they can be. I want to grow up and have a wonderful little house in the suburbs, a big dog and three kids. And most of all have an amazing husband who loves me more than anything."
"I think when I'm older I want to be a teacher, preferably art. But I also want to be an artist. I want to grow up in the suburbs, because the city isn't appealing to me at all. I want to have a couple dogs and at least three kids, and a wife who loves me more than anything." I spot the waitress coming with our food and our hands break apart, silence settling over us other than the few tables talking around us and the sound of whizzing cars passing by the window.
"I love you." February says, and I sigh in content.
"I love you more."
YOU ARE READING
3am
Short Story"It's 3am and all I want is your lips on mine. It's the same as yesterday at 7pm, or Thursday at noon. It's the same as every hour, every minute, every second since I met you." #26 in Short Story.
