Above Water ✔️

30 - confession hour ii

There we sat, two plates of leftover casserole from the night before that we missed due to vigorous coitus, staring at each other from across the table.

I took a bite and mm'd, just to fill the silence. Dallas looked amused, albeit a bit forced. I knew he wanted to know what's on my mind. And I knew he knew that I knew. I just didn't want to address it.

"So," Dallas said. I looked up, eyes tracking the cherry red mark I made on his neck last night. "I can tell you've kind of been . . . I don't know, distant?"

"Distant?" I asked, feigning offense. "I have not been— Okay, yeah. I have been a little distant."

He smiled small with a mouthful of food. I didn't say anything else, just waited for him to swallow and do whatever it was that he did to make weird situations feel normal. I picked at my plate, avoiding his eyes.

"I just get the feeling I did something wrong."

My eyes shot up to him. "No, no, no," I said quickly, the words running together. "You're great, Dallas. It's not you, it's me."

Cringe.

"Right," he mused.

I took another bite of my food, trying to think about how to word this without sounding like such a douchebag. "Look," I said, not starting off very well, "I really like hanging out with you. And I'm not lying, you really are great. In every way, you know. Last night?"

I then embarrassed myself further by doing the OK hand signal.

"I don't know how to explain it, but, like—" I paused, watching him set his fork down and turn his full attention towards me. Way to make me more anxious. "I don't know if we're on the same page about what this is. That's what I'm worried about."

Dallas nodded slowly. "What do you think this is?"

"Just . . . hanging out," I said, feeling relieved just getting it off my chest. Even after seeing Dallas's eyebrows furrow, my brain felt an urge to redundantly tack on, "No strings."

I held my breath without realizing it. Suddenly, I couldn't meet his eyes. I turned my head down towards my plate and focused on stabbing peas with my fork. He let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sigh, but I didn't look up. What was he going to say? No, Thomas, marry me. My nose twitched at that thought.

Under the table, I felt Dallas's sock clothed foot slip between my ankles. "Is that what you're worried about?" he asked.

I glanced up. He looked perplexed, his eyebrows knit together and his lips slightly pouted. It was a look I didn't like receiving, yet could stare at for hours. "Well, yeah," I said quietly. "I just thought you might have the wrong idea, what with the dinner date and flowers and pet names—"

"Pet names?"

My cheeks flushed. "Y-Yeah, you called me baby last night," I said, tone turning up at the end as if it were obvious.

"Oh, Thomas," Dallas said and chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. "I don't expect you to run away with me. I have fun with you and I like you a lot. If the timing was different and we didn't live hours away from each other, hell yeah, I'd want to take things more seriously, but . . . I know this won't last forever."

I felt conflicted.

On one hand, great! I was relieved. He wasn't in love with me and didn't want me to have awkward Facetime sex once a week for the next three years! I should have been jumping for joy. But at the same time, hearing him say he'd want to take things more seriously, if it were at all plausible, made me feel a bit dejected. Sure, if he lived in my city and I didn't have to take a plane to see him, maybe I would, too.