the propinquity effect

21

+ 21 +

As soon as I heard those words escaping from the doctor's mouth and sending it through the phone I dropped the knife I was holding. It fell to the carpeted floor as I tried my best to hold on to the precious phone. What have I done? I couldn't just end the call, it would leave the doctor curious and I couldn't just burst into the men's room to tell Michael that.

It was just too fast for me and too slow for me to figure out what I was feeling. I was pretty sure I'm sad or even confused. The thoughts kept on jumbling in my mind like jigsaw puzzle, it was just too hard for me. What should I do? I couldn't just stay silent, it was Michael's mom. The only person (aside from Michelle) that actually meant something to the boy.

I put back the phone beside the plate and drank a glass of water. Michael had already ordered for us because not a few seconds after that, Calum went rushing in and put all of our orders on the table. I thanked him almost silently and he went.

Basically Michael ordered spaghetti with meatballs and a plate of eight-sliced pepperoni pizzas. I had been a jerk towards Michael, I should make him feel like he was fucking royalty although it was my birthday. His mom got diagnosed with stage four breast cancer, she had a slim chance of survival so I didn't know what I should do.

I didn't even know my feelings towards him were platonic or not. One second I felt like it was and then the other I felt like it wasn't. But upon seeing him going out of the bathroom and the big smile was still plastered on his face because he didn't know what was going on with the world, I knew it wasn't platonic.

It wasn't hard seeing him as attractive. He has one of those eyes you got lost in, Luke's weren't even close to his. Michael's eyes would shine under the sunlight or moonlight, anything made him look like he was shining. He would close his eyes when he laughs or he would take a few short breaths before he would laugh so hard. His laugh wasn't like a laugh, it was more like a snort.

And it was sad, really, how I could possibly notice all of his things and all of his quirks when probably he only noticed my make up. Was I falling for him? The attractive yet asshole material boy? The boy that admitted he couldn't fix broken things and he couldn't even know how to tape a window back together. Should I possibly tell him about my pass or should I leave it?

"Are you okay?" Michael asked, stabbing a piece of meatball with his fork and putting it on the empty plate beside the bowl. He cut it half with his knife as he didn't break eye-contact with me.

"Je suis affamé." I said to him in French. It literally translates to I am hungry and he chuckled playfully. Popping the half opened meatball into his mouth as he smiled a little, covering his mouth.

"You speak French?" Michael asked, popping the other half as I cut my spaghetti. It would look posh when I spoon the spaghetti instead of using a fork.

"Apparently, I do." I said as I looked at him from beneath my eyelashes.

"Girls who speak French are hot." Michael commented and I almost choked on my meatball. Did he just indirectly called me hot?

"You speak French and I think you're fluent." Michael smiled as he bit another meatball and he drank a gulp of water.

"I'm not fluent, I kind of can speak French but I'm not fluent." I wiped away the sauce residue around my lips with my tissue and ran a hand through my hair. "Well, I needed to find something to do rather than sulk because of my father's death."

"And speaking French is an escape?" Michael asked, putting his elbow on the table and propping his chin on his opened palm. I cocked my head to the side and shrugged.