Lessons On Love

14: Heartbeats Or Footsteps

            “Do- Do I have to?” He murmured.

            I batted my eyelashes at him, copying Diana’s exact technique before giving him a tiny pout. “Oh come on,” I whimpered in a soft purr. “Just one more bite!”

            “Your acting is so real it’s scary,” Marshall sobbed, but then offered his mouth to me in hesitation anyways.

I stuck the fork inside his mouth and when he closed to chew, I grabbed his napkin and dabbed it all around his face, albeit a little overdramatically, before slamming my palm on the table and causing everyone to jump. “See how creepy that was,” I shouted. “That’s you guys! That was you guys right there!” Then I took my own fork and violently stabbed a piece of lettuce before shoving in into my mouth.

            We all ate in silence after that.

            Eventually though, after the whole ordeal was over and the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher, Diana gave me the kitchen back and I was finally able to perform what I had hurried home to do: bake. Since we were running low on time – or at least I was from my daily schedule – Marshall decided to do most of the baking and show me the ropes so I could do it by myself tomorrow night when he wasn’t around.

            “See, for flour, you have to sift it. Are you taking notes in your head?” I nodded and watched him play around with the sifter with such concentration that someone could have easily mistaken him for a professional. After he added a series of ingredients into the mixing bowl, he grabbed two eggs in one hand, and in one smooth movement, cracked both of them at the same time before throwing the shells in the waste bin.

            Somewhere in between mixing everything together and scooping it out of the mixing bowl onto a clean cookie sheet, Marshall began to hum, and then shortly after, sing. If I was being absolutely honest, he was a terrible singer. Absolutely dreadful. But for some reasons, I liked the raw edge in his voice, how he was completely tone death – untouched – like an uncut diamond.

            “So don’t you worry your pretty little mind. People throw rocks at things that shine. And life makes love look hard. Something. Something. Hm. Hm. Hm. This love is ours.” I laughed after – just tiny, barely audible chuckles – but Marshall must have heard me because he stopped and spun his head in my direction. “What?” He laughed. “Is my singing really that bad?”

            “It’s pretty bad,” I told him and watched him slap another spoon of batter on the cookie tray. “But I guess that’s okay since I can’t bake and you seem really good at it.”

            “So are you admitting there’re things that the great Camila Jones can’t do?”

            I crossed my arms in front of me, slightly disappointed for whatever the reason at his abrupt remark. “I never said I could do everything,” I retorted. “Or that I was perfect. I never once said anything like that. All that I’ve ever said was that I was me. I won’t put myself down or be humble about my abilities, but I’ve never said anything about being perfect.”

            “I’ve never said anything like that about you either,” he laughed, which caught me slightly off guard, but managed to calm my impending rage. “People always say you’re beautiful and you’re talented and you have impeccable grades at school, but I’m not interested in things like that. I don’t want to know the things about you that the rest of the world already knows. I want to know what your weaknesses are – things you wouldn’t normally tell other people.”

            And maybe it was because he didn’t have his eyes on me, but I didn’t feel weird talking to him, and everything that I wanted to say poured out naturally. It was something that I’ve never quite experienced before – having someone ask to know more about me. Usually everyone I come across already have a predetermined idea of me whether they like me because of it or they hate me because of it.