A Nightmare's Fate

Should I?

Chapter Forty-one: Should I?

Everything moves faster when weeks pass by. Even when it feels like it’s been forever, a lifetime maybe, but it does go by pretty quick.

            I stare at the menu in front of me, deciding on what I’ll have for lunch. On the opposite side is Errik who just can’t seem to keep his eyes off of me. “Why do you keep staring? It’s making me uncomfortable!” I whisper, yelling at him like he’s some stalker.

            “Sorry. Just that . . . I love how ya can’t seem to pick what ya want to eat,” he says with his head to the side and his smile creeping up to the sides of his cheeks.

            “Really? ‘Cause I’ve gotten annoyed with this,” I comment, the irritating sensation rising up to my face, making it hot. I can picture myself now; steam bursting from both sides of my head, from my ears. “Come on . . . stop being stupid. We both know that isn’t the reason why you keep looking at me.”

            His grin fades and throws his hands in the air like he’s caught. “Fine, you caught me.” Bingo, I think. “I just keep thinking about us,” he continues on.

            “And what about us?” I question, feeling interested in the topic.

            “About . . . you move in with me.” What did you say?

            My eyes widen and I feel like I just found out the most shocking news of my life. “I thought girls ask that, not the guys.”

            “That’s in movies, Ray.”

            “But still . . . and . . . and . . . why?” I narrow my eyebrows in confusion and let him talk me through his explanation.

            “I was thinking about our life together, now I’m not asking you to marry me, just move in with me. That’s it. Bills are tighter and ya know that. Ya need a lot of money to get the book published and you know that too, because you were a publisher! And . . . doesn’t look like we’re getting serious?”

            He has a very good point, ya know. The thought of knowing that I don’t have that much money to keep my house nor do I have enough just to get anything published. “Well . . .” I begin, thinking some more about my circumstance.

            “You don’t need to live alone in that big ol’ house of yers anyway,” he continues to persuade me. “I can also tell that in some ways ya need to get out of there, even though I know you moved on; ya still sound as if you are haunted by memories living in it.”

            “I just don’t think I’m ready, Errik. I don’t think I’m able to leave . . .” Now that I’m saying it, makes me second guess my decision on our relationship.

            “Just think about it.” His eyebrows rise. Taking a sip of his drink, he then questions, “Anyways . . . what are you going to do?” He tries to see the words on my menu.

            “I’m going between the full seafood course and Cajun pasta. You?” I state, sipping my water.

            “I like the burger idea or the fish and chips plate. This is lunch, not dinner,” he comments, shaking his head in dismay.

            “Look, I can’t help it if there is this amazing food just sitting there and waiting for someone, specifically me, to eat it.” I cross my arms and give him a look of amusement. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be a chef?”