Her humming stops, but not her swaying, as if she's still singing in her head. "It felt great," she says. "Honestly. I didn't expect it to, but it did."
I cross my legs at the ankles and she jumps over them to reach the sink. "When I think of him and me, and of who I was when I was with him, it feels so long ago."
"Hmm." It's hard to see her shining goodness, her smiles and laughter and jokes, and imagine her with someone who told her she couldn't sing. It makes my blood boil. "Why were you together with him?"
"You're going to laugh," she says, but doesn't sound the least bit concerned that I might. "But I think I was more in love with the idea of us being in love, than actually with him. I was so in love with the idea of being in a relationship… that I didn't care about the red flags. Figured I could change him. Or he'd change because of me." She shakes her head, reaching up on her tiptoes to reach a bowl. "It was stupid."
I'm silent, absorbing that. Reminded of her love of love. Of true love.
"You know what, I really like that about you," she says. This time there's a clear smile in her voice.
"Like what? I haven't said anything."
"Yes, exactly." The look she throws me over her shoulder is warm. "You didn't rush in to tell me it wasn't stupid. Because I know you think it was. And that's okay."
I clear my throat. "I wouldn't have called it stupid. Hopeful, maybe. Even beautiful in a way. But no, I don't think believing love will change someone's shitty behavior is a solid strategy."
"I don't either. Not anymore. So I suppose I should say thank you to him, really."
"Maybe that's taking it a step too far. He's still an asshole."
She laughs, looking down at the chopping board. I can see the curve of her lips from where I'm sitting.
"You still believe in true love," I said. "He didn't… ruin that?"
"For a while, maybe," she says. She looks across the room to Ace, who's lying down and watching her move in the kitchen with attentive self-interest. "But I see it too much to ever doubt its existence."
"Your parents."
"My parents," she agrees. "But also in my friends, in stories I read, in the world. In every call I receive from one of Opate's clients gushing about the match we set up. It's everywhere, if you look hard enough."
"I wish I could see the world the way you do."
She puts down the knife and turns, eyes meeting mine. "You mean that?"
I run a hand over my face. "Yeah."
"I see it the way you do, I suppose. But in reverse."
"You see evidence that love doesn't exist everywhere?"
I shift in the seat, rearrange my legs. Run a hand through my hair. "Not everywhere."
Summer doesn't push. She finishes the salad instead. Puts two plates on the table and bends to check the oven. "Two minutes."
"My ex," I say. "It didn't end… well. I found out about the diagnosis and a month later, she told me it wasn't working anymore."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Anthony."
"Yeah. Well, I was pretty foolish, I suppose, to think she'd stay. Who'd want to shackle themselves to a man who'll need help for the coming decades?" I shake my head. "She did the right thing."
"You don't believe that," Summer says. "Not really, or it wouldn't have hurt."
I look down at the plate in front of me. Fiddle with the fork. "Yeah. I suppose."
"You talk as if you'll become paralyzed. You won't. There are ways to live-"
My raised hand stops her. "Please, Summer. I… please."
"I won't, then. Just don't talk disparagingly about yourself to me, okay? I happen to really like you, and no one talks bad to you in front of me. Not even you."
I roll my eyes. "My savior."
"That's me. Now, do you want extra parmesan with your lasagna?"
"If the question is between cheese and more cheese, there's only one answer."
Her smile lights up her face, a difficult topic dispelled. It must be effortless for her. "See, I know there's a reason I keep you around."
"My infinite wisdom, yes. Happy to oblige."
Our knees touch under the table as we eat, and talk, about everything and nothing. It's cramped. The table is tiny. But the wine is drinkable and her food delicious, impressive, homemade. Cooked for us. For me.
I insist on doing the dishes afterwards and endure her laughter. "You've never done this before?" she says, reaching past me for the dish soap.
"Of course I have."
"You fill the sink up first."
" I just hadn't gotten to that part."
"Mhm. You've clearly never lived in a place without a dishwasher," she says. "It shows."
"I don't cook either."
"What do you live off of? When you're not at mine?" Our elbows rub together as we inefficiently wash a dish. My fingers graze over hers beneath the soapy surface.
"I order in, mostly."
"All the time? Like, for every meal?"
I shrug. "I suppose, yes."
"Wow," she breathes. Her hip bumps into mine, and I keep mine there, our bodies side-to-side. I'll never tire of hers. "I haven't thought about it much lately, but… there's such a difference between us."
I glance down. "We're different in some areas, yeah."
"I meant financially," she says, shaking her head. "Sorry. Perhaps I shouldn't have used the F-word."