The local NPR fills the silence. Something about Rachmaninoff. Until Levi says, “Bee, I... I’m not sure I should be telling you this. But hiding things from you hasn’t worked out in our favor. And you asked me to be honest.”
“I did.” I study him, unsure where he’s heading.
“When you and I first met,” he says slowly, carefully weighing his words, “I had issues talking to people. About certain things.”
“Like... aphasia?”
He smiles, shaking his head. “Not quite.”
I try to think back to fifth-year Levi—he seemed larger than life, indomitable, whip-smart. Then again, Annie seemed invincible, and I apparently seemed effortless. Grad school really screwed us up, didn’t it? “I never noticed it. You were capable, self-assured, and got along with most people.” I mull it over. “Except for me, of course.”
“I’m not explaining myself well. I had no issues talking to normal people. My issues were... with you.”
I scowl. “Are you saying that I’m not normal?”
He laughs silently. “You’re not normal. Not to me.”
“What does that mean?” I turn in the seat to face him, not sure why he’s insulting me again, after two days of being incredibly lovely. Is he having a relapse? “Just because you thought I was ugly or unlikable, it doesn’t mean that I wasn’t normal—”
“I never thought of you as ugly.” His hands tighten even more around the wheel. “Never.”
“Come on. The way you always acted was—”
“The opposite, in fact.”
I frown. “What do you even—” Oh.
Oh.
Oh.
Does he mean that—? No. Impossible. He wouldn’t. Would he? Even if we... He can’t possibly be implying that. Can he?
“I—” My mind goes blank for a split second—complete, utter white-out void. I’m suddenly frozen numb, so I lean forward to turn off the AC. I have no clue how to answer him. How to stop my heart from beating out of my throat. “Do you mean that you...?”
He nods.
“You didn’t... you didn’t even let me finish the sentence.”
“Whatever you’re imagining, from the tamest to the most... inappropriate thoughts, that’s probably where my mind was at.” He swallows visibly. I watch his throat move. “You were always in my head. And I could never get you out.”
I turn to the window, scarlet. There’s no universe in which I’m parsing his words correctly. This is a misunderstanding. I’m having some neurological event. And all I want to ask is, What about now? Am I still in your head? “You always stared at me like I was some obscene monstrosity.”
“I tried not to stare, but... it wasn’t easy.”
“No. No, you—the dress. You hated me in that dress. My blue dress, the one with—”
“I know what dress, Bee.”
“You know because you hated it,” I say in a panic.
“I didn’t hate it.” His words are quiet. “It just took me by surprise.”
“My Target dress took you by surprise?”
“No, Bee. My... reaction to you wearing it did.”
I shake my head. This cannot be true. “You wouldn’t even sit next to me.”