I think about what Kierra would look like sixty years from now sitting across the table from me. I bet she’d still have that same sparkle in her eyes and those kissable lips. She’d be grateful someone finally stuck by her all those years when everyone else failed her.
But I can’t be that guy.
I might not make it past thirty-five, the age my mom was when she died. Right now, as I look across the table at the girl who could very well be the girl of my dreams, I know I won’t marry her. I’m going to let someone else be her Irving, someone who’ll be able to sit across from her sixty years from now and look into her eyes as if his would have been a horrible existence if not for her.
“Yeah, well, Kierra here is bossy and controlling.” My food threatens to come up as I add, “Since I don’t like
