12
1013 Words
The Problem With Evidence
That night I can’t sleep.
Again.
At this point I’m starting to suspect sleep and I have a personal disagreement.
I lie awake thinking about one sentence.
You noticed first.
Which is objectively offensive.
Because I don’t do that.
I do not notice first.
I evaluate.
I collect information.
I make spreadsheets.
Emotion is for after the decision.
That’s how I work.
Apparently.
Except apparently not.
I turn over.
Stare at the ceiling.
Then sit up.
No.
I’m done.
I’m tired of everybody knowing things I don’t.
I grab my phone.
Scroll.
Photos.
Thousands.
I start at the beginning.
Not literally the beginning.
Just—
old enough.
Years ago.
Della.
Neil.
Coffee.
Birthdays.
Normal.
Then—
group photos.
Della and Kit.
Me and Neil.
Nothing weird.
Nothing suspicious.
No secret looks.
No accidental intimacy.
I keep scrolling.
More.
Trips.
Random dinners.
Board game nights.
Lucas as a baby.
My chest tightens.
Still strange.
Still impossible.
Then—
I stop.
One photo.
I almost scroll past.
Nothing special.
Just six people in somebody’s backyard.
But—
I go back.
Zoom in.
Me.
Talking.
Hands moving.
Obviously.
Neil beside me.
Smiling.
Della laughing.
And Kit—
Kit isn’t looking at me.
He’s holding a plate.
Talking to somebody else.
Nothing unusual.
Except—
my eyes.
I’m looking at him.
Not dramatic.
Not yearning.
Not romance-movie nonsense.
Just—
watching.
Like I’m waiting for him to finish talking.
I stare.
Scroll.
Another.
Same thing.
Not every photo.
Not constantly.
But enough.
Pictures where I’m looking.
Noticing.
No.
That means nothing.
People look at people.
I keep scrolling.
Another.
A birthday.
Everybody smiling.
Kit halfway out of frame.
My head turned toward him.
No.
I lock my phone.
Immediately unlock it.
No.
I need objective data.
I leave the room.
Downstairs.
Kitchen.
Coffee.
At midnight.
Excellent choices.
Light spills softly across the counters.
I make coffee.
Then freeze.
There’s already a mug.
Still warm.
I look up.
Living room light.
I walk over.
Kit.
On the couch.
Laptop open.
Reading glasses.
Blanket.
I stop.
He looks up immediately.
His expression shifts.
Then—
“…Hey.”
I blink.
“…Why are you awake?”
His eyebrows rise.
Then—
“You first.”
Rude.
I cross my arms.
He closes the laptop.
Waits.
I walk in.
Sit.
Different couch this time.
Not opposite.
Same couch.
Normal.
I stare at my mug.
Then say—
“I was looking at pictures.”
His face stills slightly.
Then—
“…Okay.”
I look at him.
His expression stays neutral.
Too neutral.
I narrow my eyes.
“You knew.”
His eyebrows pull together.
“Knew what?”
I hold up my phone.
He sees the photo.
His expression changes.
Not surprised.
Just—
caught.
I stare.
“…You knew I noticed first.”
Long silence.
Then—
“…Yeah.”
I blink.
What.
No denial?
I stare.
“What does that mean?”
He rubs his thumb against the mug.
Thinking.
Then says—
“It means you talked to me.”
I blink.
“…That’s all?”
He looks at me.
Then—
“No.”
I wait.
His expression softens.
Then—
“You started keeping me.”
Excuse me.
I stare.
He looks embarrassed immediately.
His eyes close briefly.
“…That sounded weird.”
Correct.
I point.
“Explain.”
He thinks.
Then—
“You started including me.”
Pause.
“Inviting me.”
Pause.
“Asking my opinion.”
Pause.
“You remembered things I said.”
My stomach does something weird.
His voice stays quiet.
“You noticed if I was quiet.”
Pause.
“You started saving me seats.”
My face gets warm.
No.
He continues—
“You started texting me random questions.”
Pause.
“You started bringing me coffee.”
Pause.
His eyes lower.
“Then one day…”
He smiles once.
Small.
Private.
“…you asked if I wanted to come to Costco.”
I stare.
“What.”
He shrugs.
“That’s when I knew.”
Excuse me.
I sit straighter.
“That’s stupid.”
His mouth shifts.
Then—
“Exactly.”
I stare.
He looks down.
Then says—
“You don’t invite people to Costco.”
I open my mouth.
Close it.
Actually—
fair.
He keeps going.
“You said Neil was busy.”
Pause.
“You said you didn’t want to go alone.”
Pause.
His eyes move toward me.
“And then you spent two hours comparing olive oils.”
I whisper—
“…No.”
His mouth almost smiles.
Then—
“You bought one because the bottle looked trustworthy.”
My face goes hot.
No.
No.
I stand.
Pace.
Point.
“You thought I liked you because of Costco?”
He blinks.
Then—
“No.”
Pause.
His eyes soften.
Then quietly—
“I thought you liked being with me.”
The room gets quiet.
I stop moving.
He looks away.
Then says—
“And honestly…”
Pause.
His mouth moves slightly.
“…that felt bigger.”
I look at him.
Really look.
No mystery.
No longing.
No huge cinematic romance.
Just—
a man sitting on a couch in reading glasses telling me the reason he thought I liked him was because I invited him to buy bulk groceries.
And suddenly—
I can see it.
Not falling.
Not lightning.
Not fate.
Just—
looking for someone.
And realizing one day they’re already beside you.
I sit back down.
Quietly.
Then ask—
“…Who said it first?”
His eyes move to me.
He already knows what I mean.
Long pause.
Then—
“You.”
I blink.
Immediately—
“No.”
His mouth shifts.
Then—
“…Yeah.”
I stare.
He looks at his mug.
Then says—
“You got mad afterward.”
I stare.
“What?”
He nods.
“You said I took too long.”
I stare.
Then—
slowly—
I start laughing.
Because honestly?
That sounds exactly like me.
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