“So, you already know about my history. What about you? Have you ever been married?” Forrest’s proposal to Jenny plays in the background.
“No. I mean, I’ve had a few relationships here and there, but work always got in the way. Staying single was somehow easier.”
“Same here. I mean, when Melanie was a kid, it was much easier to just focus on that part of my life.”
“Now?” I hazard a question that takes even me by surprise.
She puts her plate down on the coffee table and swallows back a large sip of water. “Now, I’m not so sure.”
Suddenly, my mind races with the possibilities of what her words mean. It’s crazy to think how just a few encounters with Lucy have made me re-evaluate my feelings. Obviously, she feels the same way. A calm and peaceful air falls on us as a small smile curls at my lips.
A comfortable silence fills the space as we watch the movie, recalling some memories when certain scenes come up.
Nothing prepares me for Lucy’s reaction when Jenny and Forrest get married and she tells him she’s sick. I try not to look at her, wanting to avoid making her feel like she’s in the spotlight or anything like that. I do notice a few stray tears streaking down her cheeks so I can only imagine what’s to come.
As we watch Forrest sitting beside Jenny’s grave, reading a letter from their son, Lucy reaches for a napkin. Clutching it to her chest, I can see her breathing rapidly. What were just a few tears earlier is now a steady stream. She doesn’t say anything, won’t even look at me, but I can’t watch her cry like this.
I shift on the small, overstuffed sofa and drape my arm around her. The top of her head fits perfectly into the crook of my shoulder. The scent of her hair takes over my senses; the sound of her softly sniffling through her tears tugs at my heart.
I alternate between squeezing her arm and tracing my fingers up over her shoulder. When she seems to have gathered her emotions, calming down a bit, my instincts take over and I act seemingly without thinking.
Or maybe I am thinking and I’m just afraid of what I’m thinking.
Gently pressing my lips to the top of her soft, brown hair feels like second nature. She tenses momentarily, and I realize I may have just overstepped my boundaries.
“Sorry about that.” I straighten in my seat and try to move my arm, but her fingers fall to my forearm. She looks up at me through long lashes with puffy, red eyes from crying.
“Don’t be.” Her voice is soft, angel-like. “It’s nice to be held.”
That piece of information prompts me to pull her even closer. “Well, I’m glad I could be of service.”
She laughs softly and then takes a deep breath before she shifts to move away from me, which just makes me pull her close once again. “Don’t,” planting another quick kiss to her head, “it’s nice to have someone to hold.”
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