A Brush with Love(12)
The intensity of his stare broke, and he laughed.
“This got pretty existential, huh? I’ll take the blame for that. Not your normal get-to-know-you talk.”
“No, it’s not.” She laughed back, feeling some tension drop from her shoulders. “But sharing is caring, so it’s your turn.” She wasn’t going to let him get a piece without giving one in return.
He chewed on a bite of food, a faraway look in his eyes. “Not really. It wasn’t something my family ever talked about. My dad was Irish Catholic, and my mom is Muslim, though she learned pretty early on after immigrating here how uncomfortable it made people to hear that. She doesn’t talk about her experiences much with me, and I don’t know that she was ever particularly devout, but I do think she may have slowly lost part of her connection to it.”
“I’m sorry,” Harper said. “That probably sounds like the world’s greatest platitude, but I am. No one should have to lose a piece of themselves to make others comfortable.”
Dan gave her a soft smile. “Thank you. I agree.” He took a sip of his drink. “But yeah, my dad was adamant about church at Christmas and Easter, but all religion was pretty much ignored the rest of the year.”
He wiped his hands on a napkin. “I got the sense growing up that they couldn’t agree on how to show me both, so they settled on showing me neither. Or, more likely, my dad decided that’s how it would be,” he said with a small frown down at the table. “He dictated a lot like that.”
After a moment, he turned those gorgeous green eyes to her, sweet and unguarded. “To answer your question in the most roundabout way possible: No, I’m not religious. But I like to think I believe in something. I just don’t know what that is yet.”
They stared at each other for a few heavy moments. He was an open book, and Harper wanted to devour every page. She’d never felt this overwhelming need to learn someone like she wanted to learn Dan.
“So, what do you like to do for fun?” Dan asked, breaking the silence and returning to his food.
She stared at him in disbelief. “Really? That question? That has to be the worst question of all time.”
He tilted his head with a confused look. “Why? It’s a bit more neutral than religion, don’t you think?”
“It makes me forget every time I’ve had fun. Ever. It’s like asking someone their favorite movie. The second that’s asked, it’s like you’ve never seen a movie in your life.”
He gave her a bemused glance. “My favorite movie is Die Hard.”
She rolled her eyes. “You and every other dude.”
He let out a loud laugh, and it warmed something in Harper’s chest.
“Am I not original enough for you, Horowitz? What’s yours? It better be super obscure and artsy.”
“I. Don’t. Know,” she growled. “Questions like that make my brain dissolve.”
“What about a favorite TV show?”
She stared at him blankly. “This is emotional guerrilla warfare.”
“Color? You have to have a favorite color.” He was enjoying this.
Harper glared at him for a long moment before answering. “Purple.”
“Okay, we’re getting somewhere. It’s like I really know you now.”
“Yup, all my secrets.”
“Maybe not all of them, but I’m getting close.”
Their eyes met as they smiled. Dan looked at her with a light tenderness that set off alarm bells in her mind. This was feeling like a date. Which it absolutely wasn’t.
“Okay, am I allowed to ask where you’re from? Is that a less touchy subject?” He still held a teasing glint in his eye, having no idea how touchy it actually was for Harper.
She thought about her answer, chewing on the inside of her cheek. It had been so long since she’d done this. Since someone asked questions to get to know her, requiring her to actively think of how much of herself to give away. Enough to satiate a person’s curiosity without explaining too much of her past to make everyone uncomfortable.
Where was she supposed to start? How do you casually explain that you never had a dad and no longer have a mom? How do you tell someone you don’t feel from anywhere because any sense of home was lost in a night?
You don’t.
Not over hoagies, at least.
Harper didn’t want to see that awkward flash of pity cross his face, have it hanging, heavy and pathetic, between this fragile bond of friendship they were forming. More than anything, she didn’t want to pick at the scab she worked so hard to keep covered.
“I guess home is here. I grew up in Maryland until I was twelve and then went to live with my aunt and uncle on Long Island after that.” She started tearing little pieces off her napkin, focusing on the frayed edges. “I moved here for undergrad and never left. I felt sort of settled.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, pushing the floating memories out of her mind. “What about you? Where are you from?”
“Haverford. It’s a boring suburb about forty-five minutes from here,” he said with a disinterested shrug.
“At least you get to spend your early twenties in a fun city like Philly. Enjoy being young and spry while you can, you’ll feel old in no time.” She cringed. She sounded like a middle-aged mom.