Nice.

Her voice was airy, and she was blinking more than usual, which forced my blood’s temperature up. I refused to look at her while she described what happened on her date, listening intently while reprimanding myself for getting angry at her and trying to keep my temper at bay.

She asked me if I thought he liked her. I said yes. And as she stepped closer so I’d look at her pleading eyes, I sighed deeply to avoid escalation. Of course he liked you, I told her. You’re pretty, skinny, smart, funny, real, you can cook, clean, hold a conversation, and on top of all that, he’s interested. There are guys that close themselves off, if not to specific people, to everyone, but this is not that kind of guy. Show him you’re interested too, and you guys will be together, easy.

The analysis is always the easy part for me. I’ll tell you all the logic, but please don’t make me feel anything. Her expression finally faded as she considered this information with more rationality, and I could see I didn’t give her what she wanted to hear. I’m not sure what she needed me to say, and even if I did I’m not sure I could deliver. I could not make myself soft, even for my sister’s sake, because it’s so much easier to get hurt that way. By who? With what? Nobody’s looking to hurt anyone, you might say. It’s us though, not them. We hurt ourselves with our anticipaiton of future comfort or ease, and with no defined sense of what that means, we lose the sense of how to get there.

I saw in her my own raw hopes and delicate dreams and I despised them. Not because they’re emotional or irrational, but because they were fragile and I am very clumsy.