Work Text:
“I’ve seen the waters that make your eyes shine,
Now I’m shining too
Because oh because, I’ve fallen quite hard over you.”
– Falling in Love at A Coffee Shop, Landon Pigg
He did not love her.
He did not love the way she texted him in the early morning just to send him the YouTube link to a song that was stuck in her head. He did not love the way she looked up at him and grinned when he entered their usual haunt, two black coffees ready on the table in front of her. He did not love the way she hummed the Song of the Day, bobbing her head to the beat, her fingers tapping sugar into her cup to the rhythm of the song. He did not love the way she filled his mornings with electricity, shocking him awake better than the coffee ever could.
He did not love the way she later kissed him on the cheek as a “good luck” and a “see you later”.
He did not love the way she sent him e-mails during work hours because she knew he wouldn’t look at his phone for text messages. He did not love the way her e-mails could be 50 words short or a 100 words too long, depending on her mood, and depending on what occurred that day.
He did not love the way she waited for him by the sidewalk of her office building, earphones plugged into her ears and hands shoved into her pockets. He did not love the way she greeted him, enthusiastically, without fail, with a kiss on the mouth. He especially did not love the way her lips slanted, curved over his, firm yet soft all at the same time.
He did not love the way she left cracker crumbs all over the front seat of his car, the way she put her feet up on the dash. He did not love the way she kept turning the radio channels, going back and forth between different songs, as if she couldn’t simply settle for a single melody. He did not love the way she stood on the sidewalk outside her apartment, watching his car turn the corner before entering the building. He did not love the way her scent lingered on the front seat, filling in the space when she couldn’t.
He particularly did not love the way she strode around his apartment like she owned the place on Saturday nights, when they got more time to spend together. He did not love the way she kicked her shoes off, leaving them to lie by the doorway, nor did he love the way she shrugged off his comments to pick her shoes up. He did not love the way she would poke at his bookshelves while he cooked dinner for them both, picking out a book or three to stuff in her bag. He did not love the way she kept inserting more of Ray’s recipes into a designated box on the counter, the way she always put the recipe for the dish she wanted next on top.
He did not love the way she scarfed down whatever he’d cooked that night, commenting on what he could’ve done better and what he managed to do perfectly. He did not love how she always managed to finish the juice carton in his fridge, the way she used her superior strength to push him away from the sink and wash the dishes herself.
He did not love the way she stole all the blankets on his bed to bury herself in them on his couch while he prepared Netflix. He did not love the way she couldn’t choose what movie she wanted to watch, always thinking she wanted to watch something right before noticing another “interesting” film. He did not love the way she tended to snort loudly when they settled on the newest romcom, the way she covered her eyes when horror movies revealed the CGI ghost. He did not love the way she swatted his shoulder when he teased her about being able to withstand the most gruesome scenes in action movies but not being able to look long enough at a cheap cartoon imitation.
He did not love the way she fell asleep with her head on his shoulders thirty minutes before every movie ended, the way she curled her legs beneath her, the way she sighed in her sleep when he moved. He did not love the way she would smile, just barely, when he kissed her on the forehead good night.
He did not love the way she lost track of the time, simply because she always forgot to replace the batteries on the clock in her apartment. He did not love the way she ignored his jests about replacing the batteries on her clock or, better yet, checking the time through her phone.
He did not love the way she liked to collect highlighters and markers, the way she used them once or twice before dumping them in the large storage container he’d gotten her for her birthday a few years ago. He did not love the way she’d forget about all the perfectly usable highlighters she had and tended to borrow whatever was in his pencil case. He did not love the way he later had to fish out his stationery from her little treasure chest.
He did not love the way she always forgot to do her laundry, the way she’d absent-mindedly nod when he told her to “separate the colors from the whites this time”. He did not love the way she ended up having to shove every article of clothing she owned into the washing machine at the end of every month, the way she would grumble when her white laundry came out stained. He did not love the way her faded clothes seemed to suit her perfectly, as though bad laundry habits were actually intended, and he did not love the way she’d stick her tongue out at him every time he said so.
He did not love the way she sporadically returned whatever books she’d gotten from his apartment the Saturday before. He did not love the way she left them in the oddest of places, from the bathroom sink to the table runner by the door, but never back on the bookshelves. He did not love the way he had to pick up those books on Sunday mornings and flip through them, reading whatever words she’d highlighted. He did not love the way her highlighted words told him a better story than the book itself.
He did not love the way she’d drag him to the convenience store on the days work left her frustrated. He did not love the way she went straight for the snacks section to pile as many boxes of strawberry Oreos in his extended arms, grumbling all the way about an inane co-worker. He did not love the way she waved off the cashier who tried to bag the Oreos, the way she sniffed and said, “Plastics are non-biodegradable” when the cashier asked her why. He did not love the way she hopped onto her sofa once they got back to her apartment, plucking a box Oreos from his hands and stuffing the biscuits into her mouth. He did not love the way she talked with her mouth full, the way she always had to brush her teeth thrice after stress-eating.
He did not love the way she was so inspired by Pinterest boards, gathering pretty leather journals and felt sketchbooks wherever she could find one. He did not love the way she mindlessly doodled her way through a few pages before stuffing the sketchbook into her overflowing shelf, never to be pulled out again. He did not love the way she used her stash of markers to write his name in exaggerated swirls all over her journals, the way she always showed them to him and asked which font he liked.
He did not love how whatever font he chose would always resurface on his Christmas card.
He did not love the way she liked to spontaneously barge into his office when she knew he was extremely busy on that certain day. He did not love the way she hopped on his desk with a determined frown and a bag of take-out in her hands. He did not love the way she would push away whatever documents he’d been working on to place the food before him, the way she would spoon-feed him if he so much as refused to take lunch right then. He did not love the way she’d roll her eyes at him when he said he was too busy, he couldn’t waste time to eat, and he did not love the way she’d guilt-trip him with the fact that she took an hour and a half off of work just to come and bring him lunch.
He did not love the way she called him at two in the morning when her job took her abroad. He did not love the way she groused about how she didn’t like being away, he clearly needed someone to nanny him if he continued to skip meals. He did not love the way she never believed him when he said he would do his best to eat, the way she always held back from saying three, special little words until she saw him at the airport, waiting for her.
He did not love her affinity to ask difficult questions in the most unexpected times. He did not love the way she challenged him on his moral views, his political stands. He did not love the way her words always managed to persuade him, the way her eyes would glitter triumphantly when she realized she’d succeeded in her efforts to convince him of her opinions.
He did not love the way she’d conspicuously drop hints about how many kids she wanted, about what their wedding would be like. He did not love the way she would map out their future, the way she would look at him and all he saw in her eyes was forever.
Forever, Norman mused. He would like that.
And so he did not love the way she looked one fine evening, dolled up in a silk dress, hair still a mess. He did not love the way she looked under the glow of the fairy lights, the way she grinned softly at him from the entrance of the pavilion. He did not love the way she stuck her tongue out at Ray when he pushed her forward, and he did not love the way she sent him a questioning glance when Ray wasn’t stealthy enough to hide a thumbs-up from her.
He did not love the way she had to tilt her head up to look at him, the way she leaned into his touch when he caressed her cheek. He did not love the way she laughed when he tried to tell her a joke, the way her eyes crinkled in good humor.
He particularly did not love the way her mouth parted into a soft ‘o’ in surprise when he got down on one knee.
“I do not love you for the things you do,” he said, “but for the woman you are.”
Yes, he did not love the way she tackled him to the floor, the way she pressed excited kisses all over his face. He did not love the way she cried when he slipped on the ring. He also did not love the way she hastily tried to wipe her tears away when the rest of their family danced into the pavilion, the word “congratulations” leaving their lips more times than he could count.
He did not love the way she beamed at Ray, showing off her fingers, wiggling them in front of the boy’s unimpressed face. He did not love the way she looked in that moment, so happy, so bright, and so carefree. He did not love her for these things.
But he’d be damned if he didn’t love her for the way she said yes.