Page 107 of Sunset Catchers

“I’m not spiraling,” I tell him. “I’m clearing stuff up with my hippocampus.” He breathes out a laugh.

“What’s the conclusion?” I gulp down and look elsewhere. “Eyes on me, pretty girl.” Motor oil is leaking from my core. I repeat, there’s a leak.

“There’s a big red confidential sticker on that conclusion for now. Is that okay?” His eyes are soft for me.

“Of course, Win. Take all the time you need. Have as many meetings with your hippocampus as you need.” He kisses my forehead. “Can I ask you something, though?”

“Anything.” Creases appear between his brows, and a few beats pass before he utters his question, delicately, as if not to scare me off.

“Are you happy?” Immediately, my defenses are up. I sit up so I’m straddling his hips instead, his hands falling flat on my bare thighs.

“Wow, warn a girl before uttering the big H word. Next thing I know, you’re going to ask if I feel fulfilled or something.” His expression stays the same. Oh, we’re being serious serious. I sigh, gathering the truth and the courage to tell it.

“Promise me you won’t find me utterly pathetic if I tell you the truth.”

“I promise I won’t find you pathetic if you tell me the truth,” he swears instantly.

“That sounded coerced, but fine, I’ll still tell you.” He rolls his eyes. I take a deep breath, knowing he means it. “The truth is, I don’t think it’s in my DNA.”

His frown reappears. “To be happy?”

“Yeah. I just didn’t grow up seeing happy.” My gaze falls to his chest. “I grew up seeing so many shades or emotions, but never truly undeniably happy. I think that’s why blatant happiness spooks me so much. When someone is so exuberant with their joy, I can’t trust it. I’m always waiting for the coin to flip. Levi! That look on your face. You promised!”

There’s something akin to pity molding his features.

“I don’t think that’s pathetic. I think that’s really sad.”

“That’s the same thing!”

“It’s not. I don’t pity you. I’m sad for you. My chest hurts when I think of a younger Winnie, being anything but happy.”

The Winnie he’s talking about pops into my head in a collage of tear-stained cheeks and sad, pouty mouths.

My chest hurts for her, too. Almost all the time.

It’s hard remembering your younger self and not being able to reach through time and give her the hug and love she so desperately needed. To tell her, Hey, Kid. It’ll get better. I’m an adult now, so I have control over my own happiness, but back then, it was all dependent on my mother. I think seeing her be so unhappy growing up, when I thought we only had reasons to be happy, skewed with my vision of what happiness is supposed to be. What should bring it on? I thought it only dimmed my self-worth to see the woman who decided to bring me into this world, kind of regret her choice, but it’s so much more than that.

An infinity of specks left behind in my psyche.

I think instant happiness is easy. You see something that makes you want to smile or laugh, and you do it. You let the feeling bubble up in your core and give in to it. It’s with the permanence of the feeling I have always had trouble with. The longevity. Happiness is a feeling that can’t seem to take root in me. Probably because I’m made of unviable soil at my core.

“Don’t be so sad, pretty girl. It makes me want to break something.”

“No, don’t be angry. It’s not worth it. I am somewhat happy now.” I make sure that we’re hooked on each other before I say this next bit. “The feeling I get when I’m with you…I don’t think happy covers it.”

The softest smile ever seen by mankind slides up on his handsome face. I want to pluck it off his lips and feed it to my soul.

“I don’t think happy covers how you also make me happy.”

“Hey, find your own corny things to say!”

He cups one of my cheeks again, ignoring me. “You are worth it. You deserved so much more. I’ll always be angry about it.” He shakes his head, being a sad, sad boy. And the sight of him being so dejected over me is entirely too much. It’s unacceptable.

“Tell me one of your happiest memories.”

Instantly, he beams. As if the memory he is about to share is always easily accessible, stored at the forefront of his mind.

“It was this perfect summer day. The kind where you get waken up by the sun blazing brightly through your curtains, where it’s already insanely hot at eight in the morning.”