Relative Fiction | ✓

23

Never in my life had I been a planner. I was Kai, the guy who flew by the seat of his pants and pretended it was just going with the flow. I didn't go with the flow either, the flow turned into a tsunami pretty quickly. Now I was Kai, the guy bugging out about meticulously planning a thing that probably wasn't even a real date...even though I wanted it to be.

I had promised AJ a while back I'd take her on a real tour of downtown Charleston, and I felt like I owed her big time after acting like the stereotypical junkie I swore I wouldn't be anymore, so I had every minuscule point and place planned out, down to the god damn cobblestones.

I changed my shirt three times before realizing that no matter what I wore, I'd still smell like cigarettes. I'd still probably stare at her for too long, and I'd still stumble over my words when she told me things that I didn't deserve to hear. I was also realizing that maybe she just liked my cigarette smell. Maybe she liked my loud laugh and my shaking hands when she reached for them. Maybe this was actually just going to be...good.

AJ picked me up around noon, and after climbing into her Jeep, I put a tiny pot on her dashboard.

"What's that?" she asked with a grin.

"A pot." I shrugged. "Maybe if you water it and put it in sort of direct sunlight a little eucalyptus might grow out of it. Or it could be one of those man-eating plants from Little Shop of Horrors. Guess you'll have to take care of it and find out."

She laughed. "You're something else, Kai. Sometimes...I don't know, sometimes I don't even think you're from this universe."

I sighed and leaned back into the passenger seat. "It's funny, I feel like I say the same thing about you."

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, and a grin worked its way across my face as I caught the last remnants of red in her cheeks.

AJ played her new favorite coffee shop playlist as we left the island and I navigated her through downtown. She talked even faster than normal when she was excited, and even though I probably should have been listening to her, I just studied her. I took in every curve and angle of her jaw, her lips, her nose, and I counted every freckle on her cheeks like they were a map of stars that could guide me wherever I needed to be. Maybe that's what love was - not pain, and not pleasure, but someone who just felt like home.

"Kai, I need to know where to turn!" she snapped me out of my daze, and it took me a moment to get my bearings. I had her pull off onto a cobblestone side street towards the harbor, and when we got out of the car I could smell the ocean.

"I figured we'd start with something really cliche so you can get it out of your system." I slipped my cheap wayfarer sunglasses on.

"You know, cliches are cliches for a reason." She grinned and jabbed me in the side. "I mean, it has to be overused for it to be a cliche in the first place, which means enough people liked it to use it."

"Yeah but you're a writer. Aren't writers supposed to hate cliches?" I asked. We stepped into the sunlight, and even though I felt like I was baking like a potato, she just glowed.

"Not necessarily. Writers should just know how to use them appropriately." She paused and pinched her lips together. "But I mean, what the hell do I know? I don't know how much of a writer I am if I'm uninspired, unemployed, and have writer's block the size of Mt. Everest."

I felt a familiar sting in my chest, but the dismalness was short-lived as AJ grabbed my hand and pulled me across the street to the row of pastel painted houses, their windows dotted with hanging fern and old gas lamps.