Cel shook his head. “Yes, idiot, it means something, but it doesn’t have to mean everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Go get another bottle of wine. If we’re going to eat carbs and talk about our feelings, there needs to be more wine.”
I smiled at him, and he sighed like looking at me made him happy. “It’s a good sound you just made.”
“You’re killing me,” Cel moaned, and waved me away from him.
I darted to the door in my kitchen that looked like an antique gate covering a wall, and opened it to reveal what I called my wine cellar. The top half were racks kept at a constant temperature, and the bottom was a refrigerator. I pulled a Shiraz I liked, gently closed the door, and was back to him in seconds.
“That better not have to breathe,” he growled at me.
“Calm yourself. You know I have an aerator.”
Cel’s gaze, narrow and deadly, caught mine.
“I’m sorry, forgive me.”
He gave me a slight tip of his head.
After I had his glass filled and we went back to eating, he asked a question I didn’t catch.
“You have to chew your food,” I reminded him.
“So funny,” he groused at me. “And I said that, even without us dating, we’ll always be friends. I’m fairly certain we always have been in many incarnations. I think that’s why I was so at ease with you from the start.”
I scowled at him.
“What? Just because you don’t believe in past lives, none of us can?”
“No, of course you can,” I said, trying not to sound judgmental or patronizing.
He shook his head. “You know, your mother says that in Jewish mysticism there is a belief about transmigration—”
“I’m going to stop you right there. I’m not debating that we’ll always be in each other’s lives, but I don’t want to only be your friend.”
Cel smiled at me.
“And you notice I didn’t sayjusta friend because I know, especially for you, a friend is not a small presence in your life.”
“I never had one before you. I didn’t know how to make one before you.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” I assured him, refilling his wineglass. “I think probably when you were younger, you missed the social cues because you were so focused on your dancing. You knew how to please your teachers and all the people you worked with—that’s easy because they tell you—but you never ran around on a playground or played a game of pickup basketball.”
Cel squinted at me. “Pickup what?”
“For all your loudness and grandstanding in public—”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re not actually an extrovert. People think you are, but you’re not. You have a small capacity for social interaction, noise, conversation, and generally being in public.”
He took another sip of wine.
“If you could, at every party, you’d start at one end, walk through, say hello to everyone, and leave. Fifteen minutes is your sweet spot.”
Quick nod. “But when you’re with me, I can navigate that better.”