Jamie is watching me.
Wow, that sounded creepier than I meant it to. It’s just that—Jamie is literally watching me while I work. He’s sitting at the other side of the kitchen table even as I write this. He’s also eating a bowl of cereal. Frosted Flakes, I think, but I wasn’t really paying attention when he was getting it. And now he’s eating his cereal, drinking a tea, and watching me as I work.
I love the way Jamie watches me. If I look up and smile at him he’ll give me his big goofy grin, but when I appear to go back to my work he—well, studies me. No, I still don’t feel like I’m explaining this right. Studying makes it sound too clinical. But it’s like he wants to learn every moment by heart. He wants to memorize the way I hold my pen, or how I angle the notebook against the edge of the table.
As silly as it sounds, it’s nice to feel like you’re worthy of being memorized. Jamie looks at me like he never wants to forget me, and there is something spectacular about never being forgotten.
Jamie is watching me as I write, and it doesn’t feel creepy at all.