Chapter 4
4
Juliette
T hank goodness Dylan kept talking. The waiter brought our food, and I picked at the mysterious roll of meat. I couldn’t believe he’d let me off the hook that easily. I wanted him to know how much I appreciated him not pushing me to talk or leaving me in awkward silence. Well, not to know that I couldn’t talk, but to know that I liked being there with him, especially listening to him. He was kind and funny, and so thoughtful.
Even if the most likely reason he was talking this much was to avoid having to listen to me, I still appreciated it. There’s no way in hell he could be enjoying this. This notion was confirmed when he declined coffee or dessert, and we left the restaurant in record time.
He held his hand out to me as we walked from the restaurant back to Nolan’s where we’d left our cars.
I stared at it. Should I hold his hand? It had felt so good to hold his hand on the way here, back when things had looked so promising, before he saw me for who I really was. Why not enjoy that warm, safe comfort one last time?
Or should I not hold his hand so I could walk away from this nightmare with my head held high?
If I held his hand, we could continue this charade of enjoying dinner until we got to our cars and made a clean, quick break, but?—
He took the decision from me when he grabbed my hand an instant before I face-planted. There was my answer. I should hold his hand because I couldn’t safely walk while looking at his hand and thinking about how good it had felt to hold said hand an hour ago. I couldn’t safely walk while I was so devastated.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“My pleasure.” He tightened his hand around mine, and I couldn’t help the shiver that ran through me. My foolish body was still reacting to the memory of his closeness at Nolan’s, to the hope and excitement that had felt so real and promising for that short time.
“Are you cold?”
“No, I’m good.” I laughed internally at that. I was so far from good. I was counting down the seconds until I was alone, praying I’d make it to my car before the dam broke.
I was going to kill Nicky for dragging me out tonight and setting this whole mess in motion. This evening had started out as one of the best of my life. How did it spiral so far out of control? Maybe going out to dinner with a smart, funny, sexy man I’d spent hours flirting with wouldn’t be considered out of control for most people. But it was for me. And I should have known it.
I shouldn’t have agreed to this disaster in the first place, but the flirting and Dylan’s disarmingly adorable smile were dangerous. That smile. Sweet, almost boyish, in contrast to his body, which was all man.
He was all those amazing things, and I was…me.
I’d been painfully reminded of that the minute we walked into the restaurant. It was loud and fancy, and whatever spell I was under broke. I should’ve made some excuse then and run like I was tempted to do, but his firm hand on my back had driven me forward, thwarting any opportunity to escape.
My dyspraxia is always worse when I’m nervous, but tonight took the cake for the worst ever. My speech, my clumsiness, my awkwardness, it was all so bad.
Thank God my silver Ford Explorer came into view, shining under the streetlight like a beacon of refuge.
“Thank you for tonight. I had a great time,” I said, preparing for a quick getaway.
“I had a great time, too.”
I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t afraid it would come out as a sob instead. “Right.”
I reached for the car handle, but Dylan used the hand he was still holding to pull me to a stop and turn me around to face him. He stepped closer, and I stepped back. He took another step closer, and I froze, allowing him to erase the distance between us. Shit. I needed him to let me in the car now before I lost the battle against my tears.
“I had a good time, Juliette,” he semi-repeated, as though that would make me believe it.
I didn’t have the energy left to argue. Even though I’d failed miserably, I’d tried really hard tonight. That damn slide I compared my dyspraxia to—it had been a freaking roller coaster at dinner, and I was exhausted from the effort of trying to be normal.
“Okay, good. Thanks. Have a good night.” I blinked up at the streetlight, fighting back tears. Just another minute. I could hold on for one more minute.
He reached out, gently cupping my face, running a finger down my jaw.
Shit. I stood no chance against him being nice. He tucked my hair behind my ear, touched his thumb to my lips, and held me in place while he lowered his face until it was mere inches from mine, forcing me to meet his eyes, forcing away every last shred of control I had.
“I’d like to see you again.”
I shook my head within the confines of his hands. Both his hands were on me now, his thumbs gently wiping my tears.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I’m so sorry.” I pulled out of his grasp, and he immediately let go.
“Can I have your phone number?”
I shook my head. I wasn’t going to do this again. This little taste, this tease of what I couldn’t have was torture enough. I groped for the door handle, grateful when he didn’t try to stop me.
I fumbled to get the car started, staunchly keeping my eyes averted from Dylan, but I knew he was still right there. I jumped when he tapped the window, but finally looked at him. I was upset, but I wouldn’t be rude.
“Lock your doors,” he said loudly enough to hear through the closed window, and pointed at the door.
I shrugged. They would lock automatically when I started to drive.
“Lock them,” he insisted.
I pushed the button. It was unnecessary, but it was worth it to see his smile one last time. Though, that made it even harder to drive away from him.
Damn, he was chivalrous to the very end. Why did he have to watch me back out and drive away? Nerves overrode my impending meltdown. I checked my mirrors too many times, keeping my hands on the wheel at the ten and two—that’s where they’re supposed to go, right? I pulled out of the lot at a speed that rivaled a drunk turtle. A fitting end to a disastrous night.
I took the first few minutes of the drive to pull myself together, then called Jenna, knowing she’d probably been pacing her house and watching the clock since she’d left Nolan’s without me.
“Are you okay?” she answered, her panicked voice filling the car.
“Yeah, I’m okay.” I wasn’t okay, but I wasn’t sold to sex traffickers or raped and left in a ditch, which I knew was where her head was at.
“Thank God,” she said, relieved, then I heard Nicky’s excited voice in the background. “Put it on speaker. I need to hear everything!”
I laughed despite myself, the contrast between my two best friends coming through the phone loud and clear.
“How was dinner with your sexy firefighter?” Nicky asked with way too much enthusiasm.
“It was a total train wreck.” I sighed. “I couldn’t say a coherent word to save my life.”
“No! You were so good at Nolan’s.”
“I know. Poor Dylan had no clue what hit him when we got to the restaurant.” I felt the words come out slow and smooth. Why couldn’t I do that before?
“Was he mean to you? I’ll kill him,” Nicky threatened.
“No, he was actually amazing.”
“So maybe you weren’t as bad as you think?” Jenna asked.
“No, my speech was as bad as it gets. I couldn’t even pull my chair into the table. I didn’t realize it was out, then by the time I did, I was so flustered and thrown off by him watching me, I couldn’t figure out how to lift my weight, move the chair forward, and move my body forward, all at the same time. It’s like I’d never used a chair before. I might as well have tried doing a backflip over the table.”
“Aww, sweetie. Did it get any better after that?”
“Nope. I couldn’t pronounce a single word on the menu. If a menu is full of fancy gibberish, they should at least give more pictures.”
Their laughter cheered me up a bit.
“What did you end up with?”
“Pork-something. Pork-etty?”
“Porchetta?”
“Yeah, that’s it. What the hell is it?”
“Pork roast.”
“Oh. They should’ve called it that. Where are you guys?”
“Jenna’s place. I had to keep her from stalking your date.”
“I wouldn’t do that!”
Nicky and I just laughed.
“Love you girls. I’m pulling up to my apartment. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Wait.” Nicky grew serious, and I braced myself. “You were great at Nolan’s, and even though it may not have worked out with Dylan, when the right guy comes along, he’s going to see how awesome you are and not care about any of the rest, just like with us.”
“ If . If the right guy ever comes along.”
“When,” Jenna insisted. “You’re amazing, and all your goodness outweighs your quirks by a ton.”
“Thanks guys. I’m home now. I gotta run.”
“Love you. Call if you need us.”
The next morning I woke up just as heartbroken as when I’d fallen asleep. Thank goodness it was Saturday and I didn’t have any plans. I barely looked at the laundry and dishes I should’ve been doing before I decided I deserve to indulge in a little self-pity. I curled up on the couch, pulled the throw blanket over myself, downloaded the newest release from my favorite author, and tried to lose myself in the world of Navy SEALs rescuing their women from traffickers and terrorists. Those were real problems. Well, fictional real problems. Still, more of a problem than a single disappointing date.
It was silly to get my hopes up after only a few hours of knowing Dylan. It’s not like I’d lost him after pining for months, or broken up with a boyfriend. You can’t miss what you never had, right? A few fantastic hours didn’t make him mine to lose.
There’d be other chances to meet a guy, someone even better. Someone else who made me feel so comfortable within minutes of meeting him. Someone else who insisted he had a good time even when I was a hot mess. Someone else who filled the silence when he sensed I didn’t want to talk and who wiped away my tears so sweetly.
Right?
Shit. I was an idiot.
What could I do now, though? Nicky could ask Mel to get his number from Cole. But what if he said no? When he asked for my number last night, he was probably just caught up in the moment, or felt bad rejecting me right to my face and never planned to follow through anyway. I wouldn’t blame him if he said no, but I didn’t need that rejection to be public for the other firefighters and Nicky’s colleagues.
I could go back to Nolan’s and hope to run into him again. Feel him out, see if the spark was still there, and just leave if it wasn’t. Yes, that could work.
I opened my phone to the group text with Jenna and Nicky. I bravely started to type, knowing that once I hit send, we’d be going to Nolan’s later this week. They wouldn’t force me, but they’d get pretty damn close to it if they had to.
Before I could finish the text, my phone vibrated. For a split second, my heart leaped. Did he get my number?
My excitement plunged when I saw the name on the screen. I sucked in a fortifying breath before I swiped across to answer the call.
“Hi, Mom. How are you?”
“I’m good, sweetheart. How are you? Are you doing anything fun this weekend?”
“I’m good. I went out with Nicky and Jenna after work yesterday.”
“What?”
I repeated myself, slower this time.
“Very nice. I’m glad you have those girls. You’re lucky they’re like you and not out looking for boyfriends.”
Fury blazed through me. How dare she compare two of the best people I know to the bitches from high school, whom she was apparently still defending. In her mind, I was still the same incompetent kid she always thought I was. Incapable of attracting a guy. No, even worse than that. So embarrassing my friends couldn’t even attract a guy in my presence.
Right or not, I couldn’t deal with her now, so I lied. “I have to go, mom. I have a busy day tomorrow, and I have a ton of errands and work to do first.”
A long pause followed, then she said, “I didn’t catch that, but it doesn’t matter. What are you doing tomorrow? Will we get to see you?”
My stomach sank. My speech could be hard to understand, but most people at least tried. I’ve had dyspraxia my whole life. You’d think that somewhere in these twenty-five years, my own mom would’ve figured it out, but no, she was one of the worst. This was why I didn’t like talking to her. Or anyone for that matter. “No, I’m busy. I have to go. Talk to you soon.”
“Okay. I love you, sweetheart. Have a good night,” she said with oblivious sweetness and cheerfulness.
“You too. Bye.”
I threw my phone to the other side of the couch, but it just mocked me from there, inches outside of my reach. I was tempted to leave it there to make a point, but that would only make the hours drag slower, so I caved and leaned over to grab it. Maybe I’d be able to focus on my book now that I was done trying to find Dylan. Even if I saw him again, it could never work between us. Thanks, Mom, for that reality check.
I looked up at the big canvas painting hanging over the couch. It was supposed to bring me inspiration and positivity. It had been three years since I bought it, the first purchase for my apartment, ordered only minutes after my offer was accepted, and I still loved it. A beautiful landscape of a white lotus flower on a lake awash with the pinks of sunrise and surrounded by muted greenery, it was the impetus for the color scheme of my apartment—sage green and cream, with a few dusky pink touches, like the throw blanket I’d been so comfortably wrapped in a few minutes ago. It was also a big, silent fuck you to my mom, those so-called friends, and every other person who represented the mud under the surface. If you look up the meaning of a lotus, it says that it rises from the mud without a stain, but I liked to think of it as arising from the mud without allowing the mud to stain it.
But maybe the mud was always there, whether or not you saw it.
I could still hear that conversation with my mom like it was yesterday. Fifteen-year-old me crying because my friends didn’t want me to go to the mall with them to meet up with some boys. Boys they liked. The boy I liked, too. My mom, patting my back, trying to comfort me.
Don’t feel bad, sweetheart. It’s safer this way. What if you do something to embarrass them, and they no longer want to be your friends at all? Remember that time at the mall you dropped your chocolate ice cream all over yourself so you made us leave. But on the way out, we saw Mrs. Sparke, and you were so mad that we stopped to talk to her? Or the time you almost fell getting off the escalator and everyone ran to help? You’re lucky they still spend as much time with you as they do. Especially now that you’re all older and they’re trying to meet guys. You should be grateful for what they give you.
Forcing her out of my mind, I opened the Kindle app on my phone. I spent the rest of the day reading and not thinking about Dylan or my mom or my speech or fucking dyspraxia or how I’d be alone forever with only the dogs I’d rescue for company. I kept reading, even when I had to reread paragraphs because my mind wandered. But not to any of those things.
Okay, maybe I was a shitty liar. But at least I read my book and didn’t only think about those things all day.
When I climbed into bed, I finally let myself acknowledge what I’d been trying to ignore all day. My mom was right. It was safer this way. Easier. With that thought in mind, I was even more disappointed in myself than I’d been last night. I didn’t think that could be possible.
Look at me, exceeding expectations.
I woke up filled with...not hope, exactly. Determination, maybe. Acceptance.
Why did acceptance sound negative when self-acceptance is supposed to be positive? There are a million reasons why a person may be unlikely to accomplish THE dream. If I can accept that I am who I am, set realistic goals and dreams, and achieve those, isn’t that a win?
Dylan was not a realistic dream. I didn’t need him, or any man. I was already happier and more successful than I’d ever thought I could be. I had a great job in which I got to help kids every day, I owned this apartment that I loved, and I lived a full and satisfying life that I’d worked damn hard for. I had an amazing sister and two of the best friends anyone could hope for.
Sure, life would be easier if I didn’t have dyspraxia. A loving relationship would be nice to have. But I refused to let that little missing piece take away from everything else I was truly happy and lucky to have.
With that in mind, I turned on a ’90s playlist and tackled the laundry and cleaning. Time for a fresh start. A mental and physical spring cleaning.
By the end of the day, the apartment was mostly clean, the laundry was done with one load even put away, and I was exhausted. I tossed the pile of mail back into its bin, just a few pieces of junk mail lighter, and dropped the final load of clean laundry on the couch with a satisfying plop.
That would have to be enough to give me the closure and clarity I needed. I slid into bed, determined to think only happy thoughts of my time at Nolan’s with Dylan. I could lay in bed and reminisce about the feel of his arms wrapped around me at the pool table. It felt good to picture his smile and hear his laugh. I was lucky I had the memory of those few wonderful hours with him.
I should’ve ended it there and walked away with those good memories. Those few incredible hours were more than I’d ever expected to have. Acceptance. It was silly to hope for anything more. I’d been called a lot of things in my life, but silly was never one of them. I wasn’t going to start now. Nope, I was lucky to have what I had. I couldn’t forget that.
“Hi, Cooper! Today in OT we’re going to make a sun to celebrate this bright, sunny spring day!”
“I love the sun!”
I loved this kid. His constant enthusiasm made me feel like the world’s best occupational therapist. Just what I needed today. “Me too! First, I need you to draw a big circle, then I’ll help you draw five triangles.”
“I can draw a circle!”
“I know. You’ve been working hard on that and now you can do it!”
He beamed as he slowly and carefully drew a wobbly line that resembled a circle.
“You did it!”
His lip quivered and he rocked in his chair.
“Hey, Coop, are you okay? Do you need a break?”
He looked away and bit down hard on his knuckle and rocked harder.
“Come on, Coop, let’s go take a break on the bean bag.” I held my hand out, trying to exude a calmness and confidence I barely felt. As much as I loved working with him, his frustration tolerance was next to nothing, and he often quickly escalated from biting himself to hitting or biting others.
He put his hand in mine, and that trust nearly brought tears to my eyes. This was why I needed to focus on my students, and why I was bringing sunshine into our sessions even though I was feeling more like a tornado. This was why I couldn’t keep thinking about Dylan. I pushed those thoughts back and focused my attention on Cooper as I led him out of my cubby to the bean bags in the sensory area of the therapy room.
“You okay?” My colleague and friend, Katie, asked as she helped her student onto a scooter.
“We’re good. Just taking a break.”
Cooper and I took five deep breaths, and I think it helped me just as much as him.
“Ready to go back? We’ll make the triangles together.”
Cooper nodded, and holding hands, we returned to the desk.
“You got this, Coop!”
“I got this!”
I drew two lines of a triangle and Cooper finished with the third line perfectly. By the fifth triangle, he was drawing his line with pride.
“I did it!”
“You sure did! Great job!”
Cooper colored his shapes in yellow, we cut them out together, then he assembled and glued the pieces to create a beautiful sun. I brought Cooper back to his classroom with a proud smile on his face, a masterpiece in his hand, and hope in my heart. We were creating our own sunshine.