25. The Present
The Present
Carla
“You ready?”
“Just let me clean the counter.”
“Leave it. Come on. It’s after seven.” TJ takes the cleaning spray from my hand and sets it on the counter.
“Fine, but don’t blame me when everyone contracts the flu virus because I didn’t sanitize the front desk.”
I follow him up the stairs leading to his apartment. I don’t know if I’m nervous about what he’s going to tell me, or because of the things we did the last time I was in his apartment. Let’s go with both.
“What do you feel like having for dinner?” he asks.
“Tacos.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “You like Mexican food?”
“Whenever I’m given a choice, the answer is always tacos.”
“Tacos it is.”
I kick off my heels and flop onto the couch while TJ places our order.
“It reclines,” he whispers.
My eyes widen and my fingers fumble around for the button on the armrest. I close my eyes and smile while my body tilts back.
“Food will be here in about forty minutes,” TJ says, taking the seat beside me. “Comfy?”
“In Heaven, there will be tacos and this chair.”
He chuckles.
I sit upright and face him, crossing my legs. “So, what is it that you wanted to tell me?”
He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. I watch as his chest rises and falls with each of his deep breaths. I wait, allowing him time to collect his thoughts. Whatever he’s about to tell me seems important.
“Saturday was my birthday … and the anniversary of my mom’s death.”
My eyebrows lift. “Your mom died on your birthday?”
“Yep. Gives Happy Birthday a whole new meaning, huh?” He laughs once. “So every year on my birthday, I drive to New Jersey and spend a few days there. I couldn’t afford to have a funeral for Mom when she died, so the state cremated her body. Woods drove me to the beach so I could throw her ashes into the water. She always wanted to go to the beach, but Dad never wanted to take us. I figured that’s where she’d want to be.”
“Who’s Woods?”
“He was a friend. Sort of. My dad used to hit my mom whenever he was drunk. I had to call the police a lot, and Woods was the officer who always came. He tried to help me from time to time while I was in and out of foster care.”
“Do you still talk to him?”
“Not since I was sixteen. The night he released me from jail.” TJ turns his head to look at me for the first time since we started this conversation. Shame fills his eyes. “I wasn’t always this person you see now.”
Any anger I had left melts away. I lift my hand to caress his cheek, and he leans into my touch. I want to climb in his lap and wrap my arms around him. I want to hold him and tell him how sorry I am. But I know that won’t change anything. Words won’t take his pain away. Don’t I know it.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” I whisper.
“When you told me I need to practice what I preach, it really hit home.”
“TJ, I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t know—”
“No. You were right. My friend Reggie used to tell me how important it is to talk about the things I went through. He said I isolate myself.”
“Do you remember what I asked you the night we met?”
One corner of his mouth turns up. “You asked me why I was torturing myself.”
I nod. “You can’t punish yourself for the life you were given. You can’t go back and change anything. Look at the person you are now.”
TJ’s chin drops and he averts his eyes.
“No.” I grip his face and turn it back towards me. “You are an incredible man. You should be proud of the life you’ve made for yourself. You devote your life to helping others. Take some time to help yourself.”
“How do I do that?”
“You need to learn to love yourself. You told me love wasn’t meant for you, but you’re wrong.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because love doesn’t discriminate. Love is meant for everyone.”
He falls silent again, undoubtedly wrestling with his demons.
“Well, you’re off the hook for closing the gym without telling me,” I say.
“For the record, I’m really sorry about that.” TJ scrubs a hand over his jaw. “And about what happened after sky diving.”
“Sorry like you regret it, or …” My voice trails off because I don’t know what else to say without sounding like a needy chick.
“Is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time? That I regretted kissing you?”
I shrug. “Girl kisses boy. Boy pushes girl away and says nothing. Then boy ignores girl and disappears for three days. There the conclusions were. I didn’t have to jump far.”
“With the anniversary of my mom’s death, my head wasn’t in a good space. A lot of old shit gets dug up. I didn’t want to drag you into my mess of emotions. Didn’t want to take advantage of the situation. Of you.”
“So, what you’re saying is …”
“No, I did not regret the kiss. And if I’m being honest, I wanted to keep going.”
My eyes land on his lips, heart hammering in my chest. “I like when you’re honest.”
TJ edges forward, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My heart stalls, breath faltering. All logic and reasoning fly out the window when we’re this close.
Three solid knocks on the door bring me back down to earth.
I’ve never been so unhappy to see tacos in my life.
While we’re eating, I summon the courage to ask another personal question. “Have you ever gone to visit your dad in jail?”
TJ shakes his head and swallows. “I’ve never wanted to. He doesn’t deserve a visitor.”
“I get it. I wouldn’t want to see him either.”
He arches a brow. “You’re not going to lecture me about not going?”
“Why would I? I don’t blame you for not wanting to see him.” I take a sip of water. “What about Woods?”
He shoves half a taco into his mouth and shrugs.
“You said he was your friend. What happened after you went to jail?” I tilt my head. “Wait. Why were you in jail?”
TJ gulps his water and leans back against his chair. “You ever consider going into journalism?”
I snort and a piece of taco shell lodges itself in my throat. TJ smacks me on the back while I sputter and cough.
I spend the remainder of the night listening to stories from TJ’s past. It breaks my heart to hear how awful his foster homes were, and to think about how many other kids have to live in the same kinds of situations. I’m especially upset when he tells me he was homeless. I can’t fathom something like that. Alone. No family or friends to help you. Nowhere to live. No food to fill your stomach. I try to picture it, but I just can’t.
It’s after eleven when an idea pops into my brain. “Do you ever volunteer?”
TJ stifles a yawn. “I do.”
“Can I come with you the next time you go?”
“You’d do that?”
“Absolutely.” I jump to my feet. “Oh my God. We should have a box for donations at the gym! People can donate food, jackets, gloves, and clothes. Do you have paper and a pen? I’ll get a list started. We’ll need signs and tubs to carry everything in. Maybe we can put an ad in the newspaper. I can make flyers and hang them around my campus. Oh, and we’ll need—”
TJ’s lips are on mine. I didn’t even see him stand. His hands weave through my hair, pulling me closer. It’s a soft, sweet kiss, and then it’s over.
I want to keep going, but he’s my boss at a job I desperately need. I can’t keep muddling the boundary lines. Why are we always two seconds away from kissing? There’s attraction, sure, but is that all that keeps drawing me to this man? Whenever we touch, all I want is more. But I don’t know if I can handle more.
I rest my forehead against his. “It’s getting late. I should go.”
He cups my face. “Stay with me tonight.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I don’t want you driving home this late.”
“I’m not that far.”
“I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself. I can sleep on the couch.”
“No. You’re not sleeping on the couch in your own apartment. I’ll go. It’s okay.”
“Carla.” I hear it in the way he says my name. Feel it in the way his hands tighten around my waist. See it in the way his eyes look into mine with nothing but sincerity.
It’s a plea.
And I succumb to it.
TJ loans me a gray T-shirt that reaches my knees. One whiff of his scent in the fabric and I’ve already made up my mind that he’ll never get this shirt back. It’s a shame, because he probably looks sexy as hell in it.
His warm body slips into bed and I curl around him, resting my cheek against his bare chest. I ask him to tell me a happy memory he has of his mother. He combs his fingers through my hair while he tells me, and I’m lulled to sleep by his smooth voice, in the safety of his arms.
It’s the first night I haven’t fallen asleep thinking about Joe or the miscarriage.
So much for not muddling the lines.