Female Gaze

39 | homes out of people

Rhett does that thing with our hands—you know, swinging it a little while we walk. It's a simple gesture, a barely-there extra touch of consideration that most people wouldn't bat an eye at or lose sleep over, but it's meaningful enough to me.

I know he's stressed. I could see it in his body language during the game, even with the distance between us, and my body is very much tuned to his, like a twin bond but less creepy considering the nature of our relationship. Emotions are heightened during a high-stakes situation like one would find in a hockey game, but I know it's more than that.

I know this boy—this man—like the back of my hand, and I pride myself in being one of the people who truly know him. I know his quirks, what makes him tick, the ways he tries to hide his emotions and feelings, and how to be a safe place to land whenever he needs one. He needs one now, and I'm happy to be of service without expecting anything back. Old Brie would be on edge, obsessing over whether I'm truly wanted here or not, but Rhett has a way of making me feel at ease even when he's the one needing support.

I'm good at being supportive. I'm so good at it I suffocate people with my crippling desire to love and be loved.

But this isn't about me.

We don't have much time. Soon enough, he'll step inside a bus for the six-hour drive from New York back to Vermont, while I'll hop into the passenger seat of Paige's car. We're missing the ladies tonight—Nancy and Ripley, more precisely—and Jackie is on Daisy duty tonight.

I still don't know how to approach Jackie; we maintain a cordial relationship with each other, albeit I wouldn't necessarily call us friends. She was the one to explain to me why the other WAGs (the term still makes me gag) didn't seem to be my biggest fans and I trusted her to do that coming from a place of genuine concern, not to rub it in my face I'll never be anything but a poor replacement of Magnolia Hawthorne.

It's hard to not like her. Unfortunately, people say the same thing about Magnolia, except those fiercely loyal to Rhett (you know, like me), and not enough people say that about me. Where Jackie is warm and inviting, I'm naive and easily swayed by daydreams that might never become a reality, too delusional over fantasies to stay grounded and be a normal, reliable person.

After every monumental effort I put into manipulating Andy into liking me, I'm scared she'll think I'm choosing his side following their breakup, even though I'm on no one's side (if I had to choose, I'd choose Daisy, the poor thing), which involves a bit of self-sabotage.

I still want her to like me and nothing about her attitude towards me has hinted at the opposite being true, meaning I might be trying too hard for something that might not be that big of a deal to other people, and yet . . .

So, instead of wasting precious time worrying about the people who may or may not like me, I choose to spend that time focusing on one who I know does. Rhett Price, my beloved (dramatic or not, I do love this boy), has been having some rough couple of days, which is an understatement, and, while we still have a chance to do so, I'd like to take him out for a walk outside before we leave New York.

It's a shame there's no time to hang out, as there are places I've always wanted to see and visit, but I promise myself I will be back. There are so many New York-based photographers I've admired for years (see: Julia Krischer, the person who will hopefully take me under her wing after graduation), so it makes sense at a career level. I'm not sure whether I'd ever consider fully moving to New York, in spite of how many people have told me I'm destined for places bigger than Vermont; I'm too much of a homebody to put that big of a distance between me and my family.

They say home is where the heart is, but they also say to not make homes out of people. They're too fickle and associating a city to a person who might shatter you is dangerous, but I've decided Rhett is my home, my safe place to land. Wherever he goes, I'd also like to go.

"You were incredible tonight," I tell him. He looks pensive, absorbed in his own thoughts, and I know I'll have to drag him kicking and screaming back to reality before I lose him. It's not my responsibility and I'm aware he can do it without my input, but my obsessive need to be present and helpful often overpowers people's right to be left alone. "You were so focused."

"Yeah," he agrees, somewhat distant. If it weren't for my hand clasped in his, I'm not sure whether he's aware I'm right next to him or not. Which of us am I trying to anchor in place, then? "Coach Gonzalez was very clear when he told me I had to get my head on the game. Even more than usual."

"For any particular reason?"

Rhett exhales, pinching his nose bridge with the fingers of his free hand. "There was a scout for the New York Islanders watching the match tonight." My heart skips a beat at the reveal and I squeeze his hand tighter. Not tight enough to cut off his circulation, but just enough to serve as a reminder that I'm here for him—physically and metaphorically. "So, you know, it was a pretty big deal. As if I wasn't nervous enough about not acting like an idiot on skates, of course tonight would have to be the night for this to happen."

"Did the scout talk to you?" I tentatively ask. I'm not sure how to approach the subject; maybe he's lost in thought because he spoke to the scout (and the conversation could have gone well or not at all) or maybe the scout didn't want to talk to him. All my options are objectively valid, though I want to believe he has good news to tell me—just like I have good news to tell him about Julia Krischer. "I don't know how these things work; do the scouts come to see a particular person play or are they looking at players in general?"

"I don't know. I spoke to him, though. Ran right into him."

"Oh?"

"I wasn't watching where I was going, then proceeded to tell him I wasn't available for an interview. You know, the completely normal thing to say in a situation like this." His lips curve into a dry smile. "I got his business card, so there's some interest. He said we'd keep in touch, so I just have to stay well-behaved, play well, and wait to be contacted."

"Rhett, that's wonderful. Congratulations." He leans the side of his head against the top of mine, his thumb brushing gently against my knuckles before he fully laces our fingers. "Is there anything you can do besides that? Can you secure that spot?"

"Not really. All I can do is basically . . . not screw things up. I need to stay on track."

"And the sponsors?"

He looks at me from the corner of his eye, concern clouding his expression. "I haven't been too concerned. If I land that contract, it'll come with sponsors." He pauses. "I don't want it to look like I'm using you. I'm this close to getting everything I've ever wanted out of a professional career and it's upsetting that it started off as a trick to fool people into believing I'm not the screw up I am."

"Hey." I come to a halt, then step in front of him. "You're not a screw up. You're not using me. I know what we agreed on months ago and yes, it was fake, but it isn't anymore." I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from uttering the word right. After all the evidence that has fallen into my lap about how our relationship is real, I shouldn't be nearly falling into the trap of believing otherwise. "You're fantastic. Even if this doesn't work out—and I'm not saying it won't—you've been doing so well that it won't be the only chance you get at a professional career. It's one team out of so many. This is your dream. You've been working so hard, improved so much. Don't sell yourself short."

"My career isn't the only thing at stake here."

"Then—"

He doesn't look at me like I'm stupid for not following his train of thought. Cole probably would have. "What would happen to us if I got signed, though? Would we make it work like Lorelai and Dante? Or would we completely fail at the long distance thing?"

Hearing him voice my exact concerns is equal parts terrifying and comforting, as contradictory as it is. Until now, Dante is the only person I've talked to about my fears and anxieties, mostly because he's the only person in my immediate vicinity who would understand them.

He's been supportive and reassuring, but he has also made it clear I need to be honest with Rhett and share these worries with him. Long distance is hard, but people can survive it if they both work hard to overcome the obstacles; besides, it's hard to not be able to communicate with the help of technology. It would be hard, but I'm fully confident we can get through it; besides, we wouldn't be apart forever. As long as my schedule allows it, maybe I can follow Rhett around the country, do some sightseeing, and improve my portfolio.

So, I tell him exactly that.

". . . and I have faith in us," I conclude, trying my hardest to stay optimistic for the two of us. "I don't think it will be easy, but it's doable."

"Hopefully. I really, really want this to work—all of it. Not just my career, not just us. Everything. Going pro and honoring my family's name is all I've ever wanted when it comes to hockey, but you're also everything I've ever wanted." The temperature of my cheeks rises to boiling levels. How classy of me. "You're worth more than just someone who follows me around because you have nothing better to do. I don't want you to feel like you have to do that."

I rub my arms, aware we can't postpone this conversation any longer. I've slept on my little secret for too long; even though it's nothing definitive or even harmful, I can't understand why I have yet to tell him about it. It's not like he won't understand or won't be happy for me, yet I still found countless excuses to avoid it.

The day I first found out about it and was so eager to fill him in was also the day he blew me off for Magnolia, who continues to be a nearly permanent figure in our relationship. Then, exams got in the way and so did the first shots for Female Gaze. By the time the holidays rolled around, we were too concerned with how my family would react to our relationship, then Dante and Lorelai decided to dump the engagement bomb at the dining table.

I keep reaching for the timing argument, but timing has never been our strongest suit. It's not good for either of us to not talk about these things and even I can tell I'm grasping at straws for some reason I can't quite comprehend.

Through my four years of college, there's a saying I've heard countless times, so often it's now carved into the walls of my brain.

Always take the shot.

"If all goes well, I'll have something to do in New York," I confess, tugging at a loose string from my sleeve. It's not my jacket—it's his—but I've worn it so many times it feels mine in a way. It reminds me of him—of us, with the way our scents are now so deeply interwoven into the fabric. "That day I told you I had good news, the day you found out about Andy and Jackie . . ." I purposefully avoid uttering Magnolia's name. "I wasn't there when you left the rink because Professor Ramos summoned me to her office. If my senior project goes well, she's going to recommend me for an apprenticeship with Julia Krischer. She's a photographer based in NYC, one I've been a fan of for years," I explain, noticing the confused look he throws me, the same that's splashed on my face whenever he name-drops hockey players. "It's not guaranteed, of course, but—"

Rhett doesn't let me finish the sentence.

Cupping my face between his strangely warm hands, he brings it close to his, and I stifle a sigh when his lips meet mine. It always feels like coming home, embracing and being embraced by this boy, and my hands know that. They know exactly where to place themselves—one above his shoulder blade, the other beneath his ribs—and it even makes me wonder why and how I ever thought I was fully over him. Nothing ever compared to him, nothing will ever compare; every other guy has paled in comparison to Rhett Price.

He knows that. He knows he doesn't lose and, even though I'm setting back the feminist movement by several years by thinking these things, this is one of the rare times I've allowed myself to be thought of as a prize to be won.

It makes me feel wanted.

Seeing myself the way Rhett sees me has helped my perception of myself; it has made me feel loved, sexier. Sometimes, a girl needs some external validation, especially when she goes above and beyond to impress a guy. I don't usually get all dressed up, all dolled up for other people, and I know Rhett likes me with or without all those efforts, but there's something about the way his breath gets hitched in his throat or how his eyes linger on certain parts of my body that makes me feel all giddy.

The kiss is electric. I can feel every nerve in my body wake up all at once the moment his tongue slides across my bottom lip, then inside my mouth. My heartbeat thunders in my chest—I love you, I love you, I love you—and it's the closest I've felt to it exploding behind my bones.

"You"—he kisses me—"are"—he kisses me again—"phenomenal." Another kiss. "You're so phenomenal. I can't believe I didn't know anything about this, but I'm so fucking happy for you, Brooke. So fucking happy. You deserve that apprenticeship more than anyone I know."

"It's not guaranteed."

"It is to me. You're destined for greatness, babe. Don't ever let anyone make you believe otherwise, okay? Don't ever." He leans his forehead against mine, sweaty and breathless, and I've never been more certain of anything in my life than I am of my burning love for him. "You're getting that apprenticeship. I'm getting signed. We'll go to New York."

"We'll go to New York, and we'll be okay."

"We'll be okay," he echoes. He promises.

And I know we will.