Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“No, Jenna, I don't think I do,” he says, his voice hard. “What did you mean?”
This. This is the problem with spending so much time with someone you have great chemistry with. It inevitably leads to feelings moving faster than communication, and now even humour - our fail-safe since the very first moment we met - is failing me.
“What food do you want?” I ask and pull my robe around my still damp body. I need to get out of the bathroom.
“Jenna,” he warns, and even this tone of voice – this stern, warning air – thrills me as much as it scares me.
I turn to face him and rush out an apology, knowing he is owed that much. “Marty, I said a stupid thing. I'm sorry. Can we just forget I said it?”
“I asked you what you meant by it. Are you going to answer me?” His face has changed. His eyes are sunken, his cheeks hollowed out.
“Of course, you're not servicing me,” I say. “Like I said, I'm sorry I said that.”
“Then what is happening here?” Marty steps closer to me.
“No,” I say out loud although it was only supposed to be for my ears. “We're not doing this. We're not ruining this perfect day with an awkward conversation about what we are and what we're not.”
“Then don't,” he says, unblinking. “Don't ruin it.”
Exasperation floods me. “You are too quick for me. Your words... Your comebacks. And your fucking optimism!” I don’t mean to shout – it’s the last thing I want to do with him – but still I do.
“Me? Optimistic?” He places his hand on his chest. He's not shouting but his words are loud and big. “I'm a mess. I'm a world of pain, Jenna. I'm not optimistic, I'm just so fucken desperate to feel anything other than pain.”
“Marty,” I say taking a deep breath. “I didn't mean you're not in pain. Of course you are. You've been through so much...”
He interrupts me. “And do you want to know something about that, Jenna?” He steps closer to me and I freeze in the doorway through to the bedroom, leaning back against the door frame, suddenly exhausted as he stares down at me.
“You are the first person I’ve met who seems to just let that be what it is.
You’re not trying to fix me like my mother.
You’re not ignoring it like my dad. You don’t try to joke about it like Maeve does, and you don’t want to dissect every sordid detail like my therapist, but you will listen if I want you to.
You're the first person who just lets me feel what I need to feel.
You're the only one who has come close to making me feel like myself again, or better, actually, like somebody I actually want to be.”
I shake my head and look down, confused but not surprised by my disorientation. I had been ignoring my own feelings all day and then I started to ignore his. How did I get that so horribly wrong?
“I'm not asking for your hand in marriage, for fuck’s sake. I'm not asking for anything. I just want to be able to tell you how much I like you, and how this is more than just sex for me,” Marty continues. “And if it is just sex for you, that’s fine. I get it. But just have the courage to come out and admit it so I know where I stand.”
My eyes warm with the urge to cry. I open my mouth, but words don't come.
“Jenna, please,” Marty says and he comes closer still, so close I can feel his heat and I wish he'd put a shirt on or a bag over his head and that thought is what makes me smile and laugh a little to myself as I look up and into his eyes.
“Marty,” I say and surely the way I say his name is enough, enough for him to hear and know the want and need and admiration I have for him. But it’s not. His eyes still search mine.
“Tell me what this is for you,” he urges and while I hate how he doesn't let me off the hook easily, I can’t help but admire how he holds me accountable.
It's the vulnerability in his seeking eyes, and the faintest lines between his eyebrows and the hard edge to his chin as his jaw repeatedly flexes that has me reaching for his face, stroking and cupping it with both of my hands.
“Marty, I don't know what it is and maybe I should because I'm older and more experienced, and for Christ’s sake, I'm the one who is supposed to be an expert in sex and relationships, but I really don't know what it is.
But like we said earlier, I'm trying to be okay with not knowing.
And I do know this much, it's more than just sex for me too.” I wait for the ground to disappear from under me, but it doesn't.
“It's more,” Marty repeats, as if to confirm for us both.
I nod.
“Okay,” he says, and he bends down to kiss me on my forehead, ease and lightness back in his tone and movements. “Now let's go order some food. I could eat the front and hind legs off a scabby horse.”
“Okay,” I say a little breathless as I watch him walk away. “You go ahead. I just need a moment to get dressed, and... ” I don’t finish but he doesn’t seem to mind as he’s already calling out from the living area.
“No problem, just hurry up. We have another cracker of a sunset to watch together too.”
Then I'm left alone, leaning against the door, feeling like it will take more than a few minutes for the room to stop spinning.