Chapter 8 #2
We head out front and get in his SUV. I’m not surprised when he drives us to his house. When he shuts down the engine, we both sit for a second, still silent.
“Will you come inside to talk—I swear that’s all I have in mind.” He gives me a pleading look, so completely vulnerable that I nod. Then the last words I should be saying come out of my mouth.
“It’s too bad talk is all you have in mind.
” More truth bubbles out of me, in spite of all my good intentions, in spite of my need, my determination to put Jimmy first, I can’t help the selfish impulse to want to be with him, to sate my desire, to take the pleasure that we find in each other’s arms.
He flashes a half smile, but suppresses it and opens his door. I follow him inside and we stop in his kitchen. There’s a giant box on his counter with a big red bow.
“I have a Christmas gift for you. I planned to give it to you after the game tomorrow afternoon.” He looks at me, waiting for a response, looking like he fully expects rejection.
I have no idea what to say. Emotions bottle up my vocal cords, strangling me. The whirl of pleasure and guilt circle inside me until they produce tears. God dam tears in my eyes. I swipe violently at my cheek to get rid of them. Not so easy to get rid of the feelings that produced them.
He sighs and closes in, taking me in his arms. “Don’t cry, sweetcakes, there’s no strings attached. If you don’t want a relationship, if you don’t think I’m the right guy for you—”
I push against him at his words. “That’s not it, Sean. And you know it.” I want him to know everything without having to explain because the thought of telling him my deepest fears about us makes me sick. Literally. I want to vomit at my own stupidity, at my cowardice even more.
“I don’t know.” He holds onto me pulling me back against him, insisting that I accept his comfort. How can I not? I’m a weak person after all. I’m proving my weakness right here and now, leaning on this man I have no right to lean on.
His warmth sooths me in spite of my protesting conscience. Closing my eyes, letting go of tension, I talk to him because he deserves to know what’s in my heart.
“I don’t want a relationship with you, Sean. I don’t deserve you—”
“You don’t deserve me? You mean I don’t—”
“Let me explain,” I say, smiling at his predictable automatic response. “I have nothing but Jimmy. No worldly possessions, not much of an education, no special talent or skills—”
“How can you possibly say that?” He pulls back, still holding me, so that he can look at me.
I meet his eyes. They’re fierce. My heart thuds fast again, sending all kinds of signals to my core, the needy woman in me not caring about right or wrong or whether I’m independent or dependent.
Or about how my actions are going to affect my own won.
Forcing my voice past the tightness of desire, I answer him.
“Because it’s true. You’re a special man, a professional athlete, wealthy, smart, well educated, from a good family and—”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything, Ronnie? That’s all window dressing. You have so much to give, so much love and caring and hard work and discipline and honesty and integrity and sense of responsibility and—”
“What? Slow down. I get it. I get what you’re saying even if I know you have an idealized view of me. We’ve only known each other a few weeks. You don’t know me that well.”
“I want to get to know you better. I want you to give us a chance because I’m pretty sure I’m right about you and as time goes on I’d only become more certain.
” He takes a deep breath. His words bathe me I a glow.
It feels so good to be appreciated for all those things I strive for, not knowing if I’m accomplishing what I need to do.
“On the other hand,” he says, “I would understand if you aren’t sure about me, if you don’t trust me because I know I have a reputation. I’m not a bad guy though. You know I love dogs and kids—especially Jimmy. I work hard—”
“You don’t need to sell yourself to me, Sean.
I know you’re a good man, giving and kind and generous—to a fault.
” How can I make him understand that I need to stand on my own?
That it’s not some feminist ideal driving me, but the harsh reality of my life instilling real fear of being dependent on someone else.
I know too well that the only one who will look after me in life is me, that the second I depend on another person I become vulnerable and I could lose everything.
“If you know me so well, and trust me, then why is it so hard to believe that I know you, understand you?” He says.
“Because you have no way of understanding where I’m from, not deep down, what kind of life I’ve had and what it’s done to me.”
“I know how far you’ve come. I get it. You don’t have a lot of money, that you still struggle and that makes you feel insecure. But you know I can—”
“That’s it—right there. You want to intervene and make everything better.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” His eyebrows furrow.
I need to spell it out for him now, get it over with. End my charade because I’m not a normal person, the kind of person he is, with the kind of solid secure background he’s had. I’m the kind of person who has no one and nothing, who gets deserted by others one way or another.
I shake my head, my heart thudding with fear and need. If I want to be brave, then I need to tell him like it is and march on without him.