Chapter 59 Los Angeles #2
Reed frowns at me, a deep sadness growing in his eyes. “What realization epiphany?”
“That I don’t know how to be a good partner.
I keep things from people and gaslight myself into thinking it’s okay.
I’m a relationship therapist who can’t hold on to relationships.
I would have found some way to fuck this up if I wasn’t pummeled into looking in the mirror and reflecting on my own shit at the end of that day. ”
Reed narrows his eyes. “Rikki. You know exactly how to be an amazing partner. I think deep down you just don’t believe you deserve someone good. And that’s bullshit.”
My skin bristles as part of me curls in on itself in recognition. I feel naked. So known. Seen. It scares the shit out of me.
“We’re here!”
The first episode of Elizabeth Ross Falls for Ryan is phenomenal.
Rome Overland is excellent. He skillfully showcases the nuances of the lovable, protective Vince, and he has great chemistry with Elizabeth.
In my humble opinion, it’s perfection. I whisper this to Reed as the credits roll, and he smiles and shakes his head.
I shake mine right back. “Nah, you can’t tell me I can’t take a compliment and then respond to yours with a headshake. I’m so proud for you.”
His smile splits open. He reaches out to catch a rogue tear rolling down my cheek before sliding his hand into my curled hair, pulling me to his mouth, and kissing me in the semidark of the theater.
His lips are slow and intentional. Passionate and steady.
Laced with emotion. Words and feelings that have floated by unsaid between the two of us for weeks on end.
Slowly, one by one, the lights flip on in my chest. I knot my hands up in the front of his tux.
His fingers tighten around a fistful of my hair, and I physically restrain myself from climbing into his lap.
I want to curl up in him and stay here in the dark together, huddled just outside of reality for as long as the night will allow.
Reed pulls back with bright eyes and lipstick on his mouth.
The light of the screen is reflected in his gaze.
“There’s an after-party I have to be at,” he breathes.
I’m quiet as we maneuver around the party on the roof of the building. I smile and say hi to about twenty different people who go on to praise Reed’s performance. I stand by his side, frustration a knot in my gut as I examine and reexamine our current situation, trying to land on a viable solution.
How did this happen?
The universe trolled me into a false sense of security with its stupid blessing just to disappear and pull this bullshit.
To tell me in the most irritating, roundabout way what I already know: It doesn’t matter how much fate or whimsy or magic you have on your side, relationships are still complicated as fuck.
They require a strict diet: constant communication, openness, generosity, compromise, courage, and presence.
And those are things two commitment rookies with deep-seated trust issues—in their early thirties, with full, well-rounded, established lives—can’t do from across the country.
Even if they’re both willing, capable, intelligent people who care about each other an incredibly inappropriate amount in proportion to how long they’ve been together.
When we disengage from Reed’s latest admirer, he pulls me into one of three different vintage photo booths they have along the perimeter of the roof.
I scoot in with him and tug the curtain shut.
He taps the red “Go” button inside and pulls me into a kiss that sends my head spinning. The flash goes off.
We smile before the next flash. He gathers me by his side before the last one.
“Reed,” I say softly. “We have to talk about what we’re doing.”
He angles himself toward me in the small space. “I’ll be done with this movie by the end of January.”
“It’s October.”
He tucks a loose strand of my hair back behind my ear. “New pact?”
I shake my head the tiniest bit to the right, staring at the place where our strip of pictures will appear. “I can’t do another pact. I’ve caught feelings.”
Reed tips up my chin to peer into my glassy eyes.
“Rikki!” He blows out a sad laugh. “I don’t want a pact either. I want to be with you. I love you.”
My mouth quivers as his confident words rocket through me, searing hot and joyous as they wind around my heart.
That’s the first time anyone I’ve dated has ever said them to me. Emotion wells in my throat. “Reed, we haven’t even figured out how to fight.”
“Fight with me then. Let’s figure it out.”
“But there’s no figuring it out. We . . . fucked ourselves.” I drop my eyes as my voice cracks. “We worked separately on the group project.”
Reed tangles our hands together, gripping mine tight. “Rikki.”
I stare at his bow tie. “I don’t want to do this half ass, and I know you don’t either.” I squeeze his hands. “We . . . can’t be a team. We can’t go to bed together. We can’t do any of the things we define love to be!
“I want to pick you up at the fucking airport, Reed. We can’t be a safe place to land for each other from three thousand miles away, in different time zones. And you know it.”
Reed’s eyes plead with mine. It sends a web of cracks running through my heart. “Rikki, I love you.”
“. . . I love you too.” It comes out on an exhale. Low and breathy. Like it could have just been the wind.
“What if I can make it out here, though,” Reed says, “Whenever I can. What if I can make that happen once a week for a couple months.”
I shake my head, squeezing my eyes at the ache in my chest. “Love doesn’t grow right like this.
It’s going to be jagged and cracked. Crooked and stiff.
Like a limb that was never properly set after it broke.
Our jobs are too irregular and all-consuming.
More miscommunications would be imminent.
Pain and anxiety would be unavoidable.” I pause, sliding my hands up the front of his tux.
“Even people who live in the same city have to live together to really know if they’re compatible long term.
We can’t even get close. What we have are fun trips, excursions, three-day adventures.
Love isn’t just the happy-go-lucky shit. ”
He looks at me hard, his face war-hero somber. “You want this to be over?”
“I don’t want it to be over,” I mumble. “I want it to be real.”
He drops his forehead against my chest. “It is real.”
But we live in two separate universes.
I wish I could slice them open and sew them back together as one.
I run my fingers through his hair. Down his neck. He shivers against me.
“I think . . .” I suck in a slow, arduous breath. “I think the healthiest thing we can do right now is let go. And if we’re ever single, living in the same state, we ask each other out.”
He lifts his head to search my eyes. He looks miserable.
I hate this.
“How will we know when we’re living in the same state if we’re not talking?”
“Post about it on your hipster Instagram.”
He huffs. “What, and you’ll post every time you move home base on yours?”
I nod.
“In the main feed?”
The ghost of a laugh escapes my lips. “Yes.”
He frowns. “I haven’t told someone I love them since I was eighteen.”
“I’ve never said it to someone until today.”