Chapter 6
The next day I was looking forward to Gideon coming over for dinner—more than usual.
I actually had a good day. I’d slept well, only waking up once and without very intense nightmares. Then I’d taken a hike since it was such a nice morning. I even read a book—something I hadn’t done in months—in the afternoon.
I went grocery shopping and then spent an hour working on my new recipe for dinner—a Greek chicken dish with orzo and roasted vegetables.
I was finishing it up, excited because it was turning out so well, when Gideon arrived. I ran to open the door for him—he had a key but wouldn’t use it except in an emergency—and then hurried back to my chicken.
“Smells good,” he said, following me into the kitchen and setting a paper shopping bag on the counter.
“I think it’s going to be yummy.” I grinned over my shoulder at him. He’d been wearing a suit at work, but now he was taking off his jacket and slinging it over one of the chairs. Then he pulled off his tie and opened the top two buttons of his shirt.
Even with his suit undone and his shirt wrinkled, he still looked nice and well dressed. It suddenly struck me that maybe I should have put on something a little better for company.
My hair was in two long braids, which I’d done for the hike and never bothered to take out. I wore yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, which was basically my uniform lately.
I pushed the thought away, figuring Gideon had seen me at my absolute worst and wouldn’t care that I hadn’t made an effort to dress better.
“How was work?” I asked him, getting excited again about my meal as I tore a few fresh basil leaves and sprinkled them into the pan just before I plated up the chicken.
Gideon was getting out glasses from the cabinet. “It was fine. I brought some wine if you want any.”
I hesitated just a moment but then nodded my assent. As I scooped the orzo out onto the plates, I saw him take a box from the bag and then a bottle of chardonnay. “What’s in the box?” I asked, trying not to get distracted from plating the food by my curiosity.
“Oh. Dessert.” He uncorked and poured the wine as I carried the plates to the table.
Once that was accomplished, I ran back over the counter to peek in the box. Two big cupcakes—one chocolate and one red velvet. I clapped my hands over this discovery.
Gideon laughed at my reaction, but there was something atypical about it. Like he was only halfway thinking about what we were doing.
I watched him discreetly as we started eating, and my sense of his mood was only confirmed. There were shadows under his eyes I wasn’t used to seeing.
“Did you sleep all right?” I asked out of the blue.
He blinked at the sudden question. “Yeah. Of course.”
I started to ask a follow-up question, but he interrupted me by getting up and pouring himself a glass of water.
He asked me about my day, and I told him about my hike and the book I’d read and how I’d had to look all over the store because they’d put the pita bread in the most ridiculous place. He smiled and commented in the right places, but it didn’t feel like he was genuinely listening.
The food was really good, and he said so after his first bite. But it didn’t look like he truly enjoyed it. He didn’t even finish his first plate, which was very strange since he usually went back for seconds—even when I just warmed up canned soup.
Finally, when he was sipping his second glass of wine and staring blindly at the table, I asked, “Gideon, what’s wrong?”
He looked up immediately, and I saw him straighten his shoulders. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong.”
“Well, obviously something’s wrong. I’m not an idiot.”
“I never said or implied you’re an idiot. You’re the one who won’t believe what I’m telling you.” His tone was actually rather terse.
I stared at him in surprise.
I’d seen him annoyed and even angry before, of course, but it was always prompted by something I’d said or done. I searched through my memory of everything that had happened since he’d gotten here, and I couldn’t think of a single thing I might have done to prompt his bad mood.
“Sorry,” he said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his forehead.
“Gideon, can you please tell me what’s wrong with you?”
“I said nothing’s wrong. It’s just been a long day. Will you stop pestering me about it?”
I jerked back in response to the biting tone. He’d never spoken to me that way before in all the time I’d known him.
Swallowing down my immediate hurt feelings, I stood up and gestured toward the pan on the stove. “Do you want any more?”
“No. No, thank you.”
“Do you want the cupcakes now?”
“I don’t think so. You can have yours, though, if you want.”
I was completely at a loss. “Okay. We can go and find a game to watch if you want.” I let him watch sports when I didn’t care what was on or when I was trying to be nice. This time it was because I was trying to be nice.
“It’s fine. You can watch what you want.” He was rubbing his forehead again.
“Do you have a headache?”
His head snapped up. “No.” Even the one word sounded bad-tempered.
I carried the plates to the sink and stood there with my back to him for a minute, trying to figure out what to do and trying not to be annoyed and offended.
When I turned back around, he was fiddling with one of the buttons on his cuff. He looked so tired and wounded somehow that I felt the sudden urge to cradle him.
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked softly.
He started to shake his head. I’m sure I saw it. But then his expression changed, and he asked, rather coolly, “About what? I keep telling you that nothing’s wrong. It’s just been a long day and I’m kind of tired.”
“Okay. It’s fine if you’d rather just head home early. You don’t have to hang out here with me.”
He usually stayed for at least a couple of hours after dinner, so I really didn’t expect him to take me up on the offer. But he stood up with a stretch that looked somehow artificial. “Maybe I will. Sorry I’m not any fun tonight.”
“It’s fine. Are you all right to drive home?”
“Of course. I didn’t have that much to drink.”
He’d only had one glass of wine and a few sips of a second, but that wasn’t what I was referring to. He just looked so tired—and stretched somehow.
“Thanks for dinner,” he added in a modified tone. “It was really good.”
I walked with him to the door, feeling confused and frustrated and a little hurt. He thanked me again and said goodnight, and then he just walked to his car and drove away.
And I still had absolutely no idea what had happened to the evening.
All my good spirits from earlier in the day dropped away like a mask. I gave a heavy sigh and trudged back to the kitchen, trying not to feel sorry for myself or angry with Gideon.
People had bad moods sometimes. Everyone did. He was allowed to have a bad mood occasionally without my making a huge deal about it. He’d put up with a lot worse from me.
As I cleaned up the dishes, I tried to figure it out. He’d been so sweet and warm at the restaurant last night. What the hell had happened overnight to change him?
I knew I should just drop it and not let it worry me. He’d tell me if there was anything important and, if not, it was probably just a passing mood.
But my mind just didn’t work that way. It was whirling, trying to figure it out, trying to come up with answers and motives and explanations.
I did come up with something.
I kept thinking about how flustered I’d been last night and the way I’d responded when he’d hugged me. It was just innocent affection, but maybe he thought I was thinking there was more. Maybe he was worried that I thought our friendship would turn into something deeper.
I didn’t. I absolutely knew it couldn’t. But maybe he didn’t know that. Maybe he felt awkward and was pulling back. Maybe he was uncomfortable with things but didn’t want to hurt my feelings.
Maybe he didn’t want to spend every Friday night with me.
Maybe he thought I was getting better enough that he didn’t have to nurse me through every little episode, and now he didn’t want to be tied down by all my issues.
Maybe he was getting tired of me.
It made sense. A lot of sense. It fit all the pieces I’d collected in my mind.
And it was horrible. It hurt horribly. It hurt so much I almost cried, standing over the sink, trying to scrub out the last dirty pan.
I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and tried to imagine what my life would be without Gideon.
It felt like a gaping hole.
I made myself face it though. There were some demons I still couldn’t face, but this one I could. I would have to. He needed to live his life, and he couldn’t always be hampered by one damaged soul he’d taken it on himself to save.
There were actually tears streaming down my face as I picked up the bag he’d brought with him earlier.
That was strange though. He’d brought wine and cupcakes. He didn’t normally do that. It was an extra gesture, and I didn’t know why he would have done so if he was trying to pull away.
I glanced in the bag and noticed there was a receipt in it, so I pulled it out unthinkingly.
My eyebrows shot up when I saw how much he’d paid for the wine and cupcakes. Both items had been crazy expensive—especially for just a casual dinner with me.
I was still trying to wrap my head around the amount he’d spent and fit this into the explanation I’d concocted when I noticed the time on the receipt.
He’d bought them at 1:09 that afternoon, so he must have stopped by the store on his lunch break.
I couldn’t make all of that fit into my earlier interpretation of the evening.
Even if he was trying to soften the blow and let me down easy, he would have actually said something tonight.
If he just wanted to pull away but didn’t want to say anything, he wouldn’t have used his lunch break to go buy exorbitant wine and cupcakes for tonight.
So something must have happened between lunch and the time he got here. He was expecting a normal, friendly evening and even made an effort to be extra nice. And then something had happened.