12. Waverly
CHAPTER 12
WAVERLY
Fortunate:I’ve done more in the past few days than I have in the past year—since the funeral.
Unfortunate:The clothes I own are hideous.
I am safe.
I am in control.
I am not my thoughts.
I repeat the words Tom suggested to deal with my anxiety as I splash cold water on my face and neck. A trip down the coast of Italy. What’s not to love about that? Except it takes place on water. A place I vowed to avoid. I made a promise to myself that the closest I would ever get would be the Venice boardwalk. Even then, that’s proved to be a disaster.
I practice my breathing, trying not to think about the man on the other side of the door. His words “I don’t want to be a rebound, Kensi.” Does he want to be more than a rebound? What did he mean? Why didn’t I ask him? Why am I so paranoid about everything? Why do my thoughts hit me like a hurricane? Unable to process one at a time. I need to call my therapist.
I splash water on my face once more before applying my night cream and brushing my teeth. I do everything short of taking a shower, hoping that when I get back out into the living room, Roman will be gone.
No such luck.
When I open the bathroom door, he’s sitting on the sofa reading a book. Not zoned out at the television like Patrick would be, but reading one of my favorite books. He looks up at me and smiles.
“This is a good one.” He smiles, which makes him devilishly handsome. He holds the page with his finger and eyes the cover. “I didn’t take you for one who reads romance.”
“Well, I am. It’s a beautiful genre that all men should think about reading for educational purposes.” He raises one eyebrow. “They could stand to take some hints on how women want to be treated—what we enjoy in and out of the bedroom.” I roll my eyes.
“I don’t need a book on how to satisfy a woman, Waverly.” His voice dips low.
He tosses it onto my coffee table and pats the spot next to him on my Lovesac. I hesitantly follow his suggestion and slump into the couch, next to him.
“How do you want to be treated, Waverly?” He says my name low and slow.
I turn to look at him and my mouth falls open. I want to tell him how I want it rough and violent while making love. I want him to take me places I’ve never been before. I want to wrap my legs around his head and have him dive in. I want him to show me how much he wants me by not being able to keep his hands off me. But I say none of that. Instead, I cower because, at this point, I’m not sure I should be feeling what I’m feeling toward the man sitting next to me. And so I definitely don’t want to be giving him tips to make me surrender to these feelings.
“I’d love to be treated like a normal person and not someone who’s breakable.” I settle for a drab comment, which is the truth, but significantly less fun.
His knuckles brush my leg. “I’d love nothing more than to break you,” he says so softly that I’m wondering if he didn’t say it at all. The touch of his skin against my leg sends a tingling current through my veins and lands between my legs. His gaze floats to mine and he slowly pulls his hand away and rests it on his lap.
“You’re not breakable, Kensi. We’re just going through it. Soon enough, it will get easier. It will never hurt less, but it will be easier to deal with,” Roman comforts me.
I try to pretend like I didn’t just feel something in his touch. “I just need to get out -out more.”
“ Out-out ,” he parrots, winks at me, and I melt.
“What’s the hang-up about the trip? Is it money? Because if it is, Patrick already paid for it.”
I turn to face him on the couch, not moving back, which is putting little space between our faces.
“ Patrick planned it?” I look at him, visibly confused, but his smile fades as he avoids meeting my eye.
“Umm,” he says, quietly, as if he’s debating whether to tell me the truth. But if he’s learned anything about me, it’s that I hate lies. And I can spot them from a mile away.
“You paid for it, didn’t you?” And it suddenly dawns on me. “ You planned it. Patrick paid for it.”
He finally looks at me with… is that pity?
I chew the inside of my cheek, now happy that I brushed my teeth since we’re sitting so close to each other. The thought of being in forced proximity with Roman causes butterflies in my stomach. Getting away from Venice Beach and to a destination that’s mutually new for us, I feel like that’s what romantic movies are made of. As much as I want to say I’m going because Patrick paid, I’d be lying. It takes a hell of a lot more work to plan something than it does to hand over a credit card.
“Okay. I’ll go. Because you both were trying to make my fortieth birthday special. And because I want to start trying to be fun me again.”
Dearest Waverly,
Stay aware that all things change. If you realize this, you will
no longer hold on to anything. Being afraid of dying prevents you from achieving.
What happens when we die, you ask? “Death is the vehicle that takes us back to our Source of being.” -Dr. Wayne W. Dyer.
We are forever changing. For instance, your mentality and your body have changed since the last letter you received from me. We live in an ever-modifying world, and the sooner you recognize that death is actually a beautiful thing when it happens naturally, the sooner you will eliminate your death anxiety.
When you’re in the middle of the ocean, don’t fear it. Let it inside of you. Watch the water change constantly. Be the ocean; constantly just existing. Enjoy the moments you have with the people you choose to surround yourself with. Allow yourself to be happy.
If you simply exist and accept things you cannot change, you will find the ultimate gift.
Happy 40th Birthday,
Tom