“I guess this means we have to find a way for me to turn down breakfast,” I say as I mix sauce into my rice.
“Do you hate me so much that you won’t even take free food from me?”
“It’s not just you—don’t go thinking you’re special. The only men who buy me food are the ones who are paying me.” I huff a laugh. “You don’t think I actually hate you, do you?”
“I mean I’m going zero for three on emails. You tell me.” He picks at his food, as if pretending not to care, but the divot between his brows gives away how much my answer must matter to him.
“I don’t hate you, I’m just—”Scared how much I wanted to be close to you the other night? Terrified that this life I’m building will fall apart and I won’t be able to stay in the city I’m slowly falling in love with.“I’m not the best with people.”
He scoffs. “C’mon you’re great at first dates. That’s one of the hardest things when it comes to people.”
I pick up my fork and point at him with it. “Keyword:First. And then there’s the fact that I’m not actually me, I’m a character. People like me because they literally made up a version of me that they wanted. I’m not good at making friends when it comes to the real me.” I try my best not to think of the past, of Kurt and Laura. Of how they knew me, yet found me so easy to leave when I needed them the most. The only person I can guarantee will show up for me is me.
“You have Iris,” he points out, and he looks like he’s holding himself back from saying more.
“I have Iris,” I agree, “and we move every five or six months, land in a new city, make some money, and then we rinse and repeat. It’s not exactly a lifestyle that lends itself to anything long-term.” As I tell him this, there’s a part of me that seems to scream,See, there’s no point in knowing me. No point in buying me food and asking me questions. Don’t care about me. Stick around long enough and you’ll learn who I really am and be disappointed.
“But you’re done with that now. You’ll be here for grad school for three years? That’s how long your program is, right?”
“If I can afford it.” I push a limp steamed green bean across the plate, my appetite shrinking as my stomach churns with anxiety. “I’ve been saving for a long time since I don’t want to go into debt. The clients who canceled were supposed to push me past the finish line with a small cushion. I thought the article wouldn’t be a big deal since I had planned on this being my last year being a date for hire.”
“Shit,” he says softly, as if reprimanding himself. “Sorry, I keep bringing it up.”
“It’s fine. Not talking about it isn’t going to make the problem disappear.”
“What are you doing for Christmas?”
“Seriously, you don’t have to change the topic . . . but, nothing. My client for that week canceled.” This will be my first Christmas not working in years. It would be nice to get a bottle of wine and watch all the shows I keep swearing I’ll get to. There will be plenty to do in the city. I’ll be off for a whole week. I can’t think of the last time I had so much time for myself.
Nope. Just like that I’m hit with a new muscle-tensing wave of anxiety. How fucked up am I that the idea of having time for fun makes my body feel like I’ve just been threatened at knife point?
His brows pinch. “And you’re not doing anything with your family?”
“My mom’s in Europe with my stepdad for their honeymoon. And Christmas isn’t really a big thing for us, so I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything,” I explain, then brace for the pitying look.
I don’t mind not having Christmas traditions. At this point, work is my tradition. What I do mind are the looks from people that then make me feel like Ishouldfeel like shit. And then they make a big deal about it, and I have to make them feel better.This is my normal. Sure, I’d love to have a Christmas full of light and warmth, but that’s just a dream.
“For the record, I’m not trying to change the subject. My boss wants a follow-up to our interview. I’ve been cleared to pay your fee to go out with you. I’m assuming taking you with me for the holidays will help cover a good chunk of your losses.”
“Wouldn’t that be redundant? If your family has read the article, don't you think they’d ask questions if you suddenly brought home a girl out of nowhere.” I should just say,Yes, please solve all my issues,but for some reason I feel the need to talk him out of this—talk him out of me.
Like we’ve already crossed some invisible line in the sand that will make it impossible to uphold the professional boundaries that I cling to. But all we’ve done is talk, and yet, there’s an intimacy between us I’d be a fool to deny.
“They don’t read my stuff. I don’t think they know where I work.” He flushes as his eyes travel to the books stashed on a shelf in the TV stand. “I’m just their son who writes puff pieces when he could be doing something better with his life.”
“Liam—” I start.
“It’s fine. You have Christmas; I have this.”
“I get it,” I say.
“So is that a yes?” Hope shines in his eyes.
“Take me home for Christmas, Liam.”
9
Liam
