Silence stretches on as she looks anywhere but at me, her face reddened.
“Ha, ha,” she mocks. “Just busy with writing. I get sucked into my stories easily.”
“Hm. Are you sure that’s it?”
“Positive,” she says through a wavering smile.
It looks so fragile, her smile. I lean in and set my elbows on the table, resting my chin on top of my fists. “Lucy, you can talk to me, okay? I was kind of hoping we had some measure of trust between us.”
Her eyes narrow, an incredulous expression contorting her freckled face. “Trust? Is that why you still haven’t told me about what really happened between you and Lacey?”
My immediate reaction is to play defense, so I do. “How does she have anything to do with this? She’s in the past; I’ve told you this. I told you yesterday when you tried to ask about her in your little covert way by casually mentioning how she kept staring at me at Tate’s wedding.”
She leans onto the table, dropping her bread and matching my pose. Challenge dances in her eyes. “One, it was true. It happened. Two, I want to know why she looked at you as if you had ripped her heart out even though she’s a married woman. As yourgirlfriend,I have the right to know.”
“The past should stay in the past,” I dismiss, sitting back and fixing my attention on the taxidermied hammerhead shark hangingabove the entrance of the small seafood restaurant. I wish I could die and stuff myself right now to get out of this conversation.
Silence stretches on between us, only the chatter of the few families in the seating area around us.
“Stone, if you want me to trust you enough to let you into my private life, then you have to trust me to let me into yours. Trust goes both ways. And don’t worry. I know you didn’t hurt her. I’m sorry for saying that. I know she hurt you, and I’d like to know what happened simply so that I can understand you better.”
In the middle of her monologue, my eyes betrayed me and shifted back to her. In fact, my entire body straightened and tuned into her.
Has a woman ever mentioned that she’d like tounderstandme?
Not one that I can remember…
I search her expression, and it’s genuine. There’s no trace of feigned interest in me just to get me to do whatever she wants. There’s no sign of her pretending to want to know the real me just so she can turn around and use it against me.
Just… authentic curiosity and concern.
Am I ready to take that leap?
No, not a leap. It’s a small step. A toe across the safeguard line I’ve worked on keeping in place for years. If I want something real with Lucy, then I have to let her in. At least a peek inside. A therapist doesn’t have to tell me that much…
“I proposed to Lacey the night of graduation. And she said no.” I evaluate Lucy’s expression, but her face doesn’t so much as twitch. “It’s the way she toldme that hurts the most.”
The memory comes back in full force: my clammy hands reaching into my jacket pocket to pull out my class ring. I was going to take her to the ring shop to pick out her own ring the very next day if she would have let me. The humid air and pent-up nerves made it difficult to breathe as I took Lacey’s hand and slid down onto one knee. When my eyes met hers, I knew something was off. But I was already kneeling, and the wet grass was already soaking through my pants, dampening my knee.
“After I laid my heart bare to her, she looked at me with something worse than an expression of sadness. She pitied me. Asked me to stand up. Placed her hand on my arm and looked me in the eyes as she told me she was glad she had spent the last couple of years with me but it was time for us both to grow up and move on. Said she wanted to go off to college as a free woman and live her life. Maybe meet an older man.” A familiar ache settles in my chest, but to my surprise, it’s not as forceful as it once was. Not even as forceful as the time Lacey stopped us outside the restaurant. As I lift my gaze from my twiddling fingers to Lucy, I realize she’s the reason why. Her openness, honesty, realness, and boldness captivate me. She’s quite the woman, and I think I—
I think I want to continue trying this relationship with her. Maybe if it’s Lucy, it’ll be easier for me. I guess it’s a waiting game.
“For what it’s worth,” Lucy says in a soft tone as she tucks her hands under the table, “She’s missing out on a kind, honest, smart, and stupidly flirty man.”
I laugh at her last statement, and that seems to break the built up tension. Our food arrives, and we dig in, eating in comfortable silence.
About halfway through the meal, I take another shot at figuring out what’s going on with my date. Which means another moment of vulnerability for me tonight. “In baseball, we have this term called beaning, or throwing a beanball. It basically means that the pitcher throws the ball at the batter with the intention to hurt him.”
Lucy stares at me with a scrunched nose and narrowed eyes, most likely wondering where I’m going with this. I release a breath, thinking over my next words.
“One of the reasons I hide my scars is because I’m scared that someone will use them against me. They will bean me with them, so to say. Especially a woman who is remotely older than me.” I give Lucy a pointed look before continuing. “After Lacey rejected my proposal, I went home and cried for the second time that I could remember, the first time being when my father passed away. I couldn’t sleep, so I texted her and told her that I didn’t buy into her reasoning. I demanded to know the truth from her. It didn’t make sense to me, you know, why she would reject me after we had dated for so long. After all the plans we had made.”
I pause to take a sip of tea and collect my thoughts so as not to ramble on. Lucy casually continues eating, not pressing me to hurry. She’s letting me go at my pace.
Who knew actually talking about it with someone who isn’t interrupting or trying to offer sympathy would be… therapeutic? Is that the right word?
See? I don’t need a therapist. I just need to talk to Lucy.
