“What do you want, Theo?” she asks. Her tone of voice guts me—she sounds so defeated and broken.
“I needed to see you,” I tell her, hoping she’ll let me in. “The thought of you going through this alone…” I trail off, hoping she can fill in the rest of what I’m trying to say. Thinking about her sitting here all alone tore at my heart the rest of the day. All I wanted was to gather her up in my arms and hold her, and comfort her, and help her through something I know she never wanted to experience.
Her eyes draw up toward the ceiling before falling back to me. Her gaze zeroes onto the potted orchid I’m holding in my free hand, and she sighs.
Slowly, she opens the door the rest of the way and allows me entry. I hesitate for just a moment, watching her walk away from the front door and over to the couch, where she grabs a big, fluffy blanket from the arm, wraps it over her head and shoulders and plops down on the cushions, curling into the fetal position and cocooning herself against the world.The sight breaks my heart and I want to wrap her up in my arms.
I approach her and she watches me with dubious eyes, as if she doesn’t believe that the real reason I’m here is that I truly need to see her. Walking into the kitchen, I set the orchid on the counter and angle it in a way that she can see all the prettiest blooms of the flower. Satisfied, I head over to where she is and fall onto the cushion next to her, still giving her plenty of space but close enough that her foot brushes the side of my leg.
It hurts my heart knowing that she doesn’t trust me right now, even though I deserve it. Up until the point where I had to tell her the truth today, I felt that she had slowly started to trust me more and more. I mean, I suppose she had to, giving me access to her body in the way that she had and going along with my plan to wait to speak with HR about our relationship—she had to trust me at least a little bit by principle.
But now?
Now, I’m not so sure.
“Have you eaten?” I ask her after a long beat of silence which danced on the edge of awkwardness.
Whitney had grabbed a pillow just a moment ago and now clutches it tightly to her chest using it like a shield against me. She shakes her head, the only visible part of her from her confines of the blanket and gives me what I can only describe as puppy-dog eyes. Another stab to the heart.
“Are you hungry?” I push further. When she shrugs a single shoulder, I decide that she probably hasn’t eaten anything since lunch today, and I pull out my phone, opening up the folder for all my food apps.
“What are you doing?” she asks me eventually. Her head peeks over the edge of the pillow so she can see my phone screen a little better.
“How do you feel about pizza?” The fact that our firstofficial date together was to get pizza isn’t lost on me. And based on the wide-eyed expression she gives me, it’s not lost on her either.
When she shrugs a single shoulder, I take that as a concession and rapidly order us a pizza to share and a side of garlic breadsticks, because I know Whitney loves her carbs. As soon as the confirmation number pops up on my screen, I push off the couch and saunter into her kitchen, searching. She watches me closely as I search for what I’m looking for.
I locate two wine glasses and go into her fridge, knowing she’s got to have at least one bottle of something opened that we can share. I pour us two healthy glasses and then return to where she hasn’t moved.
Walking over to her side of the couch, I hand her a glass. Surprisingly, she takes it from me and takes a sip before shooting me a grateful smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I settle back on the other side of the couch and raise the glass to my lips.
It’s a cheap Pinot Grigio; nothing about it screams high class, but I can’t find myself caring. I still drink it as if it’s the finest age.
The minutes tick by, and finally, I decide that we need to address the delicate matter at hand.
“We need to talk about what happened today,” I say. I study her face as I say this to her, gauging her reaction and watching for any signs that she’s going to run and shut herself in her bedroom.
Whitney is watching me just as intently, her lips pulled at the corners at the beginning of a frown. She twists her fingers together nervously, and she does her best to avoid my gaze. “I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.”
“Really?” I prod, leaning closer to her on the couch. Her gaze turns wary, but she doesn’t lean back.
“Theo,” she says my name as if to ward me off, but it only comes out sounding like a plea. I wish I could have prevented this pain. And what’s worse is that I know I could have if I just would have kept the truth from her. But that would have come around in some way and bit us both in the ass.
Secrets have a way of doing that, and I wasn’t about to let something so insignificant ruin whatever it was that we were beginning to work toward.
“I think there’s plenty to talk about. I’ll start.” I take a deep breath. “I’msosorry, Whitney.” Her eyes go moist, but she doesn’t turn away. She doesn’t even blink.
“You shouldn’t have to be sorry,” she whispers.
“But I am. You have no idea.” I take a shaky breath as I hold her gaze. “If there was a way for me to protect you from this, I would have. But I knew you deserved to know the truth.”
She closes her eyes and turns from me, resting the side of her head against the pillow. I fall back onto the couch, letting the silence surround us once again.
When the pizza arrives, I get up to accept the delivery, handing the delivery guy a crisp fifty from my wallet and telling him to keep the change. I bring our food back to the table and open it up. The smell of greasy, slightly undercooked pizza fills my nose, and I glance at her hopefully. If I can smell it, she can smell it.
Sure enough, she peeks her head over the pillow just so she can get a glimpse at the food. I hand her a slice, and she takes it, muttering a softthank youbefore digging in and scarfing it down.I want to make a joke about how this is much better pizza than whatever we ate together on our first date, but I refrain. I don’t believe this is the time or the place to be cracking jokes, no matter how badly I want to put a smile on her face.
I don’t turn the TV on, choosing to let the quietbackground noises of the city fill in the gaps. She eats two slices and a piece of garlic bread before she refuses anymore, and I consider that a win. At least I got her to eat something tonight.
