My mind becomes a memory. “Dogs breaking into chocolates, cats chewing flowers. Wrapping paper and sticky tape in stomachs. Candles knocked over. The list was endless.”
Callie sips her wine, lowers the glass. I could look into her eyes all day and not once want to blink. “Ouch. That’s enough to make anyone a Valentine’s cynic.”
“Almost,” I say, “but not quite.”
•••
After dessert, I take her hand. “This was an amazing night.”
“It was.”
“It scares me, how great this feels.”
Our fingers become a knot. Tight, inextricable. “Why?”
“Because I never...” She knows some of what I feel about love. But not my decision to avoid it, the romantic kind, forever. And the timing’s hardly right to fill her in on all that tonight.
“I love being with you, Joel,” she whispers.
“I love... being with you too.”
“Actually,” she says, more boldly, “I loveyou. I’m not afraid to say it. I love you, Joel.”
Maybe reflexively, I look down at the table. She’s sketched a heart into the chocolate sauce on the dessert plate we shared, bookended it with our initials.
TheCgoes first.
“I love you,” she whispers again, like she needs to make sure I know it absolutely.
•••
“You’re scared to say it, aren’t you?”
I thought Callie was asleep. I’m trying to stay awake, half listening to a TED Talk while the other half of me looks at the book I discovered at Dad’s. I’ve been wondering what to do with it for weeks. Should I act on what I found, or leave the past where it lies?
I could track down the address for the landline, find out who lives there. But then what? Now that I’ve got the chance to take things further,I feel suddenly afraid. Because of what I may find out. Because of what it may mean.
At first I don’t catch what she says. I slide my headphones down around my neck.
“You’re scared to sayI love you.”
She’s wearing my ancient Nike T-shirt, hair bunched up around her face. She looks so sweetly vulnerable that, for a moment, I wonder if she’s talking in her sleep.
“I’m not scared to be with you.” Not strictly true. But I am at least curious about the future now. I’m beyond complete paralysis.
Still, love... love is the thing I don’t yet dare succumb to.
“You’re afraid to love me. You think it’ll be bad luck if you say it.”
“You know how I feel about you.” But even as the words leave my mouth, I’m cringing inside. Contender for the lamest half sentiment in the English language?
I know Callie wants me to explore this. She’s asked me once or twice about following up on that appointment with Diana. About booking my place at the retreat she gave me for Christmas (futile though I’m sure it would be). And of course I don’t blame her.
Maybe I shouldn’t even be sleeping with her, if I can’t so much as tell her I love her.
I reach for her hand beneath the covers. The room is cold this Valentine’s night, but her skin feels duvet-warm.
“I know you love me.” Her voice winds down to a murmur. “You don’t have to be scared.”
