“I get it,” I say. “And yeah, he had a sense of humor. But no oneevermakes me laugh like you do.”
He smiles, and I slide my hand up his shirt, feeling the tight muscles underneath.
“And he definitely didn’t have these abs,” I add.
“Well, he should take up teleporting. Apparently it’s good for the core.”
That gets a laugh out of me, and I’m about to suggest I inspect these abs a bit closer, perhaps in a giant bed of vaguely Asian cultural appropriation, when his expression turns serious again.
“You were with Roger for a really long time,” he says, toying with the fork in his hand. “What made you stay so long if you knew you weren’t in love with him?”
This feels like a loaded question, and yet it’s a fair one.Three years is a long time for a relationship in our world, let alone a relationship I knew, deep down, wasn’t going anywhere.
I want to be totally honest with Blake, but I don’t want to hurt him. I’m pretty sure these things are mutually exclusive when it comes to this.
“Roger was great, you know? A really good guy, who really cared about me.”
Blake nods, and I can tell he doesn’t want to hear a laundry list of my ex-boyfriend’s finer qualities, so I move along.
“I convinced myself that the reason I was staying with him was because maybe someday I would love him back the way he loved me.” I swallow around the thick lump forming in my throat. “But I—I don’t think that was true. I think I always knew I wouldn’t.”
Blake runs his thumb over the tops of my knuckles, but doesn’t say anything.
“I think I stayed with him because it was comfortable. And—” I draw in a deep breath. “I knew he’d never leave me.”
Blake flinches, then looks away, blinking too fast. And I know, he blames himself so much for that, and I shouldn’t have told him, shouldn’t have made him feel worse about something that wasn’t really his fault, not when I was pushing him away so hard—
“God, I’m sorry, Kim.” His voice is bleak with six years of regret.
I scoot my chair closer to his, so our knees are touching, and lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder. “Me too,” I say softly. I wonder how long before we stop feeling the need to apologize to each other for this. We’re definitely not there yet, either of us.
“But that . . . it still wasn’t enough,” I continue. “Because Roger wasn’t you, and he was never going to be you. Andyouwere what I really needed.” He puts his arm around me and hugs me tight, and it feels so good, even though the small metal armrest between us cuts into my waist. “You were with Simone awhile, too,” I say. “Not three years, but still. Was there something you had with her that I’ll never be able to give you? Something you might regret having lost—with her, or with Portia, or Colleen, or any of them?”
He takes a moment to consider, and while I appreciate him wanting to give me the same honesty I gave him, I hate how panicky I start to feel.
“No two people are exactly the same,” he says slowly. “And yeah, I got different things out of each relationship. And it wasn’t like dating you, but that was the problem. I was with them to fill the void of losing you, and none of them could ever fill that. So no, there’s nothing I’ll regret having lost by not being with them. Because I’m with you, and you are everything I want.” He presses his forehead against mine. “And I’m not leaving you again, I promise.”
“I know.” I’m getting closer and closer to really being able to believe it, even though my nerves constantly want to barge in and tell me otherwise.
“In fact,” he says, and there’s that hesitance in his tone again. “I know we said we’d wait until our family is ready, and Ivy’s not exactly there yet, but I’d be up for getting married again soon. Making it work, like we should have.” His lips quirk up at the sides. “Clearly I can’t keep from calling you my wife in public settings.”
“Clearly,” I say, but it’s barely more than a breath. My brain and heart are pulling me all over the place.
I want to be his wife again, so badly. But right now all I can picture is us at the altar—maybe in a church this time, or maybe outdoors like our first wedding—with Ivy standing next to us, miserable, hating us both. Planning her next big escape from the hell we’ve somehow made of her life. And the sound of choppers overhead as the paparazzi wait to get the perfect pic of the wedding everyone will be calling a publicity stunt to prop up a film increasingly plagued with bad press. And my parents—god, my parents, I’ve avoided their calls for weeks because I really don’t want to hear their opinions on my being back with Blake—sitting there in disapproval of the man I love, a man they’ve never given a fair shot.
All that stress will be hell for my OCD, maybe enough to turn me back into the woman that made us both miserable, and maybe, even if it’s just for a moment, he’ll regret wanting to marry me againon our wedding day—
I’m stiff with tension again, my muscles bunched up, and I know he can feel it, though hopefully he can’t feel the way my heart is pounding hard enough to break through my ribcage.
His lips part; his hand slips away from my shoulder. “Yeah, no, it’s a bad idea.”
“No, it’s—I just don’t think I’m ready for that yet,” I say. “With everything going on with Ivy, and I just—”
“It’s okay.” He squeezes me close again, but he’s looking back at the duck pond. “It’s okay.”
But I don’t think it is, not really, and I wish I knew how to make it so.
“I love you,” I say, because I need him to know that. Like maybe that will make putting up with all my fears and crazy brain worth it.
