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“Please, what? Why are you here? Why did you have to see me? What is the point of the two of us sitting here, talking about nothing and catching up, but not actually catching up? You would much rather I tell you that I’ve missed you all these years, and I’ve spent all of my time pining for you so that when I fall into your arms, you can feel better about what you did. Don’t tell me that shit. That you wanted me to know we were in the same city. I know you better than that. You would have loved the surprise of me walking onto a set and seeing you there with your camera.”
“I knew this was going too well,” he muttered, an edge creeping into his voice. His shoulders slumped forward, and he let out an exasperated sigh.
“Is that all you can say after this?” I asked. “I’m out of here. I—”
He cut off my rant with a simple laugh and a smile.
“What are you smiling about?” I knew what he was doing. The very same thing he did to get himself out of trouble when we were together. “Stop it. Your sexy little smile is not going to work this time.”
“So you still find my smile sexy?” he asked, smirking at me. “Darlin’, please sit back down. I really just came in here because I wanted to talk to you again. I wanted to talk to someone who knew who the hell I actually am. Someone who used to care about me, instead of someone who just cares about how much money is in my bank account or someone calculating exactly what she has to do to get into my pants or onto the cover of Vogue.
“Look, I’m sorry. I guess I’m just being self-centered and only thinking about myself. But for once, when we were in the same city, I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk to you instead of avoiding you like I have always done. Every time I’ve come to LA, there have been a thousand memories floating through my head. You and I have left so many fingerprints all over this city, and they were giving me whiplash. I had to face them. I had to face you. Please don’t go.”
“You know what my favorite memory of us in this city is?” I didn’t wait for him to answer me before I began telling the story. “Remember the first time you showed me your darkroom?” He shifted in his seat before a sly smile crept onto his perfect face.
“Yes,” he said, barely loud enough for me to hear.
“It was a holiday—I don’t remember which one.”
“Thanksgiving,” he answered.
Neither of us had any family left. My parents had both passed, and being an only child left me all alone on holidays. Until Terry. His father was still alive, but their relationship was so severely strained that spending holidays together didn’t make sense.
“You spent the better part of the afternoon in there developing while I was on the sofa sketching.”
“Yes, I remember. Those were my photos for my first spread in GQ,” he said, watching me closely.
“You always said it was like keeping me out of the dress rehearsal before opening night. But you had spent the day before at work with me. I remember thinking I wanted to share that with you. I wanted to fit into your life like I had made you a part of mine.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed before he continued my story. “You closed all the blinds and turned off all the lights in our apartment so absolutely no light passed through when you entered. I was so surprised you thought to do that. I finished the photos for GQ, and I was working on some of the ones that I took of us in the park. I was holding up one that I hadn’t realized you’d taken of me when you came in and snaked your arms around my waist.”
I continued for him now. “I told you what a beautiful subject you made and suggested you submit that to GQ. But it was just you and me, so you weren’t as cocky as you could sometimes be. You told me that they didn’t put the average Joe in their magazine.” I smiled, remembering what had happened next, unsure if he did. But he stayed frozen in his chair, eyes wide with desire. So I continued. “I told you there was nothing average about you and began running my hands along your body.” I stopped talking. We both knew where this went, and I wasn’t sure if I could actually say what happened next. But he did it for me.
“That was the first time I ever made love in a darkroom,” he said. “But it was certainly not the last.”
I looked at the floor, unhappy with where I thought his thoughts were going—to all the others after me.
“You’re the only one I’ve ever done that with,” he finished.
“I doubt that,” was all I could say. I heard about all his exploits through our mutual friends and acquaintances. He’d certainly turned into a ladies’ man since we split. “But that wasn’t my favorite part,” I said, instantly blushing. He snickered. “My favorite part was what happened after.”
“I taught you to develop your own photographs, and I told you that I could see myself marrying you and growing old with you. Because you were my definition of home.” His eyes displayed the guilt they held earlier, but he didn’t speak.
“You know, I still live in our apartment, and I still have your darkroom. I still use it,” I confessed, my voice shaking.
“Oh, Mia.” He grimaced like my admission stung.
“I needed to stay close to you. I guess I couldn’t let go. You were the only family I had and the only man in my life since college.” Tears were making their way past my eyes and down my cheeks. “I never did know how to let go, remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” he croaked out. “You never met anyone?”
“There have been others, but I never let it get that serious. I decided a long time ago that after what happened with you, going down that road again wasn’t an option.”
There was a tenderness in his sad smile, and he reached across the table and rubbed my hands, holding them tight so I couldn’t pull back like I wanted to.
“Terry, don’t.”
I looked him square in the eye and tried to smile; tried to make this reunion as comfortable and as easy as it had once been. But I had a feeling the playful session was over and it was time to face the pain or bail on it.
