Page 125 of True Blue

Also, the fact that he gave this to me seemingly without any expectation. He told William that if I refused, to leave it be. There are no pretty words begging me to take him back. There are no empty apologies. No pressure.

It’s just appreciation.

And that’s what makes it worse.

“Idiot,” I scoff, shoving the rest of the bear claw into my mouth.

I just don’t exactly know who I’m calling an idiot.

Teddy, for thinking that a box full of sweets and a stupidly adorable drawing of me as a queen with him kneeling before me is going to soften me.

Or me.

Because it is.

24

INDIE

AUGUST

When I was seventeen, flat broke, and desperately needing free entertainment when I wasn’t flipping burgers or scrubbing toilets, I spent a lot of time at the library.

I would read anything I could get my hands on like I was Matilda. Books about native North American birds or the Salem Witch Trials or classics like Wuthering Heights.

And when I started having terrible stomach cramping, I gravitated toward medical journals to try to solve the problem myself because I had no money to visit a doctor’s office.

My searches in the medical journals came up empty, kind of like the original WebMD, where all my research ended with the conclusion that I should probably prepare a funeral because I was dying. Tomorrow.

But it was near that section of the library where the old VHS tapes were stored, like some wonderful, lost relic of the past.

At the apartment I was renting—which was really just a spare bedroom in this old lady’s house that I found on Craigslist—the person who had rented before me left behind a television with a VHS player built in.

So I started checking out VHS tapes from the library along with my books. This is most likely where my love of 80s music comes from, because most of the movies were from the 80s—Top Gun, The Lost Boys, Fast Times at Ridgemont High—and I couldn’t get enough of them.

I cleared through the library in no time.

Then one day, I found Moulin Rouge! on the shelves.

The colors, the outfits, and the songs were so bright and passionate.

Admittedly, Nicole Kidman as Satine made me feel really good about myself since she was my height and so desirable. And Ewan McGregor as Christian made me swoon and cry and swoon and cry.

It’s one of my favorite movies, and I would return it to the library only to rent it again and watch it over and over.

Teddy knows this. It’s one of the first movies we ever watched together, cuddled on my bed, watching on my laptop. I’d seen it so many times that I knew exactly what was going to happen, but he hadn’t. When the iconic line about the greatest thing you’ll ever learn was said, Teddy burst into tears and pulled me closer to him.

I had felt so warm, so connected to him in that moment, that he felt vulnerable enough not only to cry in front of me, but to cry while appreciating my favorite movie. It felt like being seen.

That’s what being loved by Teddy felt like.

Love makes everything feel true—even when it isn’t.

The softness I’ve been feeling toward Teddy ebbs and flows.

It ebbed after the pastries, the letter, and the warm memories that softened all the ice I was trying to keep around my heart.

It flowed and calcified when I was alone in the British Museum, looking at beautiful, historic, stolen artifacts from around the world. All I could think about was mistreatment, about taking and taking and taking without giving anything in return. Anger tinged every emotion I felt.