Page 66
He laughs at me, but his voice is soft, kind, and earnest. “As are you. I take that back. I can barely see the sky; I’ve fallen so hard. You defy expectations, my beautiful wordsmith.”
I snuggle into him, paralyzed by bliss and joy, and that he called me his. “We should move here.”
“Punta Mita?”
I shift to look for the number. “To Cabana 35.”
“I’ll have our mail forwarded.” He kisses the top of my head as I drift off into the most luxurious nap I’ve ever had.
44
Tess
“Tess! We have to go. The guy is here.”
I hear him. I’ve heard him for the last forty minutes. I can’t physically leave this shower. It’s too much, and in here it is safe. I’ll figure out a way to eat in the shower. Didn’t Kramer do that at some point?
“I CAN’T.”
He comes in the door, our computer bags slung over his shoulder. “What the fuck is this? It’s like the world’s longest shower. We gotta go!”
I try and clutch the shower handle, but my hands slide off. “I don’t think I can.”
“What are you talking about?” I hear him ask the golf cart guy to wait. He races into the room, his face screwed up in frustration. I see it, and yet I can’t stop sobbing. “I don’t want to miss our flight. GET OUT!”
Through my sobs, I say, “I can’t.”
He peeks in the bathroom. I’m on the shower floor with steam swirling around me, water pouring down over me and out of me.
“Are you hurt? What is this? I’ll be right back.” I’m hyperventilating crying now.
“Tess. Baby, what is it?”
I try to calm myself down enough to put words to it. He climbs into the shower fully clothed, sits down, and holds me. “It’s like we’re on a threshold,” I blurt out.
“And.”
“The shower’s safe. Out there is not.” I haven’t had anything I could lose since my mother. Since Tennis. I control my work. No one can take my writing from me. Even if people stop buying my books, I still have my stories and my purple Flair. But I can lose Alex. And I’ll lose myself if that happens. I can’t go back to the darkest place in the world. I’m not sure writing is strong enough to pull me out of there a third time.
“What are you afraid of, beautiful?”
“I care too much already, and we’re not even a couple,” I blubber to him.
“Oh, baby, we’re already a couple. We crossed that line when I came to Atlanta.” He shuts off the water. “The moment I pictured you with me in a very boring situation.”
“What situation?”
He pulls me to standing, slowly and carefully drying me off while telling his story. “I was in a grocery store in Vermont, one of those chain stores with harsh lighting and mediocre produce. I wondered what fruit you ate. I imagined you pushing the cart and sending me out into the store to get chicken.”
He wraps the towel around me and sits. We’re both facing the mirror. He picks up my hairbrush runs it through the ends of my wet hair. He’s taking care of me in a way I would ever allow someone to do before.
I speak through the mirror. “Why, chicken?”
“Point. Missing it.”
“Sorry. I like berries.”
He’s working through my hair, and I can feel my anxiety easing a bit.
