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My steering wheel is actually kind of slippery when I pull into Leon’s driveway. I love his house and how it’s all modern and fancy on the outside with dark colors and brown woods, but on the inside, it’s homey and filled with comfortable furniture and art that he actually probably likes. I even saw a family photo of him and his sister when I was there, a framed strip of photos like the ones you get in those booths at the mall. Kitty probably had that done for him, but he’d agreed to those photos in the first place.
Leon definitely has a softer side—the playful, childlike, innocent, sweet side of him. I love that it’s still there. His house, decorated like he actually lives there, his love of grilled cheese, that strip of photos, his tousled bedhead, his wonder at eating that burned marshmallow off my fingers, and the gentle way he always held me—they’re all proof.
Leon answers the door right away, and he’s not wearing a suit anymore. He’s gone straight for my ultimate weakness, putting on those soft jeans of his. He’s still wearing his dress shirt, and the sleeves are rolled up. Also, he’s not wearing his hand. It’s just him. Beautiful. Hard. Soft.Leon.
My mouth dries out, and my heart flutters. I’m already weak-kneed and messed up internally from a day at work anticipating this.
He smiles, and my god, he’s beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile that way before. Like there’s nothing that hurts, and he’s been freed from all the burdens and demons he was carrying around with him. “I made dinner,” he says. “Come in.”
My stomach is in tight knots as I step into the house. It smells good. Like…like bread or something. My mouth waters, but I’m not sure it’s just the bread. Actually, I know it’s not just the bread. His kitchen has a table off to the side because it’s so big. The house is open, and the living room adjoins the dining room. It’s not dark as he doesn’t have the shades drawn down the way he used to with all the windows. The square table is set with two place settings and one of those domed serving dishes you see in movies. There are wine glasses beside the plates and a smaller serving dish covered with a lid.
I’m so nervous that I can barely walk over there, but I sit without landing on my bottom as I did at work. Leon is still grinning when he opens the big serving dish to reveal a mountain of grilled cheese sandwiches. The other dish has pickles.
Holy smokies and mustard, I love this man. I seriously, truly love this man—my husband.
I’m too choked up to eat right away, even though I take a few pieces of grilled cheese—they all have different things in the middle—and some pickles. Leon doesn’t eat either. Instead, he looks at me with eyes so clear and glistening.
“I went to a family doctor type guy after you left. But not right after. It took me a few days. I talked to him about the migraines, and he gave me a prescription. That seemed rather benign after you said what you said, and I got my head on straight. He didn’t need tests or anything. He just gave me the pills, and they work. They work so well. I haven’t had so much as a headache all month.”
My eyes fill up with tears, and there’s no blinking them back. I do swipe at them, but I’m smiling when I do it. My joy is so profound that there’s no way I could keep it inside. “Leon, that’s so wonderful. I’m so glad.” I want to blurt that I still care about him, that I’ve missed him so much, it was like a part of me had been lopped off, and how I’ve thought about him constantly and haven’t stopped wanting him and wanting to be near him. I haven’t stopped worrying, not for a single second.
Leon makes a sound of grief like he can read all that on my face, but his eyes are dry. He’s shaking. I want to demand that he tell me about the tests, but I stay silent. I need to let him work through this. “I went for those tests last week,” he explains. His eyes stay locked with mine the whole time. They have no shadows in them, which is brand new. “And I got the results today. Nothing’s wrong. Not one thing. There is no evidence of any concussions, and there isn’t anything wrong with my brain. The migraines could have been triggered by anything, including old head and neck trauma, but they might not be.”
I let out a massive sigh. “Good god, Leon. I thought that…that maybe everything was okay, but it’s such a relief to hear it.”Shoot.My tears are dribbling down my face, landing all over my plate. It’s a good thing there are extra sandwiches under that silver dome because this one is getting tear-stained and soggy pretty darn fast.
Leon’s face is so soft and gentle and open. My breath goes straight up my nose just as water does, and I almost sputter in the face of how different he looks. “I’ve never felt this way before,” he says in a husky voice. “Like everything is coming apart. Like I’m coming apart.”
I tumble out the side of my chair and spill myself in front of him, grabbing his shoulders and falling into his lap. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight while I cling to his neck, my lips on his skin and my breaths and tears painting him like a fresh canvas. “Come apart,” I cry. “You’re safe with me.”
He strokes my hair, my back, my face. “I said awful things to you more than once to try and chase you away. I was more afraid of having a weakness than I was of listening to anything anyone had to say, and that just makes me a royal eejit.”
“An eejit?”
“It’s an Irish thing.”
I look up at him through swollen eyes, utterly amazed. “If you’re talking Irish, you must be feeling better.”
He sighs, but it’s one of those funny, happier sighs. “I speak Gaelic with my sister quite often, actually.” His hands brush damp hair away from my forehead. “I’ve been going to a therapist. After you left, I realized how alone I was, and for the first time in my life, I hated it. I was stubborn and idiotic. But I want to be better. For myself. For you. Because being better is a good thing. I’ve been seeing someone just like you suggested—someone who specializes in childhood trauma. I’ve also been dealing with how to forgive my mom and reach out to her. I know she wants a relationship with me, but I’ve shut her out for a long time. I haven’t talked to her yet, but I will.”
I’m shocked. “Leon, that’s so amazing.”
“You always saw me as someone who was pure and good and—”
“Youarepure and good.” I plant my hand on his solid jaw and caress the warm satin of his skin. He must have shaved again when he got home because his skin was way too smooth for the early morning shave to have lasted this long. “So what if there’s a bit of asshole thrown into the mix? I know you’re not perfect because no one is, but I know what I signed on for. And I’m still signed on if you want me to be.”
“I gave you so much time to hate me….”
“Nope. Not going to happen.”
“I fired you,” he protests.
“And I found this great job.” I swallow thickly, pushing down the big lump that’s trying to lump up even more. “Anything could happen tomorrow, Leon. You don’t have to protect me from you.”
He nods. “I know. You destroyed any illusions I had of myself. You destroyed the man I was, and thank god because he was shite. I kept telling myself I wasn’t for you, but I kept wanting you anyway—more than just your body. I want your laugh, I want your smile, I want your midnight swims, your grilled cheese and fish, and your soft little fingers against my temples. I want you to feed me marshmallows and turn on the exact piece of classical music that I love, even though I never told you I loved it. I want you to keep making me feel like I’m going to explode and die from happiness, and I want to make you feel the same way.”
Ouch.I’m definitely feeling it right now. “We don’t need a happily ever after,” I tell him in response. “We just need a happily moment by moment by moment, all the best moments we can make. Does that make sense? Because it kind of sounded better in my head.”
He seals his lips over mine, kissing me starry-eyed and crossed-eyed. “It makes perfect sense.” He studies me, and I love seeing him this way. Not pulling back but open with his eyes clear and free of pain and his body so much lighter. “Can I feed you sandwiches and pickles?” He smiles, too, now. There is laughter on his face and real laughter booming from his throat.
