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Rolling onto my back, I stared at the ceiling. “Shouldn’t you be cooking?” It was only ten o’clock. His restaurant would be open a lot later than that.
“Anna’s got it.” His voice was low. I liked the sound. “Do you like the menu?”
“I do. I was just thinking how good your restaurant smelled tonight. Like garlic.”
He was quiet. “You like garlic?”
“I like all food. It’s my favorite thing in the world to do—to eat.” I sighed. “And garlic is one of those great treats.”
Max didn’t answer right away. “Everything? Everyone has something they don’t like to eat.”
That was true. I absolutely detested pesto, but I wasn’t going to tell him that because he’d probably figure out where I lived and have loads of foods that I loved delivered here—only they’d be covered in pesto. No, actually he wouldn’t. That would require him to give a shit, and it was clear that other than disdain, Max didn’t care at all about me. Why should he?
“What do you not like to eat?” There, I changed the subject. Turned his question back on him. People loved to talk about themselves. That was universally true. I never had to say a word about myself to anyone if I didn’t want to. It was easy.
“I don’t like chocolate.”
I sat up. “What?”
“You heard me. I know it’s sacrilege, but it’s true. I don’t like chocolate. I like all kinds of other desserts but not that. Now, your turn. You don’t get off that easy. I want to know whattheHope Radford—who once found my cooking so disgusting, she puked on Fifth Avenue in front of cameras—doesn’t like to eat.”
I closed my eyes. I was on the phone with the most attractive man I’d ever seen, yet that moment would always be between us. One sentence, and I was sure I could make that whole thing go away. I could tell him the truth. Yet…I couldn’t tell him, because I was sure I would die someday with this secret never having told to another soul. It was mine to live with, mine to endure. No amount of therapy had fixed that.
“I…I hate pesto.” I was sure the next time I saw him, there would be pesto all over everything.
“A lot of people do. I don’t cook it because it’s not my favorite thing either. I don’t hate it. My mother makes a good one, but I don’t cook it in the restaurants, so it wasn’t that.”
I opened my eyes. “Wasn’t what?”
“I’ve wondered all these years what you ordered that made you sick.”
I couldn’t remember anything about that night. “I really am sorry, Max.” I couldn’t help the hitch in my voice. I was alone in the dark. My defenses were down, and the persona I carried around was shed by this point at night. It was just me here, alone with myself. “If I could go back, I would…” Not get drunk with Shawn and black out from whatever he gave me so that I wouldn’t get raped and pregnant. Not go out too soon after that when I should have stayed home. Not destroy my already shattered psyche so that I had to be hospitalized. Not mess up this man’s life so that he lost his dream and hated me. “Neverdo that. I can’t really explain it more. I am so sorry.” It bore repeating the last part.
He was quiet. My answer would never be good enough, but it was all I could give him.
“Okay, Hope.” He sighed. “I’ll call if I have any other questions.”
He hung up.
I rolled onto my pillow and buried my face in it. This was the trick I’d learned as a girl, so no one knew exactly how much I cried. If they’d really understood the amount of time I used to spend in tears, they’d probably have addressed it. I never wanted to be the one who had to have things examined too closely. We’d been rich but always moving. Turned out Dad stayed on the run a lot. So we’d shared a room, the three of us, and Justin had been in another one. Three bedrooms plus one for the nanny. Four. Never more than four. My sisters would worry. I couldn’t have that.
So I learned to hide myself. Cry just enough they thought I was sensitive but not sick. Then after Shawn and his… No, I hated that word. I’d thought it once tonight. Wouldn’t even think it again. Didn’t want to. I didn’t cry about that anymore. I forced it to stop. I stared at the ceiling.
My phone dinged.
I got the onions. There was such a long pause, I was about to put the phone down.Thank you.
It was like the best gift I’d ever been given. Those two words. You’re welcome.
I didn’t feel like crying anymore. Instead, I put on the television and found the mini-series forDune. I loved it. Couldn’t watch it enough. Late night TV was filled with science fiction and great for insomnia.
Still, I fell asleep with the TV on and only woke up to shut it off at three a.m. I rolled back over, found the colder side of my pillow, and drifted back into my dreams.
Only they weren’t easy or happy.
No, it was me walking down a NYC sidewalk with the Brooklyn Bridge ahead of me. I was alone, no one there, and even though I knew I was being chased, I couldn’t run. My feet would only take slow steps, one and then the next. My pursuer had no such problem. He or she ran at me and would catch me soon.
When whoever it was got to me, I woke up in a cold sweat, bringing my knees to my forehead. I didn’t care what time it was, I needed someone in the dark. A pet. I had to get one. And soon.
