Page 34 of Alarm Fatigue

“I have not brought anyone new here before, so I guess we will find out.”

Ignoring Mark’s look of astonishment at my admission, I open the door to find Minerva and Sirius sitting there looking up at us, as if on cue. I make the introductions and they both just walk away.

“Come on in. If you don’t mind, I would like to take a quick shower and change before we get started on dinner? You said you were hungry but I can heat up a snack, if that works?”

“I will eat anything. Except okra.”

“Noted.”

I heat up some mezze and put it out on a plate with a pitcher of water and glasses.

“Help yourself to this.” I set the plate with some kibbeh and lahm bi ajeen and pull some napkins out of a drawer. “And make yourself at home. It’s funny, just as you do, I tend to live in this den off of my kitchen area as well. Anyway, make yourself at home.” Stop babbling, Rachel.

After a quick shower and still feeling like a weirdo about babbling earlier, I change into a sweater and sweatpants before I present myself back to the kitchen and find Mark sitting at the counter looking through a book from my shelf.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Rachel.” He smiles at me and I am melting.

“I am going to just heat us up some leftovers, if that is okay?”

“More than okay. Can I help?”

“Not a chance. Do you want a glass of wine? I have an open bottle of red?”

“I would love a glass, thank you.”

Popping a lahm bi ajeen in my mouth, I pour Mark a glass and then start to toast some frozen pita and pull out leftover lamb kebabs to make sandwiches.

We take our feast over to the living room and find seats. I excuse myself and walk back to the kitchen sink to wash and say a blessing before I eat. It almost feels like I am intentionally highlighting a difference between us. Returning to the living room, I sit to eat and he grins at me. “Rachel, this is delicious. Do you always eat like this?”

“I always make too much if that is what you mean.” And then I realize what I have done. “One of my many charms is I do not know how to take a compliment well.” I look him in the eye and say. “Thank you.”

“I mean it—this is delicious.” After a few minutes of eating in silence, Mark folds his napkin and places it on his plate. “I meant what I said Rachel. I am in love with you.”

“How can you say that? I think you don’t know me well enough. You do not know how screwed up I am, how damaged my thinking is. Mark, my relationship with my father broke me in so many ways that you may not be aware of. There are things about me that I have come to accept may never be healed enough to be considered normal. Can you really say you are prepared to embrace that?”

“Yes.” He did not hesitate, but I stubbornly think this is just because he does not really get it.

“How can you say that?”

“You are correct, Rachel, that I do not know all of the details or all of your stories, but I want to be here and I want to know them. But you are also wrong Rachel, I do know you. I know you are insecure and do everything to try to hide it. I know you want your life ordered and organized and you hide behind that to keep from getting hurt. I know I never want to hurt you but that I will also tell you the truth, even if it makes you angry with me.” Time will tell, I suppose but I wish he would acknowledge he may not know what he is getting into. For now, I will change the subject, sort of.

“All this time I thought you were single because you wanted to sleep around. I assumed this, based on how you look.” Now I am blushing deeply. “I also had it in my head that you would only date younger, commitment-phobic women. And you are telling me this whole time, you were holding out for me?”

“Well, I have dated a few people, and you did guess correctly that I only dated women that assured me they did not want a commitment, but not because I did not want one—it was that I only wanted one with you.” Then he looks shrewdly at me. “What do you mean based on how I look?”

My blush blossoms down my neck. “First of all, am I correct that you are about nine years younger than me?” He nods that I am accurate about his age, so I go on. “Secondly, you have to know you are annoyingly good looking.”

“I may or may not know that I am good looking but why does it have to be annoying?”

“It makes it difficult to be angry with you.” My blush may actually set me on fire. I actually fan myself with my hand for a moment. He is nearly laughing at me now.

“Why do you want to be angry with me?”

“Well for most the time I have known you, you deserved my annoyance because you were so irritating. But now?” I practically whisper my admission. “I wonder if it was not because I found you so attractive, but that I wanted to keep you out of my heart.”

“You think I am attractive. That is good because I know you are attractive.”

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