Page 77 of Little Shattered Dreams

He cut his sandwich in half, sighing as he set it down on a plate. “If I answer your question, I'd like you to let me eat in peace.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’d like me to get lost?”

“It’s my way of telling you I need some time to myself tonight.”

“I understand.”

He looked at me with doubt.

“I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but sometimes after I’ve been in your presence, I feel the need to gather myself and my thoughts. You are different than anyone I’ve ever experienced before.”

“Different how?” I asked.

“That’s a question I cannot answer right now. It’s something I've been pondering all week.”

“You've been pondering aboutmeall week?”

“It’s more like I’ve been trying to connect with a frequency that cannot connect.” We were both quiet for a moment, then he added, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say things like that to you. It’s not right. No matter what the journey has been this week, it doesn’t change my dedication to you and your well-being.”

“Maybe you should have been straight with me. Maybe it’s what you should have done all along.”

He poured himself a glass of water and then another for me. He set mine in front of me on the counter, took a few sips of his, and said, “It’s not often I meet a person who seems so connected and disconnected to herself at the same time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I get the feeling you have a hard time letting those close to you into your life, letting them see the inner layers of the seasoned onion, the ones that aren’t always the prettiest parts to see. You shouldn’t hide parts of yourself from those you love. If they love you in return, they’ll accept you, blemishes and all.”

Why did it seem like every time I tried talking to this guy, we ended up sidetracked down a road I never wanted to be on?

“My onion is complex,” I said. “I get it. But I'd like to get back to what happened to Clara on Sunday night.”

He nodded. “I was out on the deck, alone, taking a moment to enjoy the night sky. Clara joined me, and it didn’t take long for me to see she was upset.”

“Over what?”

“She’d seen me with Abby engaged in a way that led her to believe we were more than friends.”

“Why did she care about you and Abby?”

“Some time ago, Clara mistook my compassion and kindness as romantic feelings. At the end of one of our sessions, she hugged me. It seemed innocent enough. I don’t find hugging to be inappropriate. It was after the hug when it became a problem. She tried to kiss me.”

“What did you do?”

“My concern, first and foremost, was not to embarrass her. The fact that she mistook my feelings of friendship as something more wasn’t her fault. Nor was it mine. It was a simple, innocent misunderstanding. I explained this to her in a way she seemed to understand, and it never happened again.”

“How long ago was this?” I asked.

“Several months now.”

“And how did she behave toward you after the misunderstanding?”

“Timid and a bit standoffish at first, but over time, we started getting back to the way things were.”

“When she saw you with Abby, was she angry over what she witnessed because you’d rejected her, but you didn't reject Abby?”

“I believe it was a combination of the two. When I told Clara I liked her as a friend, I believe she took it to mean the same friendship extended to all coworkers, and it does not.”

“So, she left Calvin's party, and you went after her?”

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