Page 76 of If Not for My Baby
Tom’s mouth curls in a half smile. “Now what are you implying?”
I pause, debating how honest to be.
Tom is having none of my shyness. “Out with it.”
“You’re just proving my point, that’s all.”
“From the vending machines, you mean.”
“Look at the story we just heard: Orpheus loves Eurydice. She’s not sold on the whole thing but he seduces her anyway—”
“Some might say she was moved by his voice and his vision of a better world,” Tom amends, before taking a bite of his steak. “But continue.”
“Even still. Where do her romantic choices leave her? Condemned to an eternity in Hell. And him—without the woman he loves for all time. I say no thanks.”
“No thanks,” Tom echoes.
I know he’s flirting with me, but I’m determined to prove my point. “I’ve seen so many musicals like this. InOnce,she persuades the guy to fight for his ex-girlfriend, right? Then falls for him herself in the process, and has to watch the love of her life move to New York City to be with this unnamed woman while she’s left behind in Dublin with her baby daddy and her piano.”
“He offers her a newfound hope she never—”
“Spring Awakening.” I think of the melancholy-pop, epic-tragic tale of heartbreak and youth in revolt. “Melchoir convinces Wendla to sleep with him and she literally ends up dead.”
Tom chuckles. “I haven’t seen that one, I’m afraid.”
“West Side Story. The most agonizing of them all. Where does Maria’s risk leave her? She gives her heart to Tony and ends the show sobbing over his lifeless body.”
“I’ve actually never seen that one, either.”
My eyes bulge.“No.”
Tom laughs before my horror can take hold. “Kidding. If I recall correctly, Tony’s death brings about the conclusion oftwo endlessly warring groups of people. That’s the power of their union, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It’s beautiful. It’s my favorite musical for a reason—it breaks me every single time. I’m not saying love isn’t real or that it isn’t valuable. I’m not some scrooge waving my fist at heart-eyed teenagers. I’m just saying it’s a recipe for pain.”
“But it’s like anything,” Tom says. “The cycle of nature, something dies and another is born. You experience this lifting, this lightness, this enchantment of the heart, and then it crushes you, breaks the limbs of ye, and you lick your wounds and live to fight another day. It’s like breathing, or the tides of the sea.”
Tom’s brain must be the most fascinating place in existence. I wish it was a multistory bookstore I could wander through all afternoon. “I hear you. It’s just not for me—I’d rather not spend an eternity in Hell, literally or metaphorically.”
“Don’t knock the hell of heartache. It’s rare to feel anything in life as severely as longing. I’ve broken bones that hurt less.”
I open my mouth and close it just as quick. It’s nothing specific he says that tips me off, but once I see it, it cannot be unseen.
“What?”
“Nothing.” There’s an addictive quality to learning more about him. Moments like this where a fresh layer is revealed are like hitting the jackpot. I might get gambling now.
“Clem.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“You know the eyes of ye are too big to hide a single thing. Like magnifying glasses, they are.”
“Fine. Is it possible that’s actually part of your problem?”
Tom lifts both brows. “Breaking bones?” I tut at him and he concedes. “Heartbreak?”
“Have you ever heard that quote? Something like, ‘When the poet writes her a sonnet, it’s because he loves her. When the poet writes her two hundred sonnets, it’s because he loves sonnets.’ ”
