Page 50 of Delayed Intention
Now, with my eyes forward, watching the movie without seeing it, I decide to leave it up to fate. I keep eating popcorn and taking a chance that something more will happen. We are at the point in the movie when the lead character realizes her boyfriend did, in fact, murder everyone when it happens. Our fingers brush, and we both freeze. What now? Do I pretend I am engaged in the plot of the movie, take the easy way out? Or do I take his hand, move the bowl of popcorn, and snuggle up next to him the way I have been craving since I sat on this couch?
You can do this, Lily; I cheer myself on. Move the bowl. On the count of three. One. Two… and the next thing I know, Josh has moved the bowl to the small table next to him and has taken my hand. He pulls me toward him and murmurs, “Come over here already.”
I lean into his side, and he puts an arm around me, still holding my other hand, and I settle into him as he kisses the top of my head.
“I have no more resistance—at least for this. For now.” His tone is soft and low.
Deciding not to push my luck, I say nothing and close my eyes; I feel the warmth of his hand on my hand, his arm around my shoulders, and the side of his body pressed against mine. Too soon, the credits are rolling, and the streaming service threatens to play the next 90’s era film in its catalog. Neither of us moved to change the film or adjust our position. His hand on mine feels incredible as he uses his thumb to gently stroke the inside of my wrist. It is hypnotizing.
As the opening scenes of the next movie begin, I shift a little to look back at him, to check in, but also to fulfill my earlier fantasy of looking into his eyes.
“Hello.”Wow, Lily. With moves like these, it’s a wonder you have managed to remain single all these years.
“Hello yourself,” he smiles down at me, and my heart melts into goo.God, I am in trouble.The blue eyes he has in my imagination have nothing on the real thing.
“Is this, okay?” I ask.
“I pulled you over here, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but I’ve sort of been pushy all day and now I’m worried you are just patronizing me or feel sorry for me or…”
“Let me stop you there.” And he takes his hand from mine and holds my chin steady as he looks down at me, his eyes shifting between mine.
“You are incredible Lily. You are beautiful, sincere, and my friend. If I’m being honest, your authenticity kind of terrifies me.” He searches my face with an expression I can’t quite read. “Lily, having you in my arms, is exactly where I want you to be. Okay?”
Wow. “Okay.” I tried to say the next thing that came to my head, but it came out as air and no meaningful sound.Kiss me.He had dropped my chin and went back to holding my hand as he kissed the crown of my head again. Not exactly what I was hoping for, but I don’t want to scare him off. Or scare myself off, for that matter. I involuntarily sigh as I lean more deeply. This is nice. More than nice. The movie plays on, but I hardly notice, snuggled up next to Josh like this.
I realize the credits are rolling on the screen when Josh pops off the couch, leaving me to fall flat into the cushions in his absence. “How about I get us started on some dinner? Pasta work for you?” Hot and then cold. I can’t keep up. As warm as the points of contact between us were, now his hasty retreat was like a chilly breeze blowing through me.
“Sure, pasta is fine. I need to go do something.”
I hurry to the guest room as I feel the welling of tears behind my eyes.What in the hell am I doing here?Closing the door behind me, I pause to regroup. Leaning against one of the four posters of the guest bed, I try to review the last twenty-four hours as objectively as I can. Cringing a bit at how I’ve repeatedly offered myself to Josh, I can now admit that he has consistently kept me at arm’s length. He’s been kind and honest, but it’s clear that he doesn’t want to do anything more than be friends with me. The tears break loose, and I know they’re more from embarrassment than anything else. I have no idea how to handle any of this. Right now, I wish I had driven ahead of the snowstorm instead of taking a chance on whatever I thought this could be. Josh does not want me as anything more than a friend, and I am going to have to let my earlier hope go. I wanted this to be about my physical needs, but the reality is a complicated mess.
I walk over to the vanity, an antique mahogany set of drawers with a large oval mirror, and force myself to look at my reflection. My hair, which I had wrestled into a braided twist has fallen out of its shape and looks a bit like a stack of wheat slung over my left shoulder. My cozy off-the-shoulder sweater compliments my figure well enough. But my brown eyes look like the color of mud to me. I am fuller-figured than I would like, which Monica is trying to get me to be kinder to myself about. What I want to do is to call myself terrible names, but I shudder with a sigh and remember this isn’t about my weight or my shape. My embarrassment is about my hurt pride. And hurt pride is not worth devolving into self-loathing. On the other hand, I do wish I had inherited the slender build of my siblings and mother.
Even though I knew better, I blamed how I looked, especially my chest size, for Dr. Kellerman’s advances. While my psychiatrist and therapist assured me that Kellerman was going to be a creep no matter what, part of me wanted to set the blame on my shoulders. In addition, I’ve spent my life blaming my fuller figure for how clumsy I am, particularly how bad I am at sports. Monica told me that I probably have dyspraxia in addition to my sensory disorder. What’s wild is that I know these diagnoses—I’ve used them on any number of patients, but I’ve had a hard time letting myself off the hook for being… me. Allowing a diagnosis to explain the etiology of how I am would be going against my fierce inner critic. It’s like my brain bristles at the idea that some of my characteristics are inherent and not simply my fault for not trying hard enough to be better.
“Let it go Lily.” I frown at my reflection. “He’s not interested in you as more than a friend.” Pinching the inside of my arm with ferocity, I hiss at my reflection. “Stop embarrassing yourself.”
I sense a tension headache building in the base of my neck and shoulders, my prodrome for another migraine.Of course, absolutely fantastic. I pull off the sweater I’m wearing and leave on my tank top. Pulling on my oversized Nebraska University sweatshirt feels like the security blanket I need right now. I pull on my flannel pajama bottoms. Next, I grab my migraine rescue kit, take a few tablets, and set reminders on my phone to hydrate. I undo my braid to release some of the tension from my head.
When I returned to the common area, Josh was on the phone; his back turned to me.
“No that’s fine, I understand. I’m fine to cover for you. In fact, I have a house guest that may be able to help as well.” A pause. “It’s no problem, don’t worry about it. Happy to help. Take care. Bye.”
Placing his cell phone on the counter, Josh glances at my change in attire, raising his brows without comment. “So that was Dr. Hendricks. She usually runs the urgent care clinic in town, but she is snowed in at her place and asked if I would open the clinic tomorrow. It is just a few blocks from here. You interested in joining me?”
“Sure. I can’t practice as a PA, but I can do some medical assisting. Sounds like fun,” I deadpan, and the sarcasm goes right over Josh’s head. Mostly because he is avoiding looking me in the eye.
“Ready for some dinner then? We could watch another movie after or—”
I decided to cut him off there. “Actually, I am getting a bit of a headache and should take a break from screens.”
“You okay? Are you getting a migraine?” Concern draws his brows together, softening his face.
Why does he have to look at me like that, like he cares?
“Maybe.”
