Page 67 of Statistically Speaking
I take his face in both my hands and look straight into his eyes.
“I’m not moving to Norwich, Karim. I’m not moving anywhere. I’m not going to leave, because I love you.”
He does not reply, and I feel a sense of dread as I wait for him to respond. I knew he might not say it back. I had prepared myself for that, told myself it didn’t matter—that it was something I needed to say anyway. That, like Margie said, I had to fight for him. Plus, if his taking his walking coataffected me as badly as it did, it was time to face up to some truths—I am in love, whether I want to be or not.
Still, being prepared for his not saying it back and it actually happening are two different things, and the seconds seem to tick by in slow motion.
I realize, as I bite my lip hard, that I was fooling myself—I wasn’t prepared at all. This feels awful.
“You love me?” he says finally.
“Yes. I do. I love you.”
“You sound like it actually physically hurts you to say it out loud, you know?”
I laugh, because again he’s not wrong.
“Well, cut me some slack. I’ve never said it before.”
“What? You’ve never told anyone you love them? Ever?”
He is looking at me curiously, obviously intrigued.
“Well, I probably said it to my mum when I was a little kid. And I wrote it in a letter to Baby, but I don’t know if that counts. But I’ve never said it to—”
“A man?”
“No. Not even to my Chris Hemsworth screen saver.”
“You don’t have a Chris Hemsworth screen saver.”
“I know, but I think I might get one.”
He pauses, then asks, “So if I were to put this into a historical context—which, as you know, I’m always mad keen to do—I am in fact King I-Love-You the First?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I reply.
He strokes my disheveled hair back from my face and kisses me lightly on the lips.
“Well, then,” he says, smiling, “while we’re being honest—I love you too. Absolutely, completely, one hundred percent. Smitten. Gone. All hope is lost.”
He follows that up with some more kissing, and then some more cuddling, and all things considered, it is actually one of the happiest moments of my entire life. There are still problems. There are still challenges. But I have to face them—I have to fight for myself as well as Karim. I promised my daughter I would be forever hers, but I have to be forever mine too.
Now I am here, and I am so alive. I took a risk. I pushed myself. I opened up in a way I never thought I could—and it’s all thanks to him. The world feels brighter, and warmer, and safer, and I make a mental note: on this day in history, Gemma Jones finally loved someone, and felt loved in return.
I nestle into him, feeling like I never want to move again. He tightens his grip, squeezes me tight, and says: “On a slightly different note, you now have a blue face!” I reach up to feel a glob of damp paint on my face, and find that I am not in the slightest bit bothered. I am exactly where I need to be.
Chapter 28
Sixteen Pairs of Sports Shoes and One Very Important Ping
I wake up the next day in the less familiar surroundings of Karim’s bedroom. It makes me realize how much time we spend at my place rather than his, and how one-sided at least some of this has been. I make a vow to myself to be more vigilant, to be more even, to be a better girlfriend. Not just for his sake but for my own.
It is also, of course, a room full of things I haven’t as yet counted, which is always a fun time for me.
I roll over to his side, already knowing that he has gone. There is a note there, and it makes me smile to see it. I love his little pillow notes.
I pick it up, see that he has gone to get pastries from the Polish bakery. Could he be more perfect? He has, though, signed it “King I-Love-You the First,” which balances out the perfection.
