Page 99 of Faker
I shake my head, awareness kicking in. I let the insecurities that plagued me as a kid creep back in when I shouldn’t have.
I refocus on the one thing I need to know before we go any further. “How often do you look at me and think of Camille?”
“Never.” He doesn’t flinch or blink when he answers.
My eyes widen.
“It’s the truth, but I’ll clarify. When I first met you, it took a while. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I couldn’t get over thesimilarities. She was my first long-term relationship, and it ended because she cheated on me. The only way I could think to deal was to shut you out.”
I must visibly flinch, because he holds up his hand.
“That lasted for about a month. Then I got to know you better, and from that point on, I was never, ever reminded of her when I saw you. I swear. Eventually, I just forgot about telling you because I forgot about the similarity.”
“I don’t believe you could forget something like that.”
“I understand why you would think that.” He yanks at the collar of his shirt, the skin of his neck rosy with a sheen of sweat. “When I took you home from the hospital, I thought about telling you about her. About everything.”
His eyes fall to the ground. A second later they find me again.
“Remember when I sat with you while you took a bath? I almost told you then, but I didn’t want to ruin the moment. I had you next to me. Finally. I didn’t want to screw it all up by mentioning my ex, who I don’t care about.”
I recall how long he sat in silence before telling me about his failed eighth birthday party. He’s right. I would have been angry had he told me in that moment.
“I forgot about her, about everything else. Except you.”
His words are low and loaded with feeling. They make me ache with want.
I yank myself back to the present conversation. “What do you mean that you forgot about telling me once you got to know me better? In those first months, you never said a word to me unless it had to do with work, and even then our interaction was minimal. You spoke to me directly maybe a handful of times when we first started working together.”
His chest heaves with a raspy breath before answering. “Inoticed the way you talked to people. The way you interacted with them. You were tough with most. You were sweet and kind with a few. I eavesdropped a lot.”
“How? Your earbuds were glued to your ears for the first six months you were at Nuts & Bolts. Or you would always shut your door.”
“The walls in that place are cracker thin, and our offices are less than three feet from each other. And I never shut my door all the way. I could hear almost everything.” He half smiles, then covers his mouth with his hand, wiping it away. “Whenever you would talk to someone or answer your phone, I turned off my music. I liked listening to you. You were so funny. Very sarcastic. You gave people a hard time whenever they deserved it. I loved what a ballbuster you were.”
He tugs on each rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. My eyes skim over the thick, veiny lines and blond hair dotting his forearm.
“That’s when things started to change. I was dying to get to know you, but I didn’t know how to recover. I figured you wouldn’t give me another chance, even if I explained my reason for blowing you off initially. I was embarrassed, and I didn’t know how to approach you. It seemed like saying ‘I’m sorry’ wouldn’t have been enough.”
As soon as he finishes speaking, his eyes fall to the floor. He’s clearly mortified to admit this to me. His explanation makes sense, and ultimately, I understand his reasons. Hearing his words though would mean everything.
“It would be enough now.”
“I’m so sorry.” He steps toward me. “For what I did tonight, for being a jerk to you when we first met.”
I remain still.
“I’m sorry for being a jealous psycho when I saw you with Jamie.”
He comes another step closer. My lips tremble, and my eyes water.
“I’m sorry for the hurt I caused you.”
He fixes his gaze on me. I swallow, keeping the tears behind my eyes. Another step and we’re inches apart. I can feel it in my bones that he means it. The pained way he speaks, the affection, sorrow, and hope in his eyes. Every blink is a beg for forgiveness.
“Emmie. I am so, so sorry.”
“Okay,” I finally say.
