Page 111 of Fluke
We had dinner at a small restaurant by the river that Bobby suggested. As promised, it was quiet and slow—and the food was delicious. The owner, Ted, came out to check on us, and he and Jess hit it off. I sat back and watched them chat it up about lumber prices, cars, and the best place to fish in the state.
I sipped my wine and appreciated the moment. They welcomed me into the conversation and listened to my unsupported opinions as if they mattered. But even more impressive was how easy it was for Jess to make friends with Ted.
Making friends has never been super easy for me. Growing up, my parents didn’t have people they hung out with on the weekends. Greg was always too busy wrestling or preparing to fulfill his destiny to know other kids’ names. Even in the two semi-serious relationships I’ve had, the guy wasn’t overly friendly to other males.
I’ve never stopped to think about why that has always been a reoccurring theme in my life. But now, after seeing Jess and his interaction with Ted—and thinking about the way Jess interacts with the world, I can honestly link my previous choices back to my parents.
I never felt valued. Never felt as though I was worthy of notice.
I orbited their world, but I was never part of it.I was always so … alone.
In retrospect, it makes perfect sense that I dated egocentric men whose worlds were equally small and whose interest in others was virtually nonexistent.
And that is not Jess Carmichael at all. He treats me as if Iamhis world.
“It was nice of Ted to send us back with a bottle of wine,” I say before taking another sip.
“I don’t even like wine, and this shit is good. It’s from a winery in Georgia. Landry Family Winery or something like that.”
“We’ll have to see if we can find them at home.”
Something I said makes Jess’s eyes light up, and he sets his glass down.
“We go back to Kismet Beach in the morning.”
I can barely hear his voice over the wind.
“Yeah,” I say.
“What happens then?”
A lump settles in my throat. The question I feared—the topic that I’ve worried about off and on all day—is now in the open.
As much as the thought of hearing it made me want to puke … I also wanted to hear it. It’s confusing. The only way this conversation didn’t scare the bejesus out of me was being able to partially control when it happened. I knew if I let Jess pick what we do tonight, he’d pick this. And I’ve spent all day trying, and failing, to prepare my response.
“What do you want to do?” I ask, turning it around on him.
His eyes shine. “You know what I want to do.”
I hum.
He reaches across the table and takes my hands in his.
My chest wobbles as I prepare to be the most vulnerable that I’ve ever been with another person.
Why?
Because he deserves it.
Because I think I love him.
“When I’m with you, life makes sense,” I say simply. “When I wake up in the morning, I don’t feel so … small.”
He wants to say something. He bites the inside of his cheek, and I know him well enough now to know that means he’s holding back.
“Until recently, my life felt like an island floating around in the middle of the world. Other people lived on continents and in island chains, but I was on this rock all by myself. And it was fine,” I add as his brow furrows. “It was just the way it was. But then you come along and muscle your way in, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I wasn’t alone.”
I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. No matter how embarrassing or sad or terribly wrong this conversation went, I wouldn’t cry.
