Page 123 of Falling Backwards
My stomach clenches.
Shocked sentiment closes hard around my throat.
As I stare at him staring at me, I think to myself that he can’t actually be revisiting the conversation we had over a week ago.
He says it again: “You’re the ten.”
It doesn’t mean what it sounds like.How could it?
A knot in my throat now, huge and aching.
I swallow at it as he goes on, his gaze trailing back up.
“Your ex called his new girl a goddess twice when I spoke to him today, and I couldn’t have disagreed more.She’s not as beautiful to me as you are.And that’s been reminding me of the other day when you and I were talking about her, and you said you saw the way I looked at her on the first day he brought her to Lucent—you saw how I looked at her and then how I looked at you.Like you thought I was comparing you to her.”
The ache spreads up to my eyes, down into my chest—the threat of taken-aback tears, embarrassed tears, sad tears because I remember thinking that exact thing.She was a work of art, and he was looking at me and noting how I wasn’t one.
But here and now, he’s shaking his head, meeting my eyes again with a serious and steady expression.
“When I told you she’s a seven to me, you asked if a ten even exists.I just want you to know it does and I’m looking at it.”
At me.
He’s looking at me.
He crosses his arms over his chest, undoubtedly cold even though the building blur in my vision doesn’t hide that his cheeks have colored.
“I wasn’t comparing you to her that day at work.I was comparing her to you.”
With that, he turns and walks out of my sight.
I’m left here with his words ricocheting in my head.
He…hedidmean what it sounded like.
It takes me several seconds to be able to move enough to step forwards and look around the doorframe.As I watch him call the elevator down the hall, I know I should find the voice to thank him even from here, but,‘Thank you,’seems so small, so lacking—it doesn’t touch what I feel right now.
I could run after him.I could hurry down the hall and hug him or….
He boards the elevator.
Go.Magnolia, do it.Go after him.
But I don’t, so he leaves.
I blink and blink at where he was.Then, utterly overwhelmed, I step back and lock myself into the apartment.
I’m not sure how long I stand here and replay what he said, how he looked.
Eventually, I shuffle away to my room, some part of my brain remembering that I need dry clothes.Once I’m there, I head for my dresser…but my eyes snag on my full-length mirror.I go to it, then look at my reflection.
In a rush of breath-stealing sharpness, the tears hit me in earnest.
My ponytail is limp because it’s wet, my bangs stringy.My bit of mascara and eyeliner is smudged.There are speckles of dried dirt splashed up the shins of my black hose.And beneath my dress is a body that’s thicker than it used to be, leaving me feeling self-conscious and heavy and like I’ve failed myself somehow.
But to Luke, I’m….
I fold down onto the floor so I can cry quietly for a minute.
