Page 137 of Things I Overshared
“By throwing back in my face all the things I overshared?”
“You didn’t overshare them. I noticed them.” His warm reply is just above a whisper. His eyes are beaming at me, but his features are soft.
I roll my eyes. “You mean you overheard them when I was babbling on in meetings.”
“No, I listenedfor them.For everything you said in meetings. Foranythingyou said, anytime.”
“W-What?” I am lost. This man ignored me in meetings, avoided me at all times. Instead of answering, he pulls something else out from his side of the little table. He places two small slips of paper right in front of me. My heart flips.
“Meghan Trainor tickets!?” I stare at the paper. “No, wait, these are stubs. I had these in my office.”
He pushes them closer to me. “Turn them over.”
Samantha, congrats on the new job! —Meghan Trainor
My hands start shaking. Badly.
“Is this, is this real?”
“You said it was your favorite concert by your favorite artist of all time. I thought this would be more meaningful than getting you tickets to her next show. But I can do that too.”
“How?”
“It doesn’t matter how. Samantha?” I pull my eyes away from the autograph and up to his gorgeous, earnest face. “Your favorite movie isThe Notebook. Your favorite book is theStories of Loyaseries, but you’d tell Sadie it was herBolt Brothersseries. Your favorite show isNew Girl, but you think Nick yells too much. On some days, you switch out your normal perfume for the one your mother used to wear.” Tears start to stream down my face, and he stops to swallow before going on. “I . . . I put in a request not to go on the trip with you. Did Susan tell you that?”
Pain strikes through me again. Of course he didn’t want to go with me. I shake my head and look down at the pizza, confused and embarrassed.
“Ask me why,” he begs me softly. I shake my head again, not wanting to hear what comes next. “I put in the request because I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore. Wouldn’t be able to fight it anymore—what I felt, what I feel for you.”
“What? You couldn’t stand me!”
He shakes his head and comes over to me, kneeling next to me. He puts one hand on the back of my chair and reaches out with the other, but he stops himself. “I couldn’t stand to be near you, and . . . not yours.”
“What?” I squeak out, feeling like a broken record.
“Ask me why my favorite color is yellow,” he whispers, his voice cracking.
I can feel I’m starting to get snotty, and my mascara is running. But now I absolutely have to hear whatever comes next. “Why?”
“Your first day in the office, four years ago. Do you remember what you wore?” His voice is shaking. He cannot be serious. Surely not. “It was a yellow dress. I looked up, and you were like a star, blinding me. I didn’t know who you were at first. I just had to be near you. To talk to you. You pulled me in like a magnet. But then after a few steps, someone said your name and I realized. Little Sammy Canton, all grown up. It killed me
. . . how could I ever even approach you? You, the young spitfire, and me, the brother’s much older boring friend.”
“Are you serious? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Say what? I am a grumpy, awkward old nerd. That night at your happy hour, you didn’t even really see me. It was worse than the friend zone—there wasn’t a zone. It was pointless.” I shake my head furiously, and he reaches up to wipe my tears. “Then over the years, I didn’t know what to say, how to approach you. You know I’m utter crap with words and I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. So. I listened, watched, just wanting to know you. And who I knew . . . that woman was . . .” He stops himself and clears his throat. “That woman will be a great mother someday. Loved kids. Wanted them, gushed over them. So I forced myself to stay away. Or, I tried.”
“I did see you, though.”
He looks down. “It’s all right. You don’t have to say that.”
“No, listen. I could see your back, the suit you were wearing, and I always knew the shirt and tie you had on. Even your shoes. Always. How did I memorize them all? Why? I always felt a rush when Darrin brought me in on your meetings, but then like I told you, I got so nervous. I would watch you in awe, but you didn’t really talk to me. I really thought you couldn’t stand to even look at me.”
“It was . . . painful somedays. To look at you, when you’d never be mine.”
“Or if I was wearing gray, apparently.”
“That dress was ghastly, and you know it.” He tucks a hair behind my ear. “You should be in neon. Patterns, sparkles, seen from damned outer space, Samantha. Don’t ever dress yourself down for anyone.” The last bit reopens the wound. I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath. “I knew you so well, and wanted you so much, but I just couldn’t imagine letting you settle for me, for life with me and what that might mean. But I was wrong and I know I hurt you . . . deeply. Please, can I show you something else?”
