Page 122 of Fake As Puck
“Yeah,” I admit. “I think we do.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that he lives in Seattle, and I live here. The problem is that we barely know each other outside of this fake dating context. The problem is that I have no idea if he actually wants a relationship or if he’s just caught up in the novelty of it all.”
“Have you asked him?”
“Asked him?” I almost say in a normal tone.
“Have you asked him what he wants. Where he sees this going. Whether he’s serious about you.”
“No.” I shake my head, staring at my wine again.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m terrified of the answer.”
“What if the answer is that he’s as crazy about you as you are about him?”
I think about it. About the next wedding in Napa in two and a half weeks. About having one more chance to see how we work together, how we feel about each other when we’re not in the bubble of his sister’s house and her kids or in a fake dating payment ordeal.
“Napa,” I say. “I’ll figure it out in Napa.”
“That’s like three weeks away.” She blinks, trying to do math. “Maybe a little less.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re going to drive yourself crazy waiting that long. It’s already driving me nuts.”
“Maybe. But it’ll be easier to have that conversation then. When we’re together. When I can see his face and figure out if he means what he’s saying.”
She takes a moment to think and then says, “You know you’re allowed to want this, right? You’re allowed to hope it works out.”
“You think?” I ask, scared to actually want this and to figure it out. I know sacrifices will need to be made, and I’m not ready for it.
“Yes. You’re allowed to be happy. You’re allowed to take chances on people who might actually be worth the risk.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, drinking wine and listening to the sounds of her kids stirring from their naps upstairs.
“For what it’s worth,” Tessa says finally, “I think he’s worth the risk.”
“I bet you do,” I joke.
“Yeah. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”
“You don’t have to say that,” I say.
“I’m serious. He looks at you like you’re something he never thought he’d be lucky enough to have.”
“That’s very nice of you,” I say, not knowing what else to say.
She shrugs. “I want what’s best for my brother. And for you.”
Charlie’s voice drifts down from upstairs, calling for her mom, and Tessa stands up.
“Think about it,” she says. “Don’t wait for the perfect moment to tell him how you feel. Perfect moments don’t exist. There are only moments, and you choose whether to make them count.”
She heads upstairs to get the kids, and I sit in her kitchen, staring out the window and thinking about moments.
