Page 51 of Booked for the Holidays
“Yeah. I’m not still in love with her nor do I harbor these emotions toward her, and if I saw her today, I’m not sure I’d feel anything, really. It wasn’t the disappointment ofherleaving me, but rather someone I’d spent all this time with. I shared memories and years with this person, and she easily walked away. Like it had no effect on her, and there I was, sifting through a million questions I didn’t have the answer to. Istilldon’t have the answer to them. Am I the problem? What will the next person think? A couple of my close friends also stopped hanging out with me after Mac was born, saying I wasn’t as much fun as I used to be. Well, no shit. I have a kid I’m in charge of. I can’t close down the bar when I’m busy warming up baby bottles. At this point in life, I don’t expect anyone to stick around.”
“She wasn’t meant for you, Theo. You probably know that by now. The person you’re supposed to be with will see these parts of you, the parts that others might not have liked, and embrace them. They’ll welcome them with open arms. She called you selfish, but that’s so far from the truth. Would a selfish person try to be home for dinner every night? Would a selfish person let Felicity off work early last week for a Bar Mitzvah and cover the rest of her shift? Offer to watch the register for six minutes while Chandler runs to the pharmacy and refills her prescription? It’s sad you spent three years with that woman, and she has no clue who you really are. I know you were hurt by her, but how freaking luckyare you that now you have the chance to find someone who will stay, and be glad to do so?”
It’s a good perspective. Lucas often tells me similar things, but coming from her, coming from a woman, coming from someone who has started to see these bits and pieces of me, it makes everything feel more… hopeful. Like it could maybe,maybehappen.
“I’m not sure where I’m supposed to find this mysterious woman. In the doorknob aisle?”
“Oh my god, what if you did? Think of all the knock-knock jokes you could tell!”
I groan. “I thought we were past all the jokes.”
“Sorry, pal, they’re not ending anytime soon. Can I ask you another question?”
“This is the most I’ve talked to someone who isn’t my therapist, my best friend or my kid in years, so we might as well keep the ball rolling.”
She takes a bite of her burger. Ketchup drips onto the pavement and a drop runs down her hand. I want to use my tongue to lick it up and bite the inside of her wrist.
“What’s your proudest moment in life?”
“Being Mac’s dad,” I say automatically. “I swear I do more things in life than parent her, but it’s the truth. I was scared shitless in the beginning, afraid to mess up. And, fuck, I messed up a lot. I thought I’d get bored over time. Waking up and making lunches every day? Helping with homework? It had to get monotonous at some point, right? I figured after the first few years I’d start to resent the tasks associated with fatherhood, burnt out from doing things alone. I didn’t, though. I love them more and more each day. Every morning I wake up, fuckingstokedto slather peanut butter and jelly on bread, watch her do her homework, and buy her nail polish. I’m so… I’m so fucking excited to be her dad. And the coolest part is I’m not just a dad. I’m agirl dad, and it’s the best fucking role in the entire world. How lucky am I?”
Bridget is listening rapturously. With a sniff of her nose and a wipe of her eyelashes, she dips her chin, attempting to hide her emotions. I reach out, tentative and unsure, placing my palm on her cheek. My thumb catches a falling tear, and I wipe it away. She leans into the gesture and nestles into my hold.
“God,” she whispers. She puffs out a breath, warmth tickling my hand. “I wish you’d let other people see you how I see you.”
“How do you see me?” I whisper back. My voice shakes and I’m afraid to hear the answer.
“You have so much depth, Theo,” she starts. My name is sweet like honey, each syllable dripping in decadence and something akin tocare. “I understand why you try to keep people out, but you have so much to offer. I’m so sorry anyone’s ever told you otherwise. You’re not difficult. You’re not hostile or unpleasant. You’re a little prickly, but that’s okay. Even roses have thorns. You’re loyal. Passionate. You have so much love in your heart to give and nowhere to share it because you think, and rightfully so, someone’s going to snatch it and never return. You’re… you. And it’s a really, really wonderful you.”
Wonderfulis not a word I’ve been called before. It’s not an adjective I’d associate with myself, far brighter and cheerier than my personality allows. From Bridget, who’s sunshine incarnate and lightyears beyondwonderfulherself, it’s the best compliment I could ever receive. It makes me want to be better. To smile more. To loosen the reins of rigidity and allow myself to welcome the description, trying it out for size.
“You need to stop saying nice things to me,” I murmur. My hand moves from her cheek to her shoulder, pressing her side fully into mine. Bodies aligned, her hair tickles my neck, and a drop of mustard falls onto my jeans, a splatter of yellow staining the denim. “I’m not sure I deserve the praise.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Bridget says. It’s firm and certain, not an opinion she’s going to debate. Her finger, painted red with little green wreaths on the nail, presses into my chest, directly above my racing heart. I think she bruises and brands the organ in the process, creating a new tattoo on my body. “Youdodeserve it. Youareworthy. And I like seeing this… this soft side of you. It makes me feel special.”
You are special,hangs on the tip of my tongue. “Can I ask you a question?” gets said instead.
“Theo.” It’s still as sweet as the dozens of other times she’s said it before. Sweet like the warm blueberry muffins she hands me across the laminate counter. Sweet like the extra cinnamon she sprinkles on top of my drinks. “This isn’t a give and take sort of thing. You can ask me anything.”
“What would make you happy in life? Tell me what would light up your world.”
She hums. “I want a house with lots of dogs. Lots of acres and plenty of space for them to run around. I want to curl up on the couch and have a man on the other end, smiling at me. I want to watch lightning bugs in a field. I want game nights and movie nights with friends. I want to make love on a blanket in tall grass, nothing but nature around us. I want to fuck in the back of a truck, rough and dirty as the windows fog up. I want to run in a rainstorm, soaked to the bone and frozen to the core, dancing under the drops. I want a white Christmas with snow everywhere and a cozy fireplace. I want to make snow angels and a snowman until my hands are numb from the cold. I want to laugh and scream and cry and… and just feel alive. I want to be wild and free, settled and stable. God, I want so much. Too much, I think. I’ll never be able to have it all. I dream too big, but it doesn’t change howbadlyI crave those silly, joyful things.”
Her soliloquy wounds me. It’s a shot straight through my body, a bloody arrow coming out the other side. It punctures every organ along the way. My brain turns to liquid mush. There’s a rushing sound in my ears, waves crashing around me. The only thing I can process is the need… the urge… the strangling desire to give her everything,everythingshe asked for. And more.
How many dogs? Eight? You got it, angel.
Running in the rain? I'll hand you a towel at the finish line and shelter you from the storm.
Making love on a blanket in the grass? I’ll pick you a bouquet of flowers after, daffodils and dandelions tucked behind your ear.
I scoot away from her. Drag my ass across the plastic, farther and farther away. I rub my pectoral muscles, trying to soothe the lingering lonely ache that’s been persistent for years–decades–slowly crumbling away with more and more of her words.
“Theo? Are you okay?”
Her voice is calming. Nurturing. A flower blooming out of an assault of weeds, victoriously prevailing from the dirt and ready to brighten the world.
“Those… those aren’t too big of dreams,” I say. My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “You deserve that. The rainstorms. The dogs. All of it. And more.”
