Page 20 of Wrapped Up In You
My brain short-circuited just listening to that. “Is that…? How do you…? What?”
He laughed. “Right?” He leaned over and patted me on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Lucy. I’m used to it. But life would definitely be easier your way.”
My pancakes sat untouched in front of me. I was at a total loss. “If you acknowledge structure and routine are easier, why don’t you create a routine for yourself?”
He shoveled in more pancakes. It was kind of fascinating, actually, how he could continue to hork down pancakes at such a steady rate and still maintain a conversation. “Tried it. Didn’t take. Tried it many times, actually. I can maintain a routine for a few days, but it never lasts, and honestly, the pressure of trying to keep it going is almost more stressful than just winging it the rest of the time.”
I was starting to get a headache. “So you do get stressed out. You just seem like someone who is perfectly happy to fly by the seat of their pants without a care in the world.”
“And that bugs you, doesn’t it?” His words weren’t malicious. Hayden seemed genuinely curious.
“I’m not sure how to answer that. I suppose, yes, maybe it does.”
“You should eat those before they get cold.” He pointed his fork at my plate. I picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite as he continued, “So here’s the deal. I do get stressed. It’s frustrating to lose things all the time. It seems I’m constantly looking for my keys or my wallet. I struggle to pay bills on time. Someone’s always annoyed with me because I’m late. It even cost me a job back in college. Then, of course, there’s the fact that I’m a total disappointment to my parents.”
“I’m sure your parents aren’t disappointed…”
“Oh, they are. Dad makes it clear just about every time he sees me. And Mom…she never really says anything, but I see the look she gives me when I show up late. Though I suppose with her, it’s more worry than disappointment. And Jon…well, he defers to my mom when it comes to me, but he’s made it pretty clear he doesn’t understand me. He barely even speaks to me.”
“If it makes you feel any better, he barely speaks to me as well.” My tone was dry as a desert.
He shrugged. “It’s not really the point. And I’m not looking for pity.” He was trying to brush it off, but I was starting to wonder if maybe it bothered him more than he let on, maybe even more than he realized. “I just learned a long time ago that I’m not wired like everyone else. And if I spend my whole life trying to conform to everyone else’s expectations, I’m going to be miserable. So I forgive myself when I fuck up because at the end of the day, I’m doing my best, just like everyone else. I try not to let it get to me.”
We ate in silence for a moment as I considered his words. He made it sound so easy. I didn’t think I’d ever forgiven myself for a single thing in my life. I was brutally hard on myself. My need for structure was, in some ways, a need for control. If I could anticipate every way something could go wrong, I could get ahead of it before it happened. I could control the outcome and avoid failure.
But had it really worked? Things still went wrong. Wives still cheated. Marriages still failed.
“Maybe routine and structure aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”
He snorted. “Are you feeling okay? Has some sort of Dickensian ghost come to warn you about your future?”
“I’ve maintained the most orderly existence known to man, and my ex-wife still walked out on me. She said I was boring. Predictable.”
“Oh, Lucy.” He placed his hand on mine.
“Don’t you fucking pity me.”
Ignoring my comment, he squeezed my hand, then leaned forward and grasped the other one so we were facing each other, both hands clasped. “You may be predictable, but you aren’t boring.”
I huffed. “Right. I believe Rebecca’s words were, ‘I’m wasting away in this marriage,’ and ‘The predictability is sucking the life out of me.’”
“Rebecca was a pretentious bitch who only wanted you for the status she thought you could provide. She just said those things because she couldn’t come up with anything else to hurt you.” His words were said with so much affront that they nearly had me smiling.
“She cheated on me,” I admitted. I don’t know why I hadn’t told anyone in my family or why I was telling him now. Somehow, her infidelity felt like an indictment on my ability to make her happy. And no matter how many times I told myself her cheating couldn’t be justified, I still harbored some sort of belief that it was just as much a failure on my part as it was on hers. “She cheated on me, and like a fool, I was still willing to work through it, but she twisted it around like it was my fault, like the way I lived my life was ruining hers.” I stared at our clasped hands, unable to look at him while I confessed the rest. “And the worst of it is there’s still a part of me that believes she was right. Like if I could have just been a little more agreeable, a little more flexible and less rigid, she wouldn’t have felt the need to fuck someone else.”
Hayden released one of my hands to tip my chin, forcing me to look at him. His chocolate-brown eyes were stormy and intense. “That’s bullshit. None of that is your fault. None of it. She was just looking for a way to justify her own shitty behavior. You’re not boring, Lucy. And for someone like me, who is followed by chaos wherever he goes, your adherence to structure and routine is comforting. I like knowing that no matter how much my brain spins out of control, you’ll be right there, steady and dependable.”
There was a little flutter in my chest at the thought of being there for him longer than today and tomorrow, that it was even possible he’d want me that way. But down that path lay madness. Even if our parents could ever get on board with us dating, we’d drive each other crazy. We were too different.
“Thank you. We should probably shovel out our cars after breakfast.” I squeezed his hand and then tried to let go, wanting to return us back to stasis, but he wasn’t having it.
“Don’t deflect. I mean it, Lucy.” He cupped my cheek, lightly stroking his thumb across my stubble, and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning into it just a bit. “There is nothing wrong with you. And fuck her for suggesting otherwise. I like you just the way you are.”
I closed my eyes, releasing a shaky breath. This conversation was too intense. Too intimate. I didn’t know what to do with the feelings swirling inside me. It felt like I was spinning out of control. And I never, ever relinquished control of anything, least of all my emotions. I felt the press of his lips against my forehead and fought back the tears trying to break free from behind my eyelids. I’d be damned if I would let them fall.
Maybe he sensed he was pushing my limits, that my rope was about to break free of its mooring and I’d be endlessly adrift in a sea of emotions I wasn’t capable of handling because he pulled away, wordlessly taking our plates in hand and moving into the kitchen. I remained in my seat, unmoving, trying to regain control of myself, grateful he allowed me the space to do so.
With all the dishes cleared, he stood in front of me once again, offering his hand to help me up.
