Page 71 of Give In To Love
“Was it?”
“I thought so at the time.”
“And now?” I held my breath, waiting for an answer I wasn’t sure I wanted.
“I don’t know if there’s any point in contemplating it. We can’t rewrite history.”
Though he was right, his answer was wholly unsatisfying. Then, another thought occurred to me. “Which night?”
“What?”
“Which night did you see me perform.”
“Oh. It was the Saturday evening show.”
“I went on as Damian that night. Charlie—the actor in that role—got sick just a few hours before showtime. I was the understudy. I remember it because it was the first time I went on for him.”
“You were amazing.”
We’d stopped in the middle of the path and had turned, facing each other. I was so incredibly touched that he’d made the three-hour drive to see me perform. And the fact that it’d been my first time going on as one of the main roles made it much more special. I’d stepped off the stage that night feeling like I was on top of the world. The other cast members had high-fived me and offered to buy me drinks at one of the bars down the street. I’d taken them up on the offer, but after just one beer, I’d found myself sitting at a large table, surrounded by a dozen cast members, feeling more alone than ever. I’d ended up claiming a headache from the adrenaline crash and had gone back to the hotel, but I’d laid in bed for hours staring at the ceiling, wishing I could call Jimmy to tell him the news. Turned out, he’d been there anyway.
“Thank you. For being there. It really means a lot to me.” Locked into the intensity of his gaze, I brushed a hand across his cheek. I wanted to allow my hand to linger. To slide behind the nape of his neck and pull him in for a kiss. Instead, I stepped away, putting space between us and allowing my hand to fall.
“Should we keep walking?” I looked down at the time on my watch. “Looks like we’ve got an hour until I need to be at the fire pit.”
“Sure. Let’s do it.”
36
JIMMY
When I returnedto school on Monday, I was still thinking about the day I’d spent with TJ over the weekend. We’d slipped effortlessly back into companionship, chatting amiably and holding hands, making it feel like a date. But when I might have hoped for a kiss at the end, TJ had given me an awkward side hug with a “see ya later,” and then we’d gotten into our cars and headed in separate directions.
Still, we’d kept up the conversation via text the rest of the weekend, my pulse jumping every time my phone buzzed with a notification. It reminded me of those early days when TJ and I dated in college, when everything had been new and exciting. When I experienced the joy of beingwantedfor the first time.
I wasn’t sure I’d been wanted that way since.
That thought had sent me down a shame spiral, resulting in eating an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s while watchingMoney Pit.
In the week and a half since I’d broken up with Steven, I’d done a lot of soul-searching, trying to pinpoint what it was that had kept me with him for so long. The confidence I’d gained while dating TJ had helped me learn to stand up for myself. I’d learned to push back with Sammy when he was being an overprotective big brother and even Mandy and Drea when they got a little overenthusiastic with their advice. I’d learned to tell men no when getting hit on in bars, and I’d gotten better at advocating for myself when other contentious situations arose. I’d become more confident in my sense of style as well, wearing eyeliner on occasion and adding items to my wardrobe that were a little trendier than joggers and basketball shorts.
And then, I’d met Steven. He’d been different from the few other guys I’d dated and, more importantly, different from TJ. As a hairdresser, he’d presented a polished and sophisticated image. One that I found intimidating but also…intriguing. He’d flirted with me endlessly at that first hair appointment when I’d been liberated from my curls, and then at the end of the appointment, he’d asked me out. Feeling bold after being given a new look, I’d said yes, and we’d gone out the next day.
He’d wined and dined me, charming me with his effortless conversation, then kissed me on the cheek at the end of the night. I’d thought him a gentleman.
The manipulations started not long after that, though I hadn’t been able to see it at the time. He’d started small, chipping away at the confidence I’d built little by little. He’d ask my opinion on where we should eat, then make judgy little comments about the food, the ambiance, or the decor. If we ate in, he’d say things like, “Thanks for cooking, babe. I’m surprised you actually know how to make this.” He started criticizing my style. “You’re not wearingthatare you?” or “These jeans look so much better on you. They make you look like you actually have an ass.” He’d introduce me to people as his “nerdy little librarian,” as if he were my savior for rescuing me from the sin of being smart.
I started trying to anticipate those things, convincing myself that my happiness was tied to his. Everything was done with aWhat Would Steven Dolens. Only I was wrong every time. If I thought he might likeX, he invariably preferredY. And eventually, I quit trying at all.
He moved in with me just a month after we started dating. He told me it would make things easier since he was already spending so much time with me. As a teacher, he knew I sometimes struggled with my bills and refused to ask for help from my brother. Wouldn’t it be so much easier if we pooled our resources and split rent and utilities? It just made more sense, he’d said.
I’d had my doubts, but that first month, it really had been nice to split the bills and have someone to come home to each evening. That was the one and only month he paid his fair share. After that, he told me he was saving so he could open his own salon. Never mind that he spent plenty of money on designer clothes and nights out with his friends.
And on and on it went. I could look back and point to so many little moments when I’d given up my autonomy. When I’d accepted criticism or blame or mistreatment until, eventually, it had just become a daily part of my existence, and I didn’t recognize who I was anymore.
I’d spent the last week and a half trying to figure that out. WhowasJimmy Clark? And who did he want to be? I thought I’d been making progress.
And then I’d spent a beautiful early fall day with the man who’d once been my everything, and it reminded me of just how far I’d veered off the path. Could I find my way back?
