Page 31 of Take It Till You Make It
“What you said – why are you sorry for saying it?”
“It hurt you.” His response is tentative.
I press my lips together until my emotions calm. “Why did it hurt me?”
He looks down at his hands. My gaze follows, and it’s the first time I see the closed paperback sitting in front of him. Octavia Butler’s Kindred. Interesting. Unexpected.
“It hurt because my comment was insensitive to your loss.”
I squint. He’s saying the right words, but there is something missing in the delivery. “Cut. Start again from ‘Why did it hurt me?’”
He blinks up at me.
“Do you understand why your comment was insensitive?”
Again, his gaze drops. This time to the fajitas I really want to eat.
“In theory,” he says.
I sit up. I did not expect that. I watch him pick at a fingernail, stare at my food, jiggle his leg. “You’ve never lost anyone.”
He shakes his head.
My anger dissipates so quickly, I almost choke on the void inside me. For some reason, tears spring to my eyes. I’m jealous of him and ridiculously happy for him at the same time. I let out a humorless laugh. “Crispy, you are one lucky guy.”
He chokes. “Crispy?”
I smile at him, shaking my head. “There is something about you that really riles me up. The least I can do is return the favor.”
He sits back in his chair, crosses his arms over his chest, and extends an impossibly long leg. With a nod, he says, “Mission accomplished.”
Uncrossing his arms, he folds his hands together on the table, on his book. “I can be that way. Insensitive. I don’t mean to. I just forget to think things through. See it from someone else’s perspective. As soon as you stormed out, I knew what I’d done wrong. I’d forgotten about your father. About your loss.”
I stare down at my fajitas.
“Even after the other day,” he says quietly.
“What other day?”
“The scene. With the police officer.”
I close my eyes. That’s right. He was there watching us that day. I’d completely forgotten. “The scene they wrote me out of.”
“I only overheard a little bit about why. It isn’t like I asked around or anything.”
I chuckle ironically. Why does his insistence that he doesn’t gossip make me happy? Especially in this moment.
“Maybe that’s why I didn’t really think about it.” He taps his fingers nervously on his book. “What that must have been like for you.”
I frown. “But you have now?”
“As soon as you left the trailer, it all fell into place. I mean, I still don’t claim to know what you’ve been through. Don’t get me wrong. I just…You said the thing about mourning, and I remembered the look on your face on the set that day when the actress playing the cop was saying her lines. I even remembered the shock on your face when T offered his condolences. Back on the day of the table read. And I felt—feel, so horrible.”
I’m impressed. That’s a lot of puzzle pieces to put together. I cock my head as I pick up a fajita, poised for the first bite. “So, why did you say I’m not like you thought? What about me is a surprise?”
I would laugh when panic flares in his eyes, but my mouth is full, so I just motion for him to go ahead with my free hand.
“Well, back when I was an insensitive jerk who thought you’d purposefully chosen a goth persona, and then you started doing really smart and intuitive things with your character and saying funny things that made me laugh, I was surprised by that.”
