Page 27 of Unloved

Cautiously, I choose to tell him the truth, even though I’m not sure how he’ll react. With Lennox it all came easily. No matter what we spoke about, there didn’t seem to be a filter between us. But I noticed Samuel was reserved, happy to shower other people with attention, as long as it stayed off him. And since he doesn’t have Lennox here to distract him, I figured I’d use this opportunity to work out what they are to one another.

“I’m just saying, whatever you two have going on, seems pretty intense.” I stare at his profile as he purses his lips together. “Are you together?”

Silence envelopes us, and just when I think he’s going to ignore my question again, we stop at a traffic light and he answers me. “No, we’re not,” he says.

His answer truly surprises me. “Really?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Actually, yes.” I nod vehemently. “Either you two are blind, or you’re both too scared to bring it up.”

“Is that your professional observation?”

This makes me laugh. “Please. I have never had a single healthy relationship in my life.”

“So, what makes you think we’re together?”

I shrug, not wanting to sound creepy or unhinged or give away that while we spent most of the night talking, I also spent a lot of my time watching them.

“You’re just so in sync with each other,” I admit. “And your eyes do this thing where you follow the other’s every move.”

His lips lift in a smirk at my words, and I find my own mouth mirroring his.“You’re totally in love with him aren’t you?”

This time when the car stops, the look in his eyes and the smile, wide across his face, actually take my breath away.

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” he breathes out, like he’s relieved to share his secret.

“I hate to burst your bubble, but you didn’t tell me, I guessed.”

Playfully, he shoves my arm. “Shut up.”

We’re laughing and smiling goofily at one another, and by the time Samuel parks in my driveway, I’m convinced the night couldn’t have ended any more perfectly.

Before I open the car door, I place my hand on his forearm and give it a quick squeeze. “Thank you for telling me about Lennox. It means the world that you trust me.”

He shakes his head. Raising his hand to the roof, he turns the car cabin light on before shifting in his seat, his back to the driver’s door. It’s a small space, but surprisingly, he makes it work. “After what you told us tonight, it’s me who should be thanking you for trusting me.”

In therapy and NA meetings, people always thank you for sharing your story, but it never felt like this. It always seems like an expectation that in order to move forward, you need to split yourself open and let yourself bleed for others to acknowledge your suffering.

Having Samuel be grateful to have my trust makes my heart thump wildly against my chest.

As if he can sense I’m uncertain on how to respond, he initiates a conversation shift.

“I also appreciate what you did for Lenox tonight.”

I look at him with confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I didn’t think I would see him looking this relaxed this quickly.”

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“We’ve all been walking on eggshells around him,” he explains. “Unintentionally, of course, because we’ve been worried. But you waltzed into that room and he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.”

Heat rises up my neck and my cheeks as I remember the way Lennox’s eyes had locked with mine. Desperate to be liked and to fit in, I thought I’d imagined his attention on me.

Embarrassed by my reaction, I reach for the door handle, needing to get out of here as quickly as possible. Samuel just told me he was in love with Lennox, and here I am, having the most inappropriate response to someone being nice to me.

As if he can sense my internal crisis, Samuel continues. “Seriously, you were the one who changed the mood in that room tonight, and I couldn’t be more grateful.”

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