Call it stress, but I end up falling asleep during breakfast on Friday. Even when the eggs start to burn to a crisp, I don’t wake up. In fact, I don’t even notice they’re burning until I feel something drumming against my cheek. There’s a voice that goes with it.
“Max! Wake up,” it says, and I’m transported back to my school days, when I had to get up early and Mom always screamed at me to get out of bed.
“Huh? Mom?” My head and eyesight both feel hazy. Instead of snapping awake I knead the hand that’s against my face and close my eyes with a restful, “Mmmmm.”
It feels comfortable, like a soft pillow against my face. But why does it have so much hair on it?
“Mom, what’s for breakfast?”
“Burnt eggs, unless you get up soon.” The voice calls out again.
I register its depth. It’s a man’s voice. Dad? But Dad never woke me up. Coop? It must be him. He’s the one who’d joke about burnt eggs. And he’s hairy.
“Max! Get up!” This time the voice arrows through my sleepy brain.
My eyes come open.
And I see Henry.
It’s his hand I’m holding on to. And even after I realize it’s his hand, I don’t rush to drop it. It feels…comfortable somehow.
But I have to drop it in order to remedy the burning eggs situation, which by now has made itself known through the tendrils of black smoke rising from the pan.
“I’m sorry!” I turn off the stove, panicked, and flip the eggs into the bin, flapping my hands to fight off the smoke. I’m surprised the smoke detectors haven’t caught this.
Henry starts opening the windows—or as much of them as he can open, anyway. Window restrictors are a pain, I’ll tell you that.
“I’m so sorry!” I cough. The horrible smell is invading my throat and making my eyes water.
It takes a while to chase the smell and smoke out, even though Henry produces a portable fan and switches it on to increase airflow. And by the time it’s done, I feel sleepier.
“Are you okay?” he asks, hip against the window.
“I only closed my eyes for a second…I’m sorry; I shouldn’t be sleeping on the job. I’ll make you something else ASAP.”
He waves his hand. “It’s okay. I’ll eat breakfast at work.”
Saying so, he goes back into his room and shuts the door.
These days, he avoids me whenever he can. I can’t imagine it’s comfortable for him to look at me every day, now that he has a new girlfriend. Although he was nice to me all week, and even gave me free passes for a play at the Lincoln Center he got at work, I think he’s still hurt by what happened.
But he has Glenda now, I tell myself. She’ll take care of him. Help him heal and find his mojo again. She’ll be everything I wasn’t.
As they grow closer, he’ll forget about me.
If he hasn’t already.
*
“Thanks for doing this. You could have spent your Friday nights in a million better ways.” Henry takes the seat opposite mine on the kitchen table, eerily relaxed considering what we’re about to do.
It’s Friday night, the first day of our so-called ‘communication lesson’. Emilia came by to pick up Lucien a few minutes ago, and I made coffee for Henry and me soon after. The black brew sits steaming in two mugs on the table, while I adjust my posture, wondering why it’s so quiet. No matter how I sit, I’m not going to feel comfortable, because this situation is so weird. Still, I’ve decided to do my best in ensuring he succeeds with Glenda, and I will.
To begin with, I never deserved Henry anyway. And after thinking it over, I decided I would let him go. Discounting the annoying voice, Glenda sounds like the perfect woman; she doesn’t have the problems that I do. She will surely give him the love he deserves. They’ll make a good pair—two gentle, calm, mature souls.
Yes, that’s what I must do. I will do it.
“Don’t mention it. I’m happy to help.”
Splaying my hands over the table, fighting back tears, I pretend to read through the materials that I brought. The light from the lamp on the table burns harshly in my eyes. Scripts from college litter the table’s surface. I picked these out because they were about dating scenes. Making him read romantic dialogues struck me as the quickest way to make Henry into Romeo.
“How should we start?” Henry asks, frustratingly poker-faced. I can’t read him at all.
I pass him a copy of a script. “We’ll roleplay a scenario.”
“Roleplay?”
“Mmmmm,” I croak.
“That sounds…interesting.”
I clap my hands together, like I know what I’m doing. “I’ll play Glenda. You play you. We’ll enact a typical date. After we’re done, I’ll judge your performance, and we’ll take it from there. If you get confused, you can refer to that script.”
“Sounds good.” Henry rubs his palms together.
Fishing out a couple of bobby pins from my purse, I pin my hair up in a French twist, which is Glenda’s hairstyle. Then I cross my legs like her and clear my throat to get her voice’s pitch. When I play a role, I like to give it my all.
“Hi, Henry. I’m soooo excited,” I squeal. “I’ve looked forward to this evening for sooo long.”
“Whoa. She talks exactly like that,” he remarks, half a grin fixed on his lips.
Stop thinking how sexy that smile is. Stop thinking about that kiss, I warn my wayward mind. There’s nothing but disappointment down that path. I have decided to let go. There is nothing to be gained by holding on anymore.
“I was really surprised you asked me out,” I say, focusing on our ‘roleplay’.
“It was you who asked me out,” he points out. “I only said yes.”
Oh, so that’s what happened. That bitch—how could she have gathered the courage before me? No…no…I shouldn’t be a sore loser. The fault was all mine. She struck while the iron was hot. I must commend her intelligence.
I splay my hands on the table. “Then thank you for agreeing to date me. I’ve fantasized about you all my life.”
“I’ve fantasized about you, too.” He chokes on water, realizing how risqué that sounded. “I mean—”
“It’s a great line,” I hiss hoarsely. “You should totally use it on the date. It’ll make her feel desired.”
While making me feel like shit.
“I will, then.”
We both take a break to sip coffee and ward off the awkwardness that seems to have pervaded the air. Paper rustles as he folds and unfolds the edge of the script again and again.
“Okay, then tell me about your hobbies,” I say, winding back to my Minnie Mouse squeak.
He pauses to think. “I like relaxing at home. Reading. Listening to music.”
“And spending time with my nephew,” I tap the bridge of my nose. “Don’t forget that one. Women love men who’re good with kids.”
Taking another gulp of water, he fidgets. “But I never spend any time with Lucien. You do.”
“She doesn’t have to know that.”
“I don’t want to lie to Glenda.” He shifts in his chair.
“Okay, then say you like spending time with your family.”
He nods, but I’m pretty darn sure he’s not going to say that. We take another synchronous glug of coffee, and I doodle aimlessly on the paper, pretending to take notes. This session is going nowhere fast.
Henry’s fingers crawl towards mine, but don’t touch. “Can I ask you—Glenda—something now?”
My eyes connect with my shoes. “Sure. That would be appropriate.”
“Right. So, Glenda, why do you like me?”
“Well…”
Shit. What am I supposed to say? Should I tell him my reasons or should I try to think of what Glenda would say? No…I can’t read Glenda’s mind. I’ll stick to the truth.
“There are so many reasons.” My blue eyes slam into his. “First, you’re really good at making people feel appreciated, even if it’s in small ways, like praising their cooking. It makes them feel happy. And even when people mess up, you don’t get mad at them or shout. You can tolerate stupidity. You never lie and you are always gentle towards me. And you think I’m adorable, although everybody else thinks I’m certifiably crazy. Whenever I’m with you, I feel happy. I feel energized. That’s why I like you.”
Under his mask of passivity, there’s a telltale blush. “That’s a very comprehensive list. I didn’t realize you noticed so much about me.”
“You’re hard to ignore.”
“You, too, Glenda.” There’s a deep sincerity in his expression; he really means this. “You’ve always stood out to me, even when you’re dressed plainly. You really shine wherever you are.”
Please, please, please don’t do this to my heart, Henry. Please don’t say that to me while meaning to say it to another woman.
But he can’t hear my heart. So he continues.
“I hate that nobody notices how amazing you are, or appreciates how unique you are. You were meant to have everybody’s attention.”
A cold feeling twists into my chest like a knife. Turning. Wringing more pain with every rotation. Here I thought Henry thought I was special. Turns out he had eyes for the librarian all along.
Bitterness roils through me.
“That’s enough. No need to go overboard.” I stop him, unable to take any more. “If you say too much, she’ll doubt if you’re being honest.”
“But it’s the truth.”
“Sometimes, it’s best to withhold the truth. Mystery is key to romance.”
He considers. “You’re right.”
“So then, let’s end our session here today.”
I’m not in the mood to carry on. It’s obvious that his feelings for Glenda are real on some level, and that doesn’t sit well with my heartbroken self. For the thousandth time, I wonder if I should just blurt out my speech. Tell him I love him. Tell him I’ll try for him. Tell him that right now, every breath I take is like acid burning holes in my lungs.
But willpower is in short supply in my life at the moment. Plus, I refuse to be the villainous bitch who stole someone else’s man. I do have some integrity.
Gathering the scattered scripts, I give Henry a faint smile, one that signals that I’ll be going now. But as I begin to approach the door, Henry intercepts my path.
Nervously, he runs his fingers through his hair. “I had a great time. Thanks for the tips. See you tomorrow?”
For a moment, I just stare at him, and think, If only I had been first. Despite coming from work and being tired, he’s still so handsome. And I wonder, if we had been dating now, would I be staying here instead of going back home? Would we watch a movie? Talk? That doesn’t seem like such an uncomfortable scenario.
When he continues to stare at me, expecting a reply, I shake my head, a tight ball of frustration nearly splitting my throat in two. “There’s no need for another class. I think you’ll do well, based on today’s performance.”
Mild disappointment pulls his eyebrows into a ‘V’—it’s gone quickly. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” I give him a pat on the back; my laugh is a little too hollow and fake.
“If you say so.”
Wiping my sweaty forehead, I skip forward. “Then I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.”
He still doesn’t budge from my path. “What are you making tomorrow?”
Is he really interested in finding out, or is he stalling for no apparent reason?
“Eggs. Toast. Sausage. The usual.”
Sidestepping him, I trace a path away from his overwhelming presence. But Henry embraces me from behind, catching me unaware.
Deep silence fills the space. I don’t move, nor do I resist.
Neither of us release it. We stay in each other’s arms, until the seconds couple into minutes and minutes snowball into more minutes.
Even my usually problematic intimacy issues don’t rear their ugly head. There are fears greater than being hurt and one of them is losing the one you love. Right now, I’m scared that if I let him go, I’ll lose him forever. He’ll become someone else’s. Wait…he is already someone else’s. But at this moment, he’s mine, and I hold onto that knowledge with everything.
Deliberately, I swivel around and set my lips to his chest, leaving a trail of kisses, following up with one to his lips, his eyes, his nose, his forehead. I’m a woman starved, who wants her last fill of pleasure. I want to leave some mark on him. I don’t want to be the girl he forgets.
Because I will never forget him.
Henry’s hands twine around me and he claims my mouth in a sweet yet desperate kiss. I accept his mouth, while working on the buttons of his shirt. He somehow cooperates with me in getting his shirt off. As I lick his nipple, my nose presses into his chest. His skin smells clean, carries the scent of dreams and impossibilities.
We don’t talk. I think we’re both too scared. Any way you look at it, this is not right. He’s supposed to be dating another woman. I’m supposed to be working for him. But nothing can tear away the urgency and need of this moment. This moment has been waiting to happen forever. It won’t be stopped by doubts.
Henry reaches under my blouse and unhooks my bra. As he runs his fingers over the globes of my breasts, I moan against his chest, pulling down the zipper of his pants, petting his heavy erection in my hands.
And that’s when I realize: I don’t feel as uncomfortable as I used to with him anymore. I know it sounds silly when I say it like this, but even before, when he tapped my forehead when I was asleep in the kitchen, I didn’t recoil. Because I knew it was him, and I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.
I trusted him.
I trust him.
On the heels of that, I realize something else: I didn’t trust him before. Not at the party, not at the hotel (at least not fully). I was still scared he’d be angry or frustrated because I couldn’t have sex like a normal person and then he’d…hit me?
It was a reflexive thought, one born out of my past experiences. But I didn’t know Henry that well, so I couldn’t deny my negative thoughts.
I think trusting someone, really trusting them at a subconscious level, takes time, and maybe all I needed was time and his constant presence. Maybe over time, I’ve started associating him with security and comfort, rather than danger and discomfort, because of everything he’s done for me.
Also, I trust myself. After standing up to Rob, I have left the weak, victimized me behind in the past. Even if something like that was to happen in the future, I trust myself to be able to stop it. I trust that I won’t let myself be abused.
And with all those realizations, I feel like I can finally move forward.
“Max…” Henry’s voice is a drug in my ear, as he picks out the bobby pins from my hair. I didn’t realize they were still there.
“I trust you,” I whisper in his ear, closing my hands over his to stop him. “But I want to tell you that if I do this, it’ll be as me, not as Glenda.”
“Good. It’s you I want, not her.”
“What do you mean—”
The words dissolve as his lips blanket mine.
When he peels his lips away from mine, I blink. “You lied about dating Glenda?”
He grins, and his grin resembles a certain nine-year-old’s. “Yep. I decided to take a page out of Lucien’s notebook. If a fourth-grader can con you, why can’t I?”
“Henry Robert Stone.” I punch him squarely in the middle of his chest. “I’m speechless.”
“Don’t hate me for lying to you, Max. I…really wanted you. I love you. I’ve loved you for a very long time, but you were always out of reach. Even when you appeared so close to me after so many years, I still couldn’t reach you.”
I press a kiss on his left eyebrow.
“I’m within your reach now. In fact, I’m yours now. So don’t worry about that ever again,” I say. “I love you, too, Henry. More than you can imagine. So much that I’m willing to battle my fears so I can be with you. I was going to admit it to you last week, but then you said you loved Glenda and I lost the nerve.”
He coughs.
“I’ve actually never had any such feelings towards Glenda. She’s not my type.”
“Then why did you say she was the sweetest thing you’ve met?”
“To make it seem like I was actually serious about her.”
I smack him on the chest. “Well, mission accomplished. I was quite jealous.”
“Were you?”
I growl. “Keep that up and I’ll change my mind about us.”
“You won’t.” He pinches my cheeks. “Because you love me.”
“Can’t argue.” I flick my fingers at his nose, before we slump back to the couch and resume making love.
And that is how the story of Henry and me ends.
