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Suddenly my throat parches and my lips feel dry. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“See me.” I lick my bottom lip and swallow past the lump in my throat. “Do you know how much makeup I put on to hide the puffiness under my eyes?” An edgy laugh bursts from me, and I quickly press my lips together to stop any more of this nervous energy from breaking free.
“I’m observant, and while you spend a lot of time hiding yourself, you’re actually very easy to see.” He places his coffee on the dresser and ambles toward the luggage, now closer to me. “Everyone deserves to be seen.” He steps closer still, gaze laser focused on me.
He’s so close I can see the tiniest flecks of gold and green in his ocean-blue eyes. The silence between us is electrifying. He licks his bottom lip and his gaze dips to mine. “Besides, I like what I see.”
Every ounce of my being focuses on his steady breaths, penetrating pupils, and the nearness of him. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, struggling to remember where I was going with this conversation.
Ah, yes. That’s it. I want to come clean, to admit something I rarely say out loud. The urge to do so swells inside me. It’s partly why I wrestled with sleep last night. I could have said so much more when Tom was being real with me but didn’t. Too afraid, I left the room for the food and we never got back to any real talk after that.
I’m still scared now, and I want him to kiss me. But I also need to say what’s on my mind. It’s now or never. Otherwise, I’ll lose my nerve, and if he kisses me, well, forget it. All rational thought will leave my head.
“It’s a nasty, knee-jerk reaction that I have.” A flush charges up my neck and I shake my head.
His brow knits in confusion. “What is?”
“What you said last night. A defense mechanism…all of it was true.” I could tell him about my parents. My father and his controlling ways. Margot’s incessant calls and texts, all on his behalf. How my life is managed by other people and how I need professional help, a doctor, to help deal with all of it. But all those things feel like excuses even if none are a lie.
I chose to act as I did. My behavior was unacceptable. It’s as embarrassing and as simple as that.
My fingers play with the hem of my black, silk Escada blouse, in a poor attempt to burn off my nerves and nausea. Why is baring my ugly little truths both difficult and humbling?
He closes his hand around mine and squeezes reassuringly. In one swift motion, he’s conveyed his understanding of how hard this was for me to say. His support bolsters my nerve to say more.
“In my experience, when I let people in, more times than not, they eventually desert me.” Again I can’t quite bring myself to talk about my father specifically.
He lets out a strange sound, not quite disbelieving. “Desert you?”
How do I begin to help him understand how overwhelming and messy my life is?
“Yes. I know how it looks. I’m a rich kid who can have anything and everything she could ever want. And while that’s true, and I felt like an absolute asshole when you talked about the villages in Africa last night—”
“Leighton, I didn’t say those things to make you feel bad.” He flips my hand over in his and holds my open palm up to his mouth.
His kiss is tender and sweet. My knees weaken, and tears spring to my eyes.
“Tom, I know, and I’m not saying this for sympathy or, God forbid, pity, but I felt like I held back last night and really appreciate how honest you were.”
With his finger, he traces lines and arcs, back and forth, over the center of my hand. Each sweep of his finger is deliciously slow and searing, and like flower petals opening, I’m bared to him.
I’m emboldened to say more. “I’m alone. A lot. I don’t have many true friends and my parents…” This is harder to get out than anything else I’ve said. But if I’ve learned anything from therapy, nothing good can be gained from hiding the truth.
“Well, let’s just say, my parents—more so my father—don’t have time for me. Not now and certainly not when I was a child. It doesn’t excuse my behavior. I just want you to understand, and if I’m ever rude to you again, call me out like you did last night. That isn’t who I am. Can we start over?”
He fights a smile nestled in one corner of his mouth and nods. “We already have. No pressure here. I sense there’s more, but disclosure also comes with trust. I just want you to know that I’m here, and if or when you’re ready, I’ll listen.”
He releases my hand and leans in to plant a kiss on my forehead, hands grasping my face. I release a long awaited sigh of relief. I feel lighter, glad that’s out of the way, and that it went well.
“Can I ask you a question?” He pulls back.
Smiling, I nod though I’m not so sure I can handle whatever it is he wants to know.
“Fallon. Is she a real friend, or is it like a Hollywood thing and you’re not really friends?”
“Good question.” I laugh. “Some friendships made in Hollywood are only for appearances.” Felix springs to mind, and like a candle, I snuff the thought of him out. “But I’m happy to say, Fallon is a true friend.”
