Page 92 of Love Scenes

“For such astrong woman, you sure do have a hard time picking up what I’m saying to you.” He wears a fond smile, the kind that twinkles in his eyes, warm and sincere. We’ve come so far since that moment. One of our first tentative jokes as we stepped out of his trailer into the morning sun, inching toward forging afriendship. “I don’t know many other ways to explain that I’m not going anywhere,” he tells me.

The tension in my shoulders releases like cut cords. “Saying ‘I’m not going anywhere’ does a pretty good job of getting the point across.”

“I was hoping it would.”

The server drops our waters beside our linked hands. Their attention lingers on the gesture for an extra beat. All sense of my surroundings left me the second those elevator doors opened, and it’s only now I realize how big a deal it is for Joe to have grabbed my hand here, out in public on a Saturday night. Surely there are people we know at this restaurant. There always are at places like this.

Joe’s thumb brushes back and forth across my knuckles. He requests more time before ordering. We peruse the menu like this, hands held as we read, real conversation on pause. My mind races, desperate to make sense of all that’s happening.

“Chicken looks good,” Joe comments, like he’s said it a dozen times. Like we’ve gotten the chicken at other places and found it only passable, and this one might exceed our baseline expectations. “What about for you?”

“I usually get the gnocchi here,” I tell him.

He scans the menu for it and reads over the ingredients with earnest investment. “Good to know.”

It’s such a small thing, but I forgot how nice it can be to share something and be greeted with gentle kindness, every tiny new piece of information a welcome gift.

After we order, I’m the one to let go, knowing we have a good amount of time before the food comes and needing to use every minute to be sure that what I think is happening is really, fullyhappening. Trust can only stretch so far without honesty to bolster it up. “I have to ask. Why are you so okay with this? After I came to your trailer, you made it clear you never wanted to see me again. And now you’re holding my hand.”

“Can I ask you the same thing?”

“You have to answer first. I’m the one with a failed apology under my belt.”

“Fair.” He takes a moment to consider me. “Is it too simple to say that the second you walked up, I missed you more than I was ever mad at you?”

“No.” I reconsider. “Maybe?”

He laughs. “All right. Give me a second. I didn’t know I’d see you tonight, but I’ve thought a lot about what I’d say to you if I got the chance. Now I have it and I can’t remember any of it.” He looks away from me, intently staring at a plant on the other side of the rooftop, drifting into soft focus. It’s fascinating to watch someone think this hard, so completely in their own head that they are lost to their surroundings.

When he’s back, he places his attention on me, fully engaged again. “Here we go. Off-the-cuff because I still can’t think right. You look glorious, by the way.”

My cheeks warm. “Thank you. So do you.”

“Enough of that before I get distracted again.” He rolls out his neck. “Telling you that we don’t know each other at all was the biggest load of shit I’ve ever spoken out loud in my life,” he starts. “The fact that you’d come here to win me back after that means you actually know me even better than I thought. Because somehow you knew the one thing I was never sure of was if you might be embarrassed to be seen with me, or you didn’t like all the ways I’d maybe hold you back by not drinking, or having a tough time with big crowds. My stage fright. You know, all the really fun thingsabout me.” He tries to smile through the vulnerability, but I see through it.

I see him.

“I hope that doesn’t sound small to you,” he continues. “I used to be the life of the party. Now I have a hard time staying out past ten. Sometimes I feel like Mam died and I forgot how to be anything other than a sad bastard with a decent face and a free ticket to Hollywood from my father. Even right now, saying this makes me wanna get up and prove I still know how to jig. To show you I can be fun. I didn’t want to keep you from living life the way that makes you happy.”

“Joe.” It’s my turn to reach across the table to hold him, gripping his forearm. “If I thought being around you would hold me back, I never would’ve shown up to your trailer beyond that first rehearsal. You’re not the only one here at this table with a famous family and a lot of baggage. There’s nothing about the way you are that I’m not willing to understand. And I promise you, I do not need a life of parties. I did all of that in my early twenties and I hated every minute of it. All of the fun I’ve had in the last year has been with you.”

I pause. Take in his face. It’s so amazing we are here together, outside of our work, just two people enjoying a meal on a rooftop in Los Angeles.

It’s real life.

And it’s wonderful.

“You show up for me in a way only my family ever has before,” I continue. “You pay attention. And you keep me steady. I’d like the chance to do the same for you. You are my first best friend, after all.”

We both smile at that. Then his expression shifts, a flash of sorrow coming through. “I’m really sorry about how I acted whenyou came to my trailer. More proof that you’re a better person than me.”

“That’s not true. It’s not a contest between us and it never will be. Okay?”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Let’s get to know each other. Therealstuff,” I say, a hint of self-mocking peeking through. Set life isn’t all of life, but it’s not fake either.

What Joe and I have?