Page 77 of Some Sort of Love (Happy Crazy Love 3)
He’s OK. Still has a fever. I’m so sorry about yesterday.
I understand.
My mom said she’d come down later. Can I see you?
Yes. I’d like to talk.
It took him a while to reply. I knew it would. Was he nervous? OK. Should I come over?
Well, it’s not like you let me come to your house. Sure. Time?
How about 5?
That works.
Good. I can’t wait to see you. Love you.
Love you too.
I spent the rest of the day scrubbing toilets and sinks, the shower tiles, and the kitchen floor. I vacuumed the carpet, swept the downstairs hall, and cleaned off windows and mirrors. I changed the sheets on my bed, washed a load of towels, and paid bills. The entire time I worked, I thought about what I was going to say to him, and what his reaction might be.
Would he get defensive? Angry? Sad?
Would he admit I was right but refuse to budge?
Would he try to sweet-talk me into waiting a little longer?
Would he put those hands on me in a way that would decimate all my carefully constructed arguments, render me completely defenseless against him?
Maybe I should tie him up. Put a bag over his head. Stick him in the closet and talk to him through the closed door.
If I saw him, heard his voice, felt his touch, it would be so much harder to stand up for myself.
But I had to.
By the time I was in the shower, I knew exactly what I wanted to say to him. I wouldn’t accuse or criticize. I wouldn’t yell or cry. I would calmly but firmly explain why I felt it was time for us to take the next step, tell him how much I loved him, and ask for the chance to love Scotty too.
He’d see that I was serious, that I was understanding, that I wasn’t expecting him to be perfect, just to be fair. I didn’t need everything, but I needed more. And I was worth it.
Needless to say, it didn’t exactly go as planned.
• • •
He knocked at twenty after five, and I opened the door to a blustery cold breeze and an apology.
“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late.” He grabbed me in a hug. “I had trouble getting out the door.”
“That’s OK.” I wrapped my arms around him, and we stood still for a minute, chest to chest, my head tucked under his chin. It felt so good that my resolve wavered.
“God, I missed you last night.” He kissed my head. “I’ve missed you all week.”
“Me too, Levi.” I pulled back. “That’s why I want to talk. Come on upstairs.”
He nodded, but I could see the anxiety in his expression.
I led the way up the stairs and went into the kitchen. “Can I get you anything?” I asked. “A drink? Some coffee? Something to eat?”
“No thanks.” He took off his coat and hung it on the back of a counter stool. “Is everything OK? You’re making me nervous.”
