If You Only Knew
Page 102
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“I’m good,” he says. “Sorry about last night.” His eyes flicker away from mine, then back. “Can I walk you home?”
“Of course. Are you hungry? We could eat out.”
“No, I’m fine. I can cook you something at home, if you want.”
At home. That sounds nice.
And yet never have Leo and I eaten in public together, not in COH. We had that one lunch at the diner, an hour north of here.
“Sure,” I say.
He doesn’t take my hand as we walk.
Shit.
Somehow, I know he’s about to break up with me.
“I got a call the other day,” he begins, and already my eyes are filling with tears. “There’s a music program in Spain. Two weeks. I wasn’t going to go, because of Loki, but now I think I will.”
“What about your students?”
“Piano teachers take vacations, too, Jenny.”
“What about Evander and the Juilliard thing? Doesn’t he have an audition?” That edge of panic in my voice—so attractive.
“He does, and I already gave him his practice pieces, and I’ll be back before the big day.”
“Well. Sounds like you have everything covered. What a fun trip. When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
Jesus. “You flying out of JFK? Want a ride? I can drive you.” He stops walking. So do I.
Here it comes.
Leo, I love you. It’s not a rebound. I genuinely love you. I want to fix you. I think about you constantly. I love the way you smile, laugh, touch me. I want you to tell me why your wife left you. I want you to love me back.
“Jenny,” he says, looking back up at me, and his eyes are sad and beautiful and such a pure blue today, “maybe we should—”
“You know what?” I blurt. “Go to Spain. That’s gonna be great! Just what you need. And when you get back, let’s see where things are. Okay? You’ve just lost Loki, and this isn’t a great time to...you know. Do anything. This is a fun thing we have going. Maybe when you get back, we can talk.”
“I think we—”
“No, no! Nope. Let’s... We’ll see each other when you get back. You know what? I’m starving. I’m gonna run back to Luciano’s and grab some eggplant parm. You want something?” I smile brightly—and falsely.
“I’m fine,” he says. That horrible sadness ripples through his eyes.
“All right, then. Well, listen. Have a wonderful time in Spain. Forget your troubles and enjoy.”
He nods, and I hug him, and he turns his face into my hair and holds me for a long, long moment.
And so our breakup is wordless, because I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid. I don’t want to burden him with a sobbing female the day after his beloved dog died. Or ever. I don’t want Leo Killian to be sad ever again.
I pull back and pat his cheek. “Have fun,” I say, and my voice is normal now, and I manage a real smile.
* * *
Thank God I’m busy over the next two weeks—three weddings, four emergency alterations. I babysit my nieces, visit my mom, go into the city to have dinner with friends. Owen had to cancel our Friday night date, which was a relief. Then Andreas and his boyfriend decide to get married in a very spur-of-the-moment ceremony at City Hall, followed by one of the best parties I’ve ever been to in my entire life, to which Tim Gunn not only showed up, but once again remembered me by name, asked after my work and kissed me on both cheeks. See? Just because my own love life sucks doesn’t mean I’m miserable.
Except I feel misery pulling at me like quicksand, like one of those crawling zombies on TV. But I just can’t go there, can’t be that woman who depends on a man to make her happy.
It’s now July; the weather is hot, so I sit in the backyard with the sprinkler on, breathing in the smells of summer, the sharp scent of water on the grass and hardy hydrangeas, the thick, sweet smell of roses that grow along the fence. I drink a glass of wine, wondering why I fall for the wrong men. If I should move from this apartment—I should—if Leo and I did indeed break up—we did. If maybe I was wrong—I’m not—and two weeks in Spain will show Leo that I’m perfect for him—it won’t.
We’ve been sleeping together for five weeks. We’ve only known each other since April, but—and I realize I don’t have a lot of credibility here, given the Owen situation—
But I never felt so at home, so right, so happy with anyone as I did with Leo. I felt safe in myself, and looking back at my years with Owen, I realize that I was always a little shaky, like I had to try too hard to be worthy of him (I know, I know).
With Leo, I’m just me, and no matter what he says, or will say, I felt...loved.
Even if he was only in it a quarter as much as I was.
If I could meet his ex-wife, I’d take her aside and shake her and say, “What did you do to him, bitch?”
I bet it was cheating. I bet that’s why he was so great with my sister that first day. It seems like an eternity ago. It seems like yesterday.
Just for the heck of it, I stop by Evander’s house one evening; his parents are a little suspicious of me, but they let me in when Evander calls me by name. The little apartment is clean and filled with good smells. Evander’s artwork hangs up in the kitchen.
The boy is loved.
I ask how the practicing is coming along, and his eyes slide to his parents, then back to me. “Fine,” he says.
“Of course. Are you hungry? We could eat out.”
“No, I’m fine. I can cook you something at home, if you want.”
At home. That sounds nice.
And yet never have Leo and I eaten in public together, not in COH. We had that one lunch at the diner, an hour north of here.
“Sure,” I say.
He doesn’t take my hand as we walk.
Shit.
Somehow, I know he’s about to break up with me.
“I got a call the other day,” he begins, and already my eyes are filling with tears. “There’s a music program in Spain. Two weeks. I wasn’t going to go, because of Loki, but now I think I will.”
“What about your students?”
“Piano teachers take vacations, too, Jenny.”
“What about Evander and the Juilliard thing? Doesn’t he have an audition?” That edge of panic in my voice—so attractive.
“He does, and I already gave him his practice pieces, and I’ll be back before the big day.”
“Well. Sounds like you have everything covered. What a fun trip. When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
Jesus. “You flying out of JFK? Want a ride? I can drive you.” He stops walking. So do I.
Here it comes.
Leo, I love you. It’s not a rebound. I genuinely love you. I want to fix you. I think about you constantly. I love the way you smile, laugh, touch me. I want you to tell me why your wife left you. I want you to love me back.
“Jenny,” he says, looking back up at me, and his eyes are sad and beautiful and such a pure blue today, “maybe we should—”
“You know what?” I blurt. “Go to Spain. That’s gonna be great! Just what you need. And when you get back, let’s see where things are. Okay? You’ve just lost Loki, and this isn’t a great time to...you know. Do anything. This is a fun thing we have going. Maybe when you get back, we can talk.”
“I think we—”
“No, no! Nope. Let’s... We’ll see each other when you get back. You know what? I’m starving. I’m gonna run back to Luciano’s and grab some eggplant parm. You want something?” I smile brightly—and falsely.
“I’m fine,” he says. That horrible sadness ripples through his eyes.
“All right, then. Well, listen. Have a wonderful time in Spain. Forget your troubles and enjoy.”
He nods, and I hug him, and he turns his face into my hair and holds me for a long, long moment.
And so our breakup is wordless, because I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid. I don’t want to burden him with a sobbing female the day after his beloved dog died. Or ever. I don’t want Leo Killian to be sad ever again.
I pull back and pat his cheek. “Have fun,” I say, and my voice is normal now, and I manage a real smile.
* * *
Thank God I’m busy over the next two weeks—three weddings, four emergency alterations. I babysit my nieces, visit my mom, go into the city to have dinner with friends. Owen had to cancel our Friday night date, which was a relief. Then Andreas and his boyfriend decide to get married in a very spur-of-the-moment ceremony at City Hall, followed by one of the best parties I’ve ever been to in my entire life, to which Tim Gunn not only showed up, but once again remembered me by name, asked after my work and kissed me on both cheeks. See? Just because my own love life sucks doesn’t mean I’m miserable.
Except I feel misery pulling at me like quicksand, like one of those crawling zombies on TV. But I just can’t go there, can’t be that woman who depends on a man to make her happy.
It’s now July; the weather is hot, so I sit in the backyard with the sprinkler on, breathing in the smells of summer, the sharp scent of water on the grass and hardy hydrangeas, the thick, sweet smell of roses that grow along the fence. I drink a glass of wine, wondering why I fall for the wrong men. If I should move from this apartment—I should—if Leo and I did indeed break up—we did. If maybe I was wrong—I’m not—and two weeks in Spain will show Leo that I’m perfect for him—it won’t.
We’ve been sleeping together for five weeks. We’ve only known each other since April, but—and I realize I don’t have a lot of credibility here, given the Owen situation—
But I never felt so at home, so right, so happy with anyone as I did with Leo. I felt safe in myself, and looking back at my years with Owen, I realize that I was always a little shaky, like I had to try too hard to be worthy of him (I know, I know).
With Leo, I’m just me, and no matter what he says, or will say, I felt...loved.
Even if he was only in it a quarter as much as I was.
If I could meet his ex-wife, I’d take her aside and shake her and say, “What did you do to him, bitch?”
I bet it was cheating. I bet that’s why he was so great with my sister that first day. It seems like an eternity ago. It seems like yesterday.
Just for the heck of it, I stop by Evander’s house one evening; his parents are a little suspicious of me, but they let me in when Evander calls me by name. The little apartment is clean and filled with good smells. Evander’s artwork hangs up in the kitchen.
The boy is loved.
I ask how the practicing is coming along, and his eyes slide to his parents, then back to me. “Fine,” he says.
