Rex (34 page)

She flicks my arm before opening up the bags. “Okay, so cheesecake for you, which I’m trying,” she adds under her breath, “and chocolate for me. I’ll let you try mine if you let me try yours,” she suggests, flashing me a coy smile.

“Nah. That’s okay. I don’t want any of yours.” I grin, taking a bite. “Well, your cake anyway.”

“Hmmm… this is soooo good.” She closes her eyes, sticking her naked breasts in my direction. “Oh! I almost forgot. Did you know that Hunter is flying everyone out to Hawaii for their wedding?”

“News to me,” I reply flatly, continuing to devour my cheesecake, but secretly saving a bite for her.

Frustrated, she sets her plate down on the bed. “That’s all you have to say about it. I think it’s amazing and so generous.”

“He can afford it. He’s ridiculously rich. He could probably send his entire company.”

“Still, it’s really nice of him.” She wipes a bit of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. “I’m excited and I’ve never been to Hawaii. Have you?”

“Nope,” I respond without an ounce of regret. “I can count on one hand the places I’ve been: Boston, New York, California, Ohio. That’s it.”

She picks up her fork, twirling some of the frosting around with it. “I’ve traveled a lot in the years I’ve been doing events, but Hawaii is one place I always wanted to go.”

“Here.” I hold the fork in front of her face. “You can have the last two bites,” I offer, and she opens, closing her eyes and savoring the taste.

“Oh my God. That is really good.”

“So,” I can’t help the nervous twinge in my voice, “I have something for you.”

“You do?” She bounces, her tone rising several octaves.

“Indeed I do, Blondie. Indeed I do.” I try to sound confident even though inside I’m shitting bricks. I’ve never done anything like this before and I want her to like it.

Before my nerves immobilize my feet, I zip off the bed, plodding to my closet and taking the gift down from the top shelf. I can feel her eyes on me the entire time, the excitement rolling off of her in waves. A few steps take me back, and I sink down next to her, handing her the package.

It suddenly feels too warm in here and I rub the back of my neck, attempting to lessen the mountain of anxiety my limbs need to overcome. She stares at the wrapping for a long minute, my tension building each second she waits to open it.

“Did you wrap this yourself?” she asks, and I can’t manage anything more than a nod in response. A grin tugs at her lips. “It’s impressive.” She concentrates back on the gift, tearing the paper open in a very unladylike manner.

That’s my girl.

“Ahhh.” Her lips separate in a gasp as she stares at the drawing. “It’s me,” she whispers, glancing up at me briefly before returning her focus to the picture. A shaky finger traces the pencil lines of her hair, her eyes, the bowed outline of her lips. “When did you do this?”

“While we were apart,” I shrug, “I had a lot of time on my hands. That was the first time you smiled at me. We were at the bar with Hunter and Olivia.”

She shakes her head, astonished. “It doesn’t even look like me… I mean, it looks like me, but I look—different—happy almost.”

“That’s the way I see you. It’s what I see when I look at you.” Her profile changes, and I watch the right side of her mouth curve up, a hint of wetness in the corner of her eye that she quickly swats away.

I move closer and rest my chin on her shoulder, reaching out with my hand. “You see, down here,” I point to her mouth, “how when you smile the right side of your mouth lifts a little higher than your left,” my finger moves to her cheek, “and here,” I run my finger back and forth, “the soft angle of your cheekbone, and over here,” my thumb traces her hairline, “the way this one strand always escapes from behind your ear, settling on the side of your face. And up here,” I circle my finger just above her brow, “this cute little freckle that doesn’t go unnoticed. And last, but not least,” I draw a path back down her skin, “the tiny pucker in your cheek that can only be seen when you smile big.”

With a voice strained in disbelief, her head turns a fraction, my lips skimming her chin. “It’s like you have me memorized.”

“I do, baby,” I whisper. “I do.”

After laying the picture on the bed, she flips her body around to face me, eyes glued to mine. Her hands find my face, fingers gliding over my eyebrow, my cheek, my chin, my lips. “No one has ever done anything like this for me before, and… I don’t know how to express to you how much it means to me.”

“I think you just did.” I tuck that runaway wisp of hair behind her ear. “It’s trying to escape again,” I tease, and she smiles as I press my lips to hers in a whisper of a kiss. “I’m glad you like it. It’s the first portrait I’ve done that hasn’t been inked on someone’s skin.”

She climbs onto my lap and throws her arms around me, burying her head in the crook of my neck and embracing me in a way that no one ever has before. Her acceptance wraps around me like a cloak in the dead of winter, making my breaths come easier—and I feel like it’s okay to be me.

I don’t know how long we stay like this, because it feels too damn good and neither of us pulls away until the muffled ring of her cell phone breaks our moment. I reluctantly let go of her so she can shuffle off the bed to answer it.

“Hello?” She squints at the digital clock to see what time it is. The glow in her cheeks morphs into a milky white, lips flattening, face suddenly blank of any emotion. “Yes, I’m here.” Her tone turns stale and the air grows very cold around us.

“What? You’re coming here? When?” She paces back and forth now across the carpet, gnawing on a fingernail. “Yes, fine. Let me know when you get in.” Then she hangs up without saying goodbye and I want to know who the hell that was, and why the hair is standing up on the back of my neck, an urge to protect her overwhelming me.

“Who was that?” I ask, and she doesn’t respond. Instead, she’s frantic as she scoops up her bra and panties, her clothes that are still damp, and tugs them on. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“I-I need air. I-I can’t breathe,” she says, clumsy in her efforts to dress, before taking off without another word.

“Wait!” And now I’m scrambling to get my own clothes on, following after her in my bare feet, grabbing my sneakers from beside the door. “Blondie, stop!” I call out, trying to catch up with her as she’s running down the stairs, refusing to even take the elevator. I manage to latch onto her wrist halfway down, halting her. She’s breathing heavy, nostrils flaring, tension forming a dark cloud around her body. “What’s going on? Talk to me, damn it!”

She starts chewing on that damn nail again, and I pull it from her mouth. “It was my father. He’ll be in New York tomorrow and he wants to see me. I just—can’t—” And then she takes off again and I throw my hands up in the air, chasing after her.

By the time we get down to street level, both of us are huffing and puffing, only for different reasons. She’s tired and I’m fucking frustrated.

I bend over with my hands on my knees. “Fuck. What are we doing? It’s almost midnight.”

“I just need to walk.” She stares straight ahead at everything, but I can tell she sees nothing. “I don’t want to talk right now, okay?”

“Okay,” I agree, but I reach out and latch onto her hand, thankful when she doesn’t push me away.

The air around us is laced with an uncomfortable silence, but for the first time, I know it has nothing to do with me. Whatever it is obviously relates to her father, and it must be bad because I haven’t seen her like this since we met. I don’t like it. This isn’t my Blondie. This is the girl I met at the tattoo shop, pain etched in her eyes.

A feeling of helplessness ties my stomach in knots. I want to help her but I won’t force her to talk. Personal experience tells me it will only cause her to shut down.

As we turn the corner, a small neighborhood park comes into view. It’s desolate this time of night and she leads me there, taking a seat on an old bench. The wood is worn, beaten down from time and weather. I can’t help wondering if that’s how she feels—worn down.

Still quiet, she stares at the creaky swings as I wait. Patience is not a strong suit of mine but I know that’s what she needs right now, so I swallow hard and grant her space. In the meantime, I gently run my thumb over her knuckles so she knows I’ll be here when she’s ready.

“Like I told you earlier, I still harbor all this anger,” she admits again, voice flat, eyes locked on the playground. “Therapy didn’t help me get over it. My mother is a cold bitch and my father is apathetic and removed, affectionless.” She clears her throat and I see her fighting back the anger, her shoulders rigid, face like stone. “They never cared about me, never took an interest in me. In fact,” she lets out a harsh laugh, “I don’t know why they ever had me.”

She blows out a hard breath. “I remember this one time,” she starts, but has to take a pause before continuing. “I was getting an award for being a person of good character, I think it was in fifth grade. They told me they would be there. And even after everything, I believed them, because it was a big day for me, and because I needed to so desperately. But when I looked out into the auditorium they weren’t there. I saw Stella, though. And I saw how big she was trying to smile, because I know she saw the look on my face, how disappointed I was.” Her gaze finally finds mine. “I’ve made a life for myself that doesn’t include them. I moved from Seattle so I could be as far away from them as possible. I don’t like the stress I feel or who I am when I’m near them, who I become. It’s ugly actually and it scares me because it reminds me of my mother.”

“You’re not your mother, baby,” I reassure her, taking her hand and placing it on my thigh.

“No, but I have the potential to be. And that scares me more than anything else.” She exhales a pained sigh. “My father will be here tomorrow. He said he wants to talk. I haven’t heard from him in months and I haven’t seen him in almost two years. And I don’t want to now.”

I tug on her arm and she nestles into my side. “Call me crazy, but if you have a child, you shouldn’t just disregard them like they’re nothing. You have a responsibility to them, to care for them, to love them. I guess somehow they missed the parental training class,” she bites out.

“If you want, I can, you know, hang out with you when he comes,” I offer, unsure as to whether she’d really want me around for that.

A kiss to my cheek bats the insecurity away. “Thank you, Rex. But I need to see him alone. I honestly wouldn’t want to subject you to that. It’s not pretty.” She exhales a sigh, laying her head on my shoulder.

“I think you forget I’ve seen my own share of ugly. That doesn’t bother me. I just want… well, I’m here, that’s all, if you change your mind.”

“Thank you.” She plays with the sleeve of my t-shirt, flipping it between her fingers. “Honestly, just you listening makes me feel better.”

“Whoa, did you see that, Blondie?” I point up at the sky and she follows the path of my hand. “It’s a shooting star. I think we have to make a wish or some shit like that.”

She laughs but it comes out as a snort. “Some shit like that?”

“Yeah, you know what I mean.” I pinch her side gently and she flinches.

“I don’t believe in wishes,” she states in a bland tone. “They never come true.”

“Fuck that. We’re making wishes. Close your eyes.” She huffs out a sigh of protest and I see the remnants of an eye roll before she decides to acquiesce to my demand.

“Okay, I’m done,” she calls out. “Hurry up, you’re taking too long.”

I open my eyes and meet hers. “So what did you wish for?”

“Ahh, I see,” she practically tsks, “let me get this straight.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “First, you demand I make a wish and now you want to know what my wish is. You obviously know nothing about wish etiquette.”

“Well, smartass, for someone who doesn’t believe in wishes, you certainly know way too much about it,” I retort, and she doubles over, howling with laughter. The sound sends a shot of happy straight to my core.

“Now get over here and kiss me. It seals the wish-making.”

I won’t tell her my wish already came true.

“Morning, Tillie,” I sing out, feet light as a feather as I make my way toward my office. I’m honestly not sure why I’m so happy. Actually, I know why I feel this way. Last night with Rex was amazing and I refuse to let the weight of my father’s visit taint that for me. He’s already done enough.

It feels a little bit like I’m living someone else’s life lately. Holding hands, kissing under the stars—and that drawing Rex did especially for me. The way he sees me. The way he looks at me. The way he holds me. Even the things he says, knowing how hard it is for him, knowing how hard he’s trying… for me. Bombarded by emotion, dizziness overtakes me and my briefcase falls to the floor. I grab onto the wall, these feelings I’ve never experienced before spinning me on a strange but wonderful axis.

“Vanessa, are you okay?” Tillie runs over, touching my arm, a ridge of concern under her wispy bangs. “Let me get you a chair.”

“No.” I clasp her elbow, pulling her back. “I’m fine. Just a lot going on, and I didn’t eat breakfast this morning so that doesn’t help.”