Stir Me (24 page)

"Luke, your smile is ridiculous."

I shake my head. "It's no big deal."

Alyssa nestles next to me. "What was she like?"

"She was sweet," I say. "She was the sweetest person I've ever known."

"So that's where you get it?"

"I'm not sweet. I'm... normal."

Alyssa shakes her head. She holds me closer. It's hard to breathe. She's so close, so close to being all mine. All I can do now is lose her.

"She was quiet," I say. "She was always busy thinking about something, but she kept it to herself. I know I was a stupid kid, and I probably wouldn't have understood half the stuff going through her mind. Hell, I probably would have been shocked that my mother was a person with her own inner life, but I wish she would have talked to me. She needed someone."

"You shouldn't have had to take care of her."

"I didn't," I say. "She took great care of me. It was all she had to do--she watched films when I was at school, and when I was home, she took care of me. She coddled me, actually. She'd make me snacks after school. She'd ask about my day. She'd allow me to watch movies with her when I was supposed to do my homework." I smile. "It was the same every day. Mom insisted I wouldn't like a film. That it wasn't appropriate for someone my age. She kept that line up even when I was sixteen."

"Was she right?"

"Sometimes," I say. "I watched
Apocalypse Now
when I was twelve. I had no idea what was going on."

"It's based on an incredibly dense novel."

I shake my head. "I wish she was still around. She would have loved you. My God, if I told her I was dating a woman who played Ophelia in
Hamlet.
"

"Only in high school."

"Still. She would have adored you almost as much as I do."

Alyssa studies my expression. There's something so sweet about the way she's looking at me. This is what she wanted, isn't it? To carry some of the weight that has been dragging me down.

"What else?" Alyssa asks.

"By the time I was eight, our movie afternoons were a daily event. Monday through Friday. She picked me up from school. We usually went straight home and watched something from her collection. Of course my father made her keep all five hundred of her movies in a closet, some place where no one would ever see it. So no one would get the stupid idea that his wife was anything more than a trophy."

"That's awful."

"Yeah. And only a small part of why I hate him so much."

I feel Alyssa's hand on mine. My heart pounds against my chest like it's the first time she ever touched me. I take a deep breath.

This is harder than I thought it would be.

"A few times a week we went to the independent video store across town. She even let me pick out a box of candy, so long as I promised not to tell my father. We had a lot of secrets from him. I knew the pen name she used to write a column for the local paper. I tried to read it, but it was so far over my level. She didn't even have to tell me to keep our movie dates a secret. I knew he would hate it. I knew he didn't want his son to get stupid ideas in his head."

"What kinds of stupid ideas?"

"That caring about film was anything besides a waste of time." I smile. "You should have seen his face when I told him I was going to major in film studies. It was a bluff, but it was the most brilliant bluff. He was beet red. He was so angry."

"Why didn't you?"

"I wanted to. But it was too painful. It made me think about how much I missed her."

Alyssa nods, a nod that says she understands exactly what I mean. But I don't know where it comes from. Who did Alyssa lose? There's still so much I need to learn about her, so much of her I haven't seen.

But there's time. There has to be.

"Those were the best afternoons," I say. "She explained the movies to me. Not the plot. She would talk about the lyrical cinematography or the canted angles or the score. I was probably the only ten-year-old who could carry on a conversation about
Seven Samurai
and
Some Like it Hot.
"

Alyssa laughs. "So you were a little know-it-all."

"Yes."

"Things never change, huh?" She moves closer to me again. "But
The African Queen
was her favorite?"

"Yes," I say. "It's a cheesy movie. Completely unbelievable. Katharine Hepburn plays a proper English woman, a missionary, and Humphrey Bogart plays a working class stiff. War breaks out, the First World War I guess, and they have to flee their village on the old beat-up ship, the African Queen. They face a lot of silly obstacles. Some terrible special effects. And they fall in love. They're from two different worlds. Their relationship could never work, but they fall in love."

"Do you think she believed it was possible?"

"Maybe. I don't know. She thought it was romantic. At the end... well, I won't spoil it," I say. "But she loved it. Don't get me wrong, she loved lots of other movies, but this one was her favorite."

"And you think it's cheesy?"

"Yes, but I love it. It's like she's here when I watch it."

"You miss her, huh?"

I nod. "She had to hide all the parts of herself that mattered. She was like a robot most of the time. Like a Stepford wife. But she was a totally different person when it was the two of us and she could geek out over her film collection. She was so happy poring over classics. She could watch a movie she'd seen a hundred times--literally a hundred times--and still notice something new."

"So that's where you get it."

"Get what?" I ask.

"How many times have you watched
Law and Order
?"

"Not a hundred."

"Uh-huh."

I tap her lightly. She smiles, playful, her face lighting up. There's such a warmth here. It's so perfect. I lean down and kiss Alyssa. For a moment, I feel like I'm floating.

Her eyes flutter open. "Does it still hurt?"

"I don't usually think about it."

Alyssa's eyes bore into mine. She's listening with such rapt attention. She actually wants to hear this.

"Yes," I say. "It hurts whenever I think about it. She never had a chance. She lived her whole life hiding her passion. And she did it all for me, because she didn't want me to grow up in a broken home."

"It's not your fault."

"She was thinking about divorcing my father. I overheard her on the phone with a friend once. But she wouldn't do it. She knew he'd fight for custody, just because he could. After not working for years--at my father's insistence--she'd have no way to support herself. She had no choice but to stay married to that asshole."

I feel Alyssa's fingertips on my cheeks. Her eyes are back on mine. It's such a caring expression. "That's why you're a divorce lawyer, isn't it? So you can be the person your mom needed?"

I nod. "I could get her a very generous settlement."

"Is that why you represent so many women?"

"Yeah. They need someone to look out for them for once. Someone to take care of them for once."

"Did you ever think that maybe you need someone to take care of you for once?"

"I didn't." I bring my hand to Alyssa's and press my fingertips into hers. "But I'm reconsidering."

"What was it like when she died?" she asks.

"It hit me so hard. I couldn't function for so long. I drowned myself in schoolwork. I took every class I could, went to every club I could, tried making friends with every person in the school. I was obnoxious. And, when I finally finished my homework at midnight, I would fall asleep to one of her favorite movies. It hurt so much, thinking about her while the images flashed on screen, but it was a good kind of hurt. Like pressing on a bruise. It was like she was still around."

"I'm so sorry," she says.

And I know she means it.

"This is the one I watched the most," I say. "It was her favorite, and I must have fallen asleep to it a hundred nights."

We settle onto the couch and we spend the next two hours wrapped in each other's arms, our attention on the screen.

And once again, I swear I could float.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Everything is perfect. Alyssa is here, in my apartment, and she's mine. We spend the night tangled up together. When we wake, the sun is shining bright in a cloudless sky. The air is sweet and salty.

She's here. She's mine. We could have this, every day, forever.

I fix her coffee. When she sees it she smiles like she's won the lottery. She slides her arms around my neck, presses her lips into mine. I close my eyes and soak in the feeling of her. The rest of our lives would be so irrelevant if we could hold on to this. We would have more happiness than most people dream of.

Her eyes find mine. She looks so comfortable, so damn happy. I want to ask if she's finally done with this space, if she's ready to come back and be mine again, but I hold my tongue.

I won't forgive myself if I scare her off.

She motions to the balcony and sets herself up on one of its lounge chairs. She has everything she needs--her coffee and her Kindle and, in a minute, me.

I fix a cup of tea and sit next to her. It's a warm day, but Alyssa shivers when the breeze passes over her arms.

"You want to borrow a sweater?"

She shakes her head. "Coffee is the only sweater I need."

"Then I guess I won't offer my shirt."

"You should have opened with that."

Our eyes connect and she smiles. There's a lightness to her right now. Like she's finally relaxed.

I take a deep breath. "I've been thinking."

"You look cute thinking."

"Do you still need space?"

She shakes her head. "I don't like being away from you."

The tension in my body releases.

"But I only want to do this if we're going to do it right." She looks down at her coffee and takes a long sip.

I turn my body towards hers. "What does right mean?"

"Well, um." She presses her fingers into the cup. Her eyes are still on the floor.

She's slipping, going somewhere else in her head. I can't let that happen. I need to keep her here.

"You know you can tell me anything," I say.

"It's just." She looks up. Her eyes are heavy. "I'm not sure how I'm going to handle this if you say no."

"What is it?"

She bites her lip. Looks at the ground again. "Did you think about what you want?"

"You know what I want. I want you."

She presses her eyes closed and takes another sip of her coffee. Then another. Hell, she downs most of the cup. Her gaze turns to my tea. She looks at me like she's asking permission to take it.

I hand her the mug and she holds it tightly.

"Ally, you're not inspiring me with confidence."

"Do you know what that means? What I expect that to mean?"

I swallow. It means I banish Samantha from my life. This is a choice, apparently, and I only get to pick one. Either I abandon my suicidal friend or I lose my girlfriend.

It's a hell of a choice.

Alyssa means so much more to me than Samantha does. Under any normal circumstance, I'd choose Alyssa every time. Everything I have with her is magic.

And it's not as if Samantha has been a good friend. She's manipulative and needy. Hell, she spent our entire romantic relationship lying to my face. Fucking my father behind my back.

She took up all the sadness when he died. Like it was hers. Like she had the right to it. Like I needed to be the one to comfort her.

I know all of this. I know she's been awful. Her threats might be empty. Her suicide attempts might be cries for my attention.

But what if they're not? There's no way I can sentence her to this life. There's no way I can step aside and allow her to kill herself.

Alyssa sighs. She shifts back in her seat, her attention on my cup of tea. "That's what I figured."

"No. It's not."

Her eyes find mine, but there's no hope in them. She's defeated. "So you're ready to end your friendship with her?"

"As soon as she's back on her feet."

Her eyes turn to the sky. "Does she know that?"

"She attempted suicide a few weeks ago. I'm trying to ease her into this."

"I bet." She shakes her head. Shifts back into her seat.

It's a beautiful day, but right now it feels ugly. This moment is hideous.

Alyssa's voice is harsh. Impatient. "I'll take that as a no."

"Ally..."

The color drains from her face. "You act like her boyfriend."

"That's not true."

She shakes her head. "You like being the person she needs. You're never going to stop. Not as long as you keep feeling needed."

I move towards her. I offer my hand but she ignores it. "Yes, in the past, I've appreciated feeling needed. But that isn't what is happening here."

"Right."

"It's not out of line that I'm worried she's going to kill herself."

Alyssa shifts out of her seat. She moves to the railing Presses her hands against it. "So what if I step over this railing and say the only thing that will keep me from jumping is if you tell Samantha to get lost... would that do it?"

"It's not like that."

She turns to face me. Her eyes are on fire. Her voice is demanding. "It's exactly like that."

"I trust you not to manipulate me."

"But she can manipulate you all she wants?"

I stand and grab Alyssa's wrists. She gasps, but she doesn't fight me.

I pull her closer, until she's only inches away. Her eyes find mine, scanning them like she'll find some answer.

"She's almost there," I say. "She has a job and a place to live. All I want to do is make sure she has someone she can call if things get bad."

Her eyes narrow. "It's called a therapist."

"Then I'll make sure she has a therapist. But you've been where she is. You know a therapist isn't going to be enough to convince her to get better."

She pushes me away. Hard. "Fuck you. I've never been where she is. She's in some kind of bullshit, made-up problems manipulation land. I never once tried to use my eating disorder for sympathy. Never."