Chapter seven

A week passed before I agreed to see him. Seven days of silence. Seven mornings of waking up determined not to think about him, and seven nights of losing that battle.When he called again, his voice was careful, low, uncertain, like someone approaching a wounded animal.

“I just want to talk,” he said. “Please.”

And maybe it was foolish, but part of me wanted to hear what he would say when he didn’t have the distance of a phone line to hide behind. So I said yes. I told myself it was closure I needed. But the truth was simpler. I missed him.

I refused to meet at his house. So I picked a small café not far from Pilsen. I made sure he arrived before me I only left my house when he texted saying he had arrived at the café. He stood up when I walked in.

“You look…”

 I stopped him right there. “Don’t.”

He smiled faintly, like he deserved that. We sat, a hot cup of coffee and glazed cinnamon rolls already served. He remembered what I liked, of course. He always remembered the details that didn’t matter. Then, I said.

“You said you wanted to talk. So talk.”

 He  nodded, looked down for a moment, then met my eyes. “I don’t want to lose you. That’s the truth.”

His declaration warmed my heart a little. “Then what do you want?” I asked quietly.

He hesitated. “I just want you, I still don’t want to do casual. We have a connection. Let’s just go back to how things were..”

I stared at him. “You mean without commitment.”

 He  sighed. “Labels are unnecessarily what matters is how we feel about each other.”

“And how exactly do you feel about me?” I asked.

“I like you a lot.”

 Not what I was hoping to hear.

 “Not love?” I asked fiddling with my hands.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I’ve been through it. Marriage, lawyers, custody, all of it. I’m not doing that again. So I’m not going to sit here and make promises I can’t keep. I enjoy our time together, I enjoy what we have.”

 I took a sip of my coffee.  “And what am I supposed to be?” I asked. “Something that fits around the life and family you’ve built for yourself?”

It’s not that I wanted him to get me hitched. I’m not the marrying type anyway. I just wanted some form of reassurance, that I won’t be swept aside, after investing my emotions into what we have. The truth was, I might be in love with him, and the thought of him with another woman is poison to my heart. But there’s no way I was  blatantly admitting that to him like some love sick puppy. He reached over the table to hold my hands and said,

“you’re already in my life.”

I smiled. There and then, I knew exactly what I was going to do.

After that dinner, I decided I wasn’t going to store all my eggs in one basket. I would keep Crest around, but I was taking back my efforts. I would keep my options open. I don’t see why I should commit to him when he going around with arm candies. Thankfully, work got busier. And somewhere in between, the chopping, the cooking and plating, I started socializing and saying yes again. To invitations, to company, to men who looked at me with curiosity. None of them were serious. A wine bar with a music journalist. A walk along the lake with a teacher, Dinner with a man who owned a bookstore and asked about my favorite childhood meal. They were all kind and uncomplicated. Although, I hate to admit that none of these men compared to Crest, but I was having fun.

Crest and I still had our thing going on. Except now I didn’t jump at every of his invitation or return his calls every time I missed it. I kept it simple, just like he wanted. Cherry had asked me severally why I didn’t just walk away. Well, feelings just don’t disappear. Regardless of our situation, I found comfort knowing I still had him in my life. As twisted as that sounds.

I had just gotten home from a food festival I attended with Steve. He works in finance, boyish and cute. He was also good company, funny and observant. He once said I make cooking look like performance arts, when he watched me cook for his colleague’s baby shower, which he recommended my services for. Tonight had been our second date. I was getting out of my clothes when my phone rang. Crest, I let it ring twice before picking up.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said, that familiar baritone smooth but edged.

 “Well, hello to you too. I’ve been busy.”  I replied, now leaning against my kitchen counter.

“With work?”

 I grabbed a bottle of water. “With life.”

A beat of silence.

“You’re seeing someone?”

 I hesitated, just long enough for him to hear it. “I’ve been going out, yes.”

“With who?”  

“Does it matter?” I asked.

He laughed once. Short, sharp.

“When can I see you Sasha?”

Hearing him call my name like that made me weak in the knees. “I’d let you know when, I’ve got work.”

I could almost hear his jaw tighten through the line.

 He exhaled. “I’ll be waiting then.”

A week later, I was working at a private dinner I was contracted for. It was in a penthouse in River North, city lights glittering like coins through the glass. I was plating dessert when I felt it, that unmistakable pull in the air. He was standing near the balcony, talking to the host. Suit, open collar, that same calm control he wore like an armor. Our eyes met. Just for a second, enough to make my pulse stutter. He didn’t approach me right away,  just watched, waiting for me to acknowledge him. When I didn’t, he moved closer, slow, deliberate.

“Didn’t know you were working this event,” He said.

I immediately had a feeling he recommended me for the event, but I didn’t need to ask him that.

“I didn’t know you’d be attending.”  I replied without looking up from the plate.

He gave me a tight smile. “Who’s the guy?”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “The one you’ve been seeing, who’s he?”

 I laughed softly. “You really want to talk about that? Here?”

He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “You think I don’t notice what you’re doing?”

I  looked around making sure we weren’t pulling any attention to ourselves, this was my job.

I looked at him innocently, “what am I doing?”

He looked at me, unflinching. “Why are you trying to punish me? After we had that conversation, I thought you understood me, and we were on the same page. You’ve been avoiding me, going on silly dates—“

 I stopped him. “This is neither the place nor time for this. We’re going to talk when I’m finished here.”

For a long moment, we just stood there, the air between us sharp with everything unspoken.

He nodded and walked away.

It was almost midnight by the time I was done. I found him by the balcony, looking contemplative. I gave him a weak smile.

“You look tired, let me take you home please.” He said.

Something about the way he said it had me nodding. We kept stealing glances at each other on the ride to my apartment. When we arrived, I invited him in. I opened the door and walked in, he followed behind. He walked in slowly, glancing around the apartment. It didn’t look as bad as it used to. I renovated a bit. New rug, no more peeling paint, the tiles were still cracked, the single lamp on. He looked so out of place here. When he sat on the rickety couch, I couldn’t help but wince internally.

 “Umm I don’t have any wine in the fridge at the moment, can I get you a glass of water?”

“Water is fine.” He said.

I went into the kitchen, seconds later, I was handing him a glass of water.  He took a sip and placed the glass cup on the table.

The silence felt like the pause between lightning and thunder. Minutes stretched, we didn’t speak. The quiet between us wasn’t tense,  it was the kind that hums with things waiting to be said. Then, he leaned back in the chair and saidalmost to himself.

 “Three  years, that’s how long it lasted.”

 I looked at him unsure if he wanted me to ask what he was talking about. He looked at his hands and continued.

“Three  years with a woman I would’ve died for. And I almost did, just slower.”

He laughed softly then, a sound with no joy in it. I realized he was talking about his ex wife. That was the first time he was talking about her.

“She was beautiful, you know? In the way that makes you stupid. She walked into a room, and you forgot what you were mad about.” He continued. “she  was reckless. Brilliant. The kind of person who thought consequences were for other people. I loved that about her. I loved everything about her. I built a life around her like a fool who thought love was enough structure to hold anything.”

For a minute there I was jealous of her. But I looked at him solemnly and listened.

He paused, swallowed. “Turns out it’s not.”

He went on, voice quieter now.

 “The first time she cheated, I forgave her. Told myself it was a mistake, that people mess up when they’re scared. She cried, said it meant nothing. I wanted to believe her so badly I convinced myself I did.”

He looked so vulnerable,  I immediately felt sorry for him

 He smiled without warmth. “But once you open that door, it doesn’t close. You start checking phones, listening for tone changes, memorizing the way she says ‘I love you’ just to hear if it sounds different.”

His eyes were fixed on me now, glassy with memories.

 “I kept forgiving her because I didn’t know how to stop loving her. That was the worst part. You think anger will save you, but it doesn’t. Love just keeps rotting quietly underneath.”  He continued. “Different men, same  excuses. And this time, she didn’t even cry. She just looked at me and said, ‘You deserve someone steadier.’”

He let out a long breath, almost a sigh.

 “The night she finally walked out, I begged her to stay, groveled like a dog. I asked her to think about the kids. She said she was in love with someone else. That’s when I knew she had been done for a long time.”

  He turned to me then, eyes softer but wrecked. “She wasn’t evil. She was just… selfish . So, yeah, the marriage was a sham, but only because I built it on the idea that love could fix what was broken in her, and in me.”

It hurt me to see how broken he was. I felt so guilty for assuming the worst of him. Then he looked down, voice barely a whisper.

“That’s why I get defensive with you, you make me want to believe again. And I don’t trust myself belief anymore.”

I didn’t know what to say. There are moments when comfort feels like an insult. So I didn’t reach for him. I just sat there, watching the way be tried to control his breathing, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the muscle in his jaw that kept tightening and releasing. He took another sip of his water.

 I gave him a minute and then said. “She hurt you and you’re worried I would do the same?”

 He smiled sadly. “No, I’m afraid I’ll ruin you trying not to repeat her.” That was the most honest thing he’d ever admitted to me.

I looked at him, the ache in my chest almost unbearable.

 “I’m in love with you.”

The words came out unpolished, cracked, but true.

“That’s the beginning and the end of it. I’ve been in love with you from the start. While you were deciding what you could handle, I was already there.”

He went still. His throat worked like he was trying to find air. He opened his mouth to say something then closed it.  

“You don’t have to say or  promise anything. I don’t need a future tied with a bow. I just needed to you know how I truly felt. You don’t have to love me back or feel pressured.”

 I moved from where I leaned against the wall and I sat beside him. Neither of us spoke.The silence wasn’t healing, but it was honest. He didn’t tell me he loved me, he didn’t have to. It was there,  in the way he looked at me like he wished he were braver. And that night, I realized that love isn’t always a declaration.

We  drifted into a silence that wasn’t uncomfortable, just dense. I reheated leftovers,  pasta, something simple and we  ate sitting on the couch, Every now and then, he’d glance at me, like he was trying to memorize me in this ordinary setting. Bare feet, hair loose, bowl in hand. When the dishes were done and the lights dimmed, he stayed sitting on the couch. I could tell he wasn’t ready to leave. He looked around, my small  bookshelf with cookbooks stacked sideways, the half-burned candle on the counter, the wall with a few uneven picture frames. The smallness of it didn’t seem to bother him. He motioned for he to sit on his laps  and in an instant I was moving. I straddled him and closed the distance between us. He groaned, tilting my head sideways to gain assess to my neck.  His hands roving all over my body like a starved man who couldn’t get enough. He was back to kissing my lips again. He only broke it to ask me what direction my room was. He carefully stood up, lifting me up with this hands behind my thighs. In an instant, I was laying on my not so soft mattress. It was small but we made it work. In that moment, I belonged to him, and he was mine. Nothing else mattered.

The morning unfolded slowly, unhurried, soft around the edges. The air carried the faint scent of his cologne and the warmth of two people who hadn’t slept much but didn’t mind. Lying on his back, one arm over his eyes, the other resting loosely beside me. His breathing was even. I didn’t move right away. I just watched him, the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the small furrow between his brows even in sleep. I got up, pulled on a robe, and padded into the kitchen. The floorboards creaked under my feet, and I thought, absently, that I should fix that soon. The sound didn’t wake him. I got started on coffee, then brought out what I needed for breakfast. I was almost done when I turned and he was leaning in the doorway, barefoot, hair tousled, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

“Morning chef. It  smells amazing in here.”

 I chuckled and handed him a cup of coffe, he took it with one hand and pulled me closer with the other, kissed my cheeks, nose, forehead, eyes and lips. I couldn’t help the sheepish smile now plastered on my face. We ate breakfast  on the small kitchen table. As we ate, he told me about his kids and what they were like. He looked unguarded. After breakfast, he left to prepare for a work presentation. I didn’t care that he hadn’t said he loved me back, him opening up to me the way he did last night was enough. At least for now.