The Good Life Part 17

"I see."

"I wanted to tell you, but you were off somewhere avoiding me." I smiled to let him know I wasn't mad.

"I wasn't avoiding you," he insisted. "I just needed some s.p.a.ce to get you out of me."

"Get me out of you?" I repeated.

"Like a detox," he explained. "Or I guess a de-Rox."

I laughed and looked up from the peppers on my cutting board. "That's funny. But you don't need to de-Rox just because I'm moving. It won't be like last time. We'll still be friends, and you can visit whenever you want."

"It was more the idea of you I needed to get out of my head," he said honestly. "Ever since you came back, I've been thinking we might get a second chance. I thought once everything was done with your divorce, it would finally be the right time for us. Now I know it's not happening. So I took a few days off, got rid of the idea and I'm ready to help you pack. What is this steak soaking in? It smells good enough to eat right out of the bowl."

My stomach turned at the thought of eating raw meat and possibly e-coli. Or maybe it was him telling me he'd help me pack that made me feel sick. "What do you mean you're ready to help me pack?" I was officially in defensive mode. "You're in a hurry to get me out of here? It's going to be a few weeks. Maybe more."

He shrugged again and looked nonchalant. "I'm not in a hurry. I'm just over it. Stay as long as you want. All I'm saying is when you're ready to go as your friend I'll help you."

Maybe he wasn't trying to start a fight. Maybe I was being too sensitive. But he was p.i.s.sing me off. I set my knife down on the cutting board with enough force to make my peppers jump a little.

He sat up straighter and stopped threading. "Something wrong, friend?" he asked.

"Stop calling me that!" I ordered. "And I'm glad you're over it because there was never going to be a right time for us anyway!"

"Dude," he said calmly. "Chill the f.u.c.k out. I'm working with what I have here. Do you want me to be friendly, or would you rather I stay upstairs and cry into my pillow?"

I scowled and fought the urge to pick up the knife again because an angry woman should never hold a knife. "No, Jake. I want you to be friendly, not sarcastic. And I don't believe for a second you would cry over me because you'll move on to the next girl like you always do. There's always going to be a next girl, and that's exactly why there's NEVER going to be AN US!"

I looked up toward the ceiling and took a deep breath. I hadn't meant to raise my voice and get all out of control. Now I was embarra.s.sed and wished I could take it back because I revealed way too much in that dramatic outburst.

Jake looked stunned for a second. He dropped the piece of steak and wooden skewer he'd been holding.

"What do you mean, baby?" His face looked wounded and his voice sounded just as hurt.

He called me baby. I could tell he hadn't meant to. It was a slip, but it sounded like he was my boyfriend or something. I really liked it. If I could close my eyes and pretend for a few moments there was an us that Jake only wanted me and I would never have to worry about a pretty Shot Girl catching his eye and pulling him away in those few moments I would be happier than I'd ever been. But it was a fantasy world, not the one we lived in.

I bit my lip to distract me because I could feel tears starting to form behind my eyes.

I shook my head and went back to cutting the peppers before I changed my mind and grabbed the onion instead. I could use the onion as an excuse if the floodgates cracked.

"Nothing," I said quietly. "I can finish this if you have something to do."

"What are you talking about? Why did you say that?" He wasn't going to let it go.

I rolled my eyes at his playing-dumb game. Good, get mad again, I told myself. Mad is a better weapon than sad. "I'm not blind, Jake. I watched you move from fling to fling all through high school, all through college, and I know you were the same after I moved. You don't do relationships. When it comes to anything serious, you're a dead-end road. Forgive me if I'm not willing to change my entire life to be your flavor of the month so you can toss me aside as soon as someone dumber and blonder comes along."

He was quiet for what seemed like a really long time as he stared into the bowl of steak. "Is that really what you think?" he asked quietly. "Or are you using that as an excuse to push me away?"

"I don't think it. I know it."

"You know for sure what I'm going to do in the future? How is that possible?"

"What is it they say?" I asked him. "A leopard doesn't change its spots, right? Look, I don't blame you for the way you are. I think it's probably because of your parents that you have a fear of intimacy but "

"A fear of intimacy?" he asked loudly. "Are you f.u.c.king kidding me right now, Roxie? Did you seriously just accuse me of being the one in this room with a fear of intimacy?" He threw his head back in angry laughter. "Oh, G.o.d. That's rich."

He pushed off the island and turned to leave the room.

I set the knife down again, wiped my hand on my ap.r.o.n and went after him. "I'm over it, too!" I yelled. "We can't even be in the same room for five minutes before we're taking off our clothes or arguing. Or both at the same time. That isn't normal. It's f.u.c.ked up!"

He turned around so fast I b.u.mped into him, and we collided in the hallway. But I didn't stop yelling.

"This isn't an Eminem video!" I continued. "Maybe you like the drama, but I'm done with it! And you better believe I'll be out of this house as soon as I can! And I WON'T need help packing, but thanks anyway!"

He put his face so close to mine our noses almost touched. "Good," he said. He touched the corner of my bottom lip and traced it with his finger. Then he traced the top lip. When he was done, he raised his eyes to meet mine.

The intensity in his eyes made me hope he would kiss me. What the h.e.l.l is wrong with me? How can I be turned on right now?

"Good," he said again. "Then you can marry another guy you don't love because you're afraid of being hurt, and you can live the rest of your life in mediocrity."

That was enough to clear away my desire. I pushed him out of my way and ran up the stairs to my bedroom. I hate him.

A little while later I heard the patio door below my bedroom window open and close. I peeked out and saw Jake in the backyard turning on the gas grill. The SOB was going to cook my kabobs without me! UGH, whatever! I wasn't hungry anymore anyway.

I changed into my pajamas, climbed into bed and crawled under my down comforter where I was safe from Jake and his insults.

I was just starting to drift off to sleep when I heard music from out back. "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel.

I heard my phone beep. I figured it was Jake, and I wanted to ignore it, but curiosity got the best of me, and I looked at the text.

JAKE: Look out your window.

I got out of bed and did as he said, expecting to see him standing out there with a boom box held up over his head like the popular scene from Say Anything.

I was close. There wasn't a boom box, but he was holding the speaker from his phone out to me as an olive branch.

It took everything I had in me to keep a straight face. If I laughed, he would think I'd forgiven him, and that was far from true.

When he saw me looking, he put the speaker down and started texting My phone beeped again.

JAKE: Have dinner with me?

I didn't want to have anything with him, but I couldn't let someone else eat the meat I'd been marinating for an entire day.

I closed the curtains, put on a zip-up hoodie and left my room. I stopped in the bathroom and looked in the mirror. My hair was a mess and my mascara was smeared from crying; I didn't even have a bra on. I went downstairs anyway. Why? Because f.u.c.k him, that's why!

He was standing at the grill, placing the kabobs onto a plate, when I stepped outside. The patio table was set up very nicely. There was a candle in the center, a gla.s.s of wine for me and a bottle of beer for him. The volume on the speaker was turned down, but still played eighties music. It was all a sweet gesture. But he was still a jerk.

He looked up from the grill and waved his hand at the plate of kabobs and said, "I cooked."

"Thanks," I said, my voice as flat as could be. There was no emotion left in me. I was tired of the emotions tired of this whole screwed up relationship. I thought I could move back to New York, and we could still be friends, but I knew now I'd thought wrong. Jake and I couldn't be friends. Not in any city.

I walked over to the table and sat down. He had made a simple salad to go with the kabobs. I was impressed.

He brought the plate over, set it on the patio table, and sat down across from me.

I tried the chicken first (incredible), then the steak (unbelievable), then the veggies that Jake had finished on his own. They were also good.

"I'm gonna miss this," he said as he licked his fingers clean.

"Yeah, I guess it's back to frozen pizzas for you two," I said dryly.

"Guess so," he agreed. "But I was talking about hanging out with you, not the food."

I didn't know why he'd want to hang out with a gold-digger who ran away from her problems, tried too hard to impress people, cared too much about what other people thought and had a fear of intimacy that would lead her to a life of mediocrity ... but I didn't say that. I didn't have any fight left in me. I wanted to eat and get back in bed.

"Tell me about this cooking school," he said to break the uncomfortable silence.

"I'm not going to sit here and talk to you like everything is normal, Jake. Not anymore. I'm tired of pushing things aside to try to get along with you. We shouldn't have to try this hard."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I could grab them and reel them back in. The look on his face left no doubt I'd hurt him, and I felt bad about it, even after the things he said earlier. The two of us had issues, but Jake was truly a good guy and didn't deserve any of this.

He swallowed like he was getting ready to say something important, but I think he changed his mind. "Okay," he said. "We don't have to pretend anything, but I didn't want this food to go to waste."

"Thank you for finishing it for me," I said quietly.

"Sure."

We ate the rest of the meal in an awkward silence. When we were done I stood up and started clearing our dirty plates, and we both went inside. While he wrapped up the leftovers and put them in the fridge, I rinsed our plates and put them in the dishwasher.

"I'm going to bed early tonight," I told him when I was finished. "But thanks again for dinner. I really mean it."

He closed the refrigerator door and turned around to look at me. "I'm in love with you, Roxie."

I didn't even know what to say to that. I just shook my head.

"The reason I didn't have girlfriends was because I didn't want to waste my time on the wrong ones. I've known who I wanted all along. If you think I'm some kind of womanizer, you're wrong. I don't want an endless string of one night stands. I want you. Only you."

I sighed. Those were nice words and all. He may even mean them right now. But that's the thing. People always want what they don't have and when they get it they're like, what the f.u.c.k is this s.h.i.t? I couldn't fall for that.

"Jake, you can't want me," I insisted. "You don't even know me. You said yourself you don't know the New York me, and this me is a phony."

"That's an ironic thing to say. I was thinking it was the other way around."

"I have to go upstairs and get something. I'll be right back."

I ran up to my room and pulled my folded up Good Life List out of my purse and ran back down to the kitchen. I unfolded it and handed it to him.

I watched his face as he read over the now wrinkly and check-marked piece of notebook paper. He didn't seem surprised or mad. He actually seemed a bit entertained.

"Everything I did this summer," I explained, "was on the list. It wasn't really me. All the fun things I did, they were Hope's ideas, not mine. You don't love me, Jake. That girl that hula hoops in the grocery store is not me."

"You think I'm telling you this right now because you played with a hula hoop?" he asked, like it was the most obscene idea I'd ever had. He set the Good Life List down on the island and touched the side of my face with his hand.

Why does he have to do that? It makes my heart fall straight to the floor every time!

"I've loved you since I was ten," he explained, "and you found me under that table in your living room the one with all of the plants. Remember?"

I nodded slowly.

"Girls were gross back then, so I thought I loved you like a sister. It wasn't until we were in high school when I realized you weren't gross. You were actually kind of amazing. But at the same time, you were too important for me to lose. I knew I couldn't tell you how I felt until I was ready, really ready for you. And that's why I'm telling you now."

This was it, the climax of my movie. Those were the words I'd been waiting to hear since I was a little girl. I didn't know what to say to him. I sighed again and closed my eyes so I could really enjoy the moment.

Jake slowly traced his finger down my neck, past my collarbone and then across the top of my shirt. I squeezed my eyes shut and hoped I wasn't literally melting.

Do you remember that summer?" he asked, and I knew then that he remembered everything the way I did. I knew he had all kinds of images from that summer flashing in his head, just the way I still did all the time.

"That summer," he said again, "when you were finally mine, I knew you were the only one I'd ever need."

"But you said " I interrupted.

He put his finger on my lips to quiet me. "I know what I said. I said I didn't want to long-distance it. Nine months wasn't a long time for me. I'd already been waiting so long, nine months was nothing. I didn't want to turn what we had, which I thought was pretty f.u.c.king awesome, into something that caused us both stress. I didn't want to be that 'boyfriend from home,' like I was a liability to you."

I'd had a few friends in college that had a "boyfriend from home" and Jake was right they were a liability. My friends had to make sure they called every night by a certain time or the guys would freak out. If the boyfriends didn't call by a certain time, my friends would freak out. It was just another task to check off the list. Paid the phone bill Check. Studied for Psych test Check. Called the boyfriend Check. Those girls had very little fun when they were being good girlfriends, and nothing but grief when they were bad. I totally understood what Jake was saying. All this time I thought he didn't like me enough to deal with it, but he had been trying to spare me the bulls.h.i.t.

"I still don't really understand why you didn't come back to me," he continued, "but I forgive you for it. Maybe this was how it was meant to happen. Maybe we weren't ready then. I don't know. But I do know I love you. Whether or not " he picked up the Good Life List again and scanned it quickly, " you play in the rain or wear underwear."

If this was a movie, there would be no questioning. I would jump into his arms, and we'd share a really gross kiss. Our mouths would be wide open like we were trying to eat each other's faces off, and our heads would move from side to side every two seconds. The credits would roll to the tune of a dramatic, but catchy, love song performed by the runner-up of the latest reality show talent compet.i.tion.

It would be a.s.sumed we lived happily-ever-after, but no one would ever know for sure. Because the movie would be over. The movie always ends when the characters finally get together. There's a reason for that it's because n.o.body wants to sit in a theatre and watch petty arguing and boring s.e.x scenes (ahem, Jason Segal and Emily Blunt). If the real Hollywood screenwriters couldn't come up with something good, and some of the best actors couldn't make it entertaining, how could we?

I started to feel like I was being backed into a corner. All this time I had been able to scurry on by and pretend this thing between us was just for fun. I could pretend I didn't love him, and that I couldn't tell he loved me, too. But when he said it out loud like that, there was no way I could pretend anymore. If we were still kids, I could put my hands over my ears and sing lalalalanotlisteningtoyou. If we were drunk, I could pretend to black out and not remember it tomorrow. But I wasn't a little kid, and I only had one gla.s.s of wine, and even I couldn't think of a way to avoid this conversation without being painfully obvious about it.

That was probably exactly what he was expecting me to do, right? That's what the girl who runs away would do. Should I do what was expected of me because it was the easiest way out? Or punish myself by sticking around just to prove him wrong? Was the risk worth the reward in either scenario?

He lifted the few strands of hair that fell in front of my eye and pushed them to the side. "I know what you're doing," he said with a crooked grin.

"What am I doing?" I asked. I wasn't even sure what I was doing.

"You're trying to figure out a way to get out of this conversation without putting me in a position to say 'I told ya so,'" he replied.

He was right.

"Look," he said. "Baby, you don't have to say anything, okay?"

He called me baby again! d.a.m.n he was making this hard on me!

"You can run if you need to," he continued, "but I let you leave before without telling you how I felt. When you didn't come back, I wondered if things could have been different. I don't want to have to wonder again if I didn't do enough. Know what I mean?"