Anyway, I figure it can’t hurt. Everyone needs to eat.
We stake a claim at one of the tiny bistro tables in front of Delia’s shop. She hates non-customers sitting at them, but since the bakery is closed for the evening it doesn’t much matter. I want a quiet place for us to have this conversation, and the rest of the tables are empty. It’s quiet but we’re on a public street, in case things enter catastrophic territory.
If it wasn’t clear before that we’re both nervous, the fact that nobody’s talking sure brings it home. Minutes pass where the only sounds are the crunching of nachos and the creak of Styrofoam as we poke around with plastic forks.
“Thanks for bringing food.”
At last. She speaks.
I don’t say that, because I’m not stupid. Instead I say, “I left off the onions. Know you don’t like them.”
“That’s thoughtful. Thanks.” She smiles and puts a hand on mine. I’m hoping I can keep it there.
These last few days have been confusing. I’ve missed her.
I’m not thoughtful. I’m hoping I can buy my way into her good graces with shredded pork and nacho cheese. Most fucked-up olive branch in the history of anything.
“Hey. I try.” Whatever. I’m about to get my ass handed over. I’ll take what I can get right now.
She pushes the almost-empty box of nachos away. “I don’t like all this buildup. I’ve been worrying about what you think you need to say so much. Whatever this is can’t be so bad.”
It’s bad. It’s not Davidson-Banes-on-the mat bad, but it’s something I’m ashamed of. I haven’t told anyone.
She slides her chair around the little round table, putting her knees against mine. I almost can’t take what I see when I stare straight into her eyes. All that... Jesus, it looks a hell of a lot like adoration. It’s more than I deserve.
“You know, I think you’re the only person I’ve honestly trusted. I never thought I’d be able to do this. Trust someone. Love someone.”
Love someone. Shit. Two words never sounded so good and so scary at the same time. I know I feel the same way. I’ve known since the morning we first made love. I haven’t said anything because I couldn’t. Because of this moment right here. I can’t say it until I know for sure how she feels, after everything is out.
“I’m just afraid I can’t,” I tell her. “I can’t be good enough to be that guy for you.”
“Because you don’t love me?” She straightens in her chair, watching some folks pass on their way into Joe’s as day slips into evening. “I wanted to tell you, that’s all. Before this shit hits your proverbial fan. I didn’t expect you to say it back.”
She’s trying to act like she’s not hurt, but she is. I press our cheeks together, kissing the corner of her eye where I see hints of moisture. “Baby, I’ve never felt like this about anyone. I do love you. And I know you deserve better.”
“Then let me decide. Rip off the scab. Tell me.”
“So this is where you’ve been hiding. Christ almighty, Jackson, could you make it a little more impossible?”
Hearing Mariana’s voice again rings through me like a drill to the head. I wish for it to be a figment of my imagination, but the way my blood sours at the high tone, I know it’s not. Anyway, before I look up to register her face, I see a pair of shiny, expensive-looking shoes in front of us on the sidewalk.
I don’t answer. She won’t go away until I say something, but I’m not ready to give her the satisfaction. I need to do something though, because Cassie asks, “Who’s Jackson?”
I keep my lips by her ear. Whispering, “It’s me. I changed my name when I left home.”
She nods. “She’s just standing there.”
“I know,” I whisper in Cassie’s ear. “She’ll stand there until I talk to her. Just listen, no matter what she says, I care about you. In ways I never thought I possibly could, okay? That matters so much more than I know how to tell you.”
I think she gets it. I hope she does.
We break apart, and I turn to face my scowling stepmother. “Why are you here? Fuck that. How are you here?” It’s like Dante said, I’m no CIA agent. I did go to some effort to hide.
She puts her hands on her hips. “Please. People can find anything for enough money. And why do you think, Jackson? I’ve tried calling. Your father sent messages. You didn’t exactly make it easy.”
Damn, this bitch has a lot of nerve after what she did. “I wasn’t trying to.” I tighten my grip on Cassie’s hand, because I can see the nervous way she’s looking at Mariana. Part of me is tempted to tell her to leave, so she doesn’t get any of my stepmother’s crazy on her.