Out of Nowhere(69)
He stops me from saying anything with a thumb to my mouth. “I know you couldn’t—that you already had plans. Family obligations. I respect that. And it’s not the point. It’s that I don’t know if you’ll ever be there. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to go out to dinner with you or… go on vacation with you or….”
He’s obviously sincere, but it’s kind of hard not to bristle at what’s basically a list of all the ways that I’m failing to live up to Rafe’s standards.
“I didn’t expect to feel this way,” he says, his voice more vulnerable than I’ve heard it. “I didn’t know that I wanted those things. Or, I didn’t think about it. Didn’t let myself think about them because I didn’t think—anyway. I know it hasn’t been that long. I’m not saying I need those things right now. But I want them. In the future. And”—his voice gets softer—“and you don’t think much about the future.”
“I—” I’m caught between relief that Rafe isn’t ending things and the sudden choking anxiety that his words bring. I guess it’s true that I don’t think about the future much. I’ve never had anything to look forward to, so there didn’t seem much point. Lately, though….
“I… um. We can go to dinner at your family’s. I—that sounds good, okay?” That’s what he wants, right? And it wouldn’t be in public where anyone could see. I can give him that if it means things will stop being so awkward.
He nods, but he doesn’t look happy. “Okay. I’d like that.”
He’s clearly waiting for something more, but I don’t know how to make promises about the future. Not when, for the first time, the present finally feels almost… okay.
“I don’t—I don’t know what you want me to say,” I mumble.
Rafe shakes his head. “I don’t know either.”
“I… I don’t want to tell them,” I choke out. Because that’s what he really means, isn’t it? Even if he says it’s not the point. I think about what I told Anders when he came to the shop. About how his personal shit is no one’s business and how it’s not worth making your life miserable just to tell people about it.
“I’m not asking you to do that,” Rafe says sternly. “I’ve never asked for that. It’s your family and your decision.”
“Okay, so then….”
“All I mean is, there’s a huge part of you that’s a secret to all the people you care about. And that means you can’t think about what the future will be like. You’re suspended in the present. Getting through each day without anyone finding out about you. Running hard enough that you feel okay. Drinking enough that you forget about the world long enough to fall asleep and wake up to a new day. Only it’s the same thing then, too.”
My life in his words makes me want to puke. Because he’s right: that’s how I feel most of the time. But… not when I’m with him.
“And I understand that. Truly.” He brushes his thumb over my lips. “It’s how I got clean. You need to focus only on the present moment so you can get through it. But… that’s not where I am anymore. I’ve already gotten through enough days. It’s all I did for so long. And now… I try to work toward things instead. Build things. With social justice work, with YA. It’s what I need to do. And it’s… it’s what I want for us.”
I pull away from him as anger shoots through me. Now he tells me these things? I feel like I just spent months building an entire car out of scraps and Rafe is now telling me that he wants me to build a truck instead.
It’s taken me a long fucking time to admit to myself that I want him. That I want him in my life, in my house, in my bed. And he’s saying, what? That those things don’t matter because I haven’t thought about going on vacation with him? What the fuck? I want to hit him.
“So, what? What do you want me to do? What do you want me to be working toward?”
“I don’t know, babe,” he says, his voice infuriatingly calm. “Only you can answer that.”
“What the hell, Rafe! Are you a fortune cookie or something? I—you—we—what the fuck do you want from me?” I’m yelling and he’s still, watching me impassively. “I’ve already—fuck!—I’ve already let you do everything to me. What else can I do?”
He’s up like a shot, fury I’ve never seen blazing in his expression. “Stop right there. I haven’t done anything that you didn’t want. I would never!” He looks offended. Outraged. Like he cares more about seeming beyond reproach than about what I’m actually saying.