The Pact(12)
“You know, maybe your mail order nurse is my birthday present to you.”
I cock a brow. “Then where’s the uniform?”
She sighs but relents, sitting down at the end of the couch by my feet. A strand of bronze hair falls across her cheekbone and I watch it for a few moments, wondering if she’ll brush it away. I don’t like how it obscures her face but she does that a lot, hiding behind her hair sometimes. Her face is so expressive, it makes her easy to read.
“What do you want to do?” I ask her, placing my calves and feet across her lap.
She stares down at them in mock disdain. “I’m not rubbing your feet if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not thinking anything. What do you want to watch? TV? I’ve got Simpsons on DVD, all seasons, American Horror Story, some weird shit staring Clive Owen.”
Steph turns her head to look at me and gives me a curious glance. It’s only then that I realize that she knows exactly what I have – she’s been to my flat a million times before and we’ve had many DVD marathon sessions. It’s just James isn’t here now and I guess I’m babbling on like a fool.
I immediately reach for the tea in an attempt to busy myself. If the bottle of Nyquil was out here, I’d probably do another shot.
“Let’s see what’s on TV,” she says, picking up the remote and going through the channels. I stare at her hands, small and soft, her dark green iridescent nail polish applied with such precision. She’s such a chameleon with her hair, I wonder if she’s ever had it that color. Who knows what colors it was before I met her. Even though I’ve known her for years, there so much I don’t know yet about her and so much that I want to discover.
After a few moments I ask, “So have you found a building yet?”
She tears her eyes off a flashy infomercial. “Building?”
“For your store.”
She blinks a few times. “Oh. No.”
“Steph…” I begin.
“What?”
“Let me help you.”
Her brow furrows delicately. “Help me?”
I sigh and sit up. “Yes, help you. What’s holding you back from this? Time, money? I can help you with both of those.”
She lets out a small, acidic laugh. “No, you can’t. And even if you could, it’s not the problem.”
“Then what is the problem?”
She looks back at the TV, turning the remote over and over in her hands. “I don’t know. But I know I’m supposed to figure it out on my own.” She rubs her lips together and finally pushes that strand of hair behind her ears. “Why is it out of everyone I know, you’re the only one who asks me about this?”
I cock my head. “Am I?”
She nods. “Yeah. My parents still think it’s some wild dream, everyone else just nods politely when I tell them I want to open my own business. But you’re the only who keeps asking about it, keeps pushing me to do it.”
“Well I guess we all need that person in our life, to remind us what we can do,” I tell her honestly. “I think you’re better than managing some clothing store that sells outfits that only some androgynous character on SNL would wear. You should have your own store. You care about clothes, you’re great with people, even with the ones you hate. You have great style, taste…” I pause. “I think it would make you happy. You deserve to be happy.”
She swallows and stares at me for a long beat. I hope my eyes are conveying everything that I just said, because I believe it. Stephanie is ambitious, strong and smart – she can go far. She just needs the right push and for someone to push her.
I want to be that someone.
It’s kind of amazing though that I’m the only one she has for that. It’s part flattering, part aggravating. What about James? When they were together, didn’t he encourage her to go for her dreams? After all, he ended up a small business owner himself. What about her other boyfriends, or friends? Didn’t they care, didn’t they see her potential?
She turns her attention back to the television without saying anything else. After a few minutes she settles on the Disney movie Up. It’s clear that she hasn’t seen it before, so I don’t tell her that I have and that it’s not exactly light-hearted fun.
It’s not long before the terribly tragic montage scene at the start of film is pulling at my heart strings and making me ache for the characters. Look, I can be a macho man and all, but that poor, old cartoon man always does a number on me. I’m surprised though to hear a sniff and look over at Steph to see tears streaming down her cheeks.