Without our mother present, Natalie and Camille gang up on me, determined to get to the bottom of my social life.
"We know you're seeing someone Kel," Camille says. "We've seen you texting."
"Yeah, and you keep changing the subject when we start talking about people in L.A. Since you don't go out, it must be someone from the pub. Who it is? The bartender?" Natalie asks.
"Or the bouncer?" Camille offers.
They wait, staring at me expectantly, as if a couple of questions will suddenly open me up. I take a long sip of my drink and say, "I have no idea what you are talking about. I'm not dating anyone at the pub."
Natalie and Camille exchange dubious looks and try a different tack.
"Who was the last guy you kissed?" Natalie asks.
"What?" I ask, flummoxed. "Why would you ask that? What does it matter?"
"Just tell us," Camille says. "Fine, you aren't dating anyone. We believe you. But perhaps you've slept with someone? Tell us, who's the last guy you kissed?"
"I'm not telling you anything," I say. I don't say it with as much conviction as before and my sisters hear it. Damn Schnapps!
"Come on, Sis," Camille cajoles. "It's not good to keep all of this bottled up. Tell us. Share."
I shake my head at them, feeling my resolve slipping. "It doesn't matter who he is. He's not interested in a relationship and there's no way I can force one on him."
"Aha!" Natalie exclaims. "There is a guy. We knew it!"
"Yes, yes, the two of you are soooo smart," I say grumpily.
"Why doesn't he want a relationship?" Camille asks.
I take a deep breath, calculating a response that won't say too much, but say enough that they'll stop digging. I should know by know I'm no match for these two.
"He's got some self esteem issues. Some things happened in his past that make him think he isn't worthy of love. It is, of course, total nonsense. He's amazing and wonderful, and I think I fell in love with him the first day I met him. But, well, he's stubborn," I conclude.
They both nod their heads, sagely. I really wish I could tell them the whole story. I wish I could get their advice on how best to break through to him. But Rachel's reaction to what he did is too fresh, and I don't want them to hate him.
"Men suck," Natalie says.
Camille nods her agreement. "Yep, they really do."
"Here, here!" I say. "I'll drink to that."
To my immense relief, they leave the discussion there.
******
I'm at the airport waiting for my flight later that day when Pappy emails me back.
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Ian's address
Kelli lass,
Ian's address is 555 Grant.
Don't give up on him.
Good luck.
Love,
Pappy
******
It's only eight o'clock when I arrive home but it feels later, and I'm exhausted. I don't want to face Ian like this, so I decide I'll get up early and catch him tomorrow morning before he leaves for the day.
I take a long shower, pick out an outfit for the morning, and go over my game plan as I fall quickly asleep.
Chapter 9: Ringing in the New Year
I had set my alarm for 6am, but it wasn't necessary. Still somewhere between east coast and pacific time, I'm up at 5am. I lay in bed for a few minutes and then swing into action.
As stupid as it is, I spend about ten minutes on my hair. I know Ian doesn't give a shit about my hair, or makeup, or clothes, but I need all the confidence I can get and fabulous hair always makes me feel better. I put on some light makeup and the outfit I pulled out the night before: my second favorite pair of jeans (my favorites are dirty because I brought them with me on the trip) and a green cashmere sweater. The color suits me, and the material begs to be touched. I don't think Ian is as tactile as I am, but I'm going to try every angle possible.
It's a cold, bright morning and I decide to walk the 1.5 miles to Ian's place. I'm grateful he lives so close to the pub, as I really don't want to deal with public transit or an Uber this early in the morning. I walk slowly, not wanting to sweat; my hair will frizz at the faintest whisper of moisture.
It takes about a half hour, putting me in front of his door at 6:05am. It's an adorable house and I wonder how he was able to afford it. Even as small as it is, located in a prime spot in Santa Monica, it's gotta be pricey. Perhaps he rents. It's a Craftsman, like the home I live behind, and is light blue with white trim and a neatly manicured lawn. It's simple, but classic - just like Ian.
I take the two steps up to his door and pause before knocking. Should I hide so he can't see me through the peephole? I'm afraid he won't answer the door if he sees it's me. But he might not answer the door if he can't see who's knocking, given how conscientious he is about security.
Shaking my head at my own stupidity, I take a deep breath and knock loudly three times. My heart is racing and I start to hyperventilate, so I focus on taking long deep breaths. I wait about a minute and am just about to knock again when Ian opens the door.
He's wearing a gray t-shirt and navy blue sweatpants. His hair is rumpled and his dark stubble sends my mind racing into the gutter. He looks fresh from bed, a bed I want desperately to be in with him. Naked. Writhing. Climaxing.
I pull my mind back and realize I'm going to have to speak first. He is holding his face carefully blank, providing no indication of what he's feeling.
"May I come in?" I ask.
"Do you know what time it is?" he asks, not entirely pleasantly. "What do you want, Kelli?"
"I want to come in," I say and keep my gaze steady and firm.
He opens his mouth to say something, but changes his mind. He steps to the side, allowing me space to enter.
Stepping into his house instantly brings me closer to him. Given his penchant for simplicity, I imagined his place would be sparse, maybe even a little cold. Yet the living room before me is warm and inviting. In typical male fashion, an overly large TV is mounted on the main wall, but it is flanked on either side by large bookcases holding aged novels, picture frames, and a few knick knacks. The walls to the left and right hold beautiful pastoral scenes filled with green fields and blue skies, punctuated with sheep, moss covered stone walls and small houses.
"Ireland?" I ask, pointing to one of the pictures.
He nods.
To the right is the kitchen, opening up to a small dining room. The hallway is directly in front of the entrance, with a door on the left which I'd guess is a bedroom, and one on the right probably a bathroom. The door at the end of the hall is open, revealing a large bed with a blue comforter. Ian's room.
I take a few more steps into the room and approach one of the bookcases. There are pictures of Ian and Pappy, and a couple more of the two of them and a woman, presumably Ian's mom. There's a picture of Ian in tan camouflage with his arms around two other men. I look around and find there are quite a few of those. In addition to the pictures, there are pieces of blown glass. They come in a number of different shapes, and are blues and greens and yellows. They are lovely.
"You collect blown glass?" I ask.
"They were my mum's," he says quietly. "When I was ten we took a class together. I made that one," he points over to an oddly shaped orb of green and white. "That was the one she made," indicating the piece in front of me.
"They're beautiful," I say.
He regards me and his eyes look weary. "What do you want, Kelli?"
A flame ignites in me and my apprehension at coming here turns quickly dissolves. "You know what the hell I want, Ian," I say. "I want you to talk to me. I want you to give our relationship a chance. I want -"
"We don't have a relationship, Kelli," Ian interrupts me. "How many fucking times do I need to say that?"
"We don't have a relationship because you are too scared to let yourself love me," I say.
"No, we don't have a relationship because I don't love you," he says coldly.
"Bullshit," I say with more confidence than I actually feel. Hearing him say he doesn't love me hurts, and a part of me is insecure enough to believe him. But I've come here to push this point as far as it will go, so I continue as if his shot hadn't hit home.
"It's not bullshit; it's the truth! Jesus, woman, how self absorbed are you?"
Fuck, that one hurt too. Keep it together Kelli, you can do this! "Right, you have no feelings for me at all. Then why did we have sex a week ago?"
"We didn't have sex," he roars at me.