How to Ruin a Wedding(78)
He crosses his arms against his chest. “Says who?”
“Excuse me?” I almost laugh. “Who needs to say it? These are all facts.”
“Not to me,” he says. “I understand if us, the way we are, how we were at the bar, if you think that’s all a mistake. I’d rather you say that directly to me than speak for me.”
“It’s not a mistake—wait, don’t you think it was a mistake?”
“When did I say that?”
“Well, the day after we—” Even thinking about what we did at the bar makes my cheeks flare. “After the bar, you avoided me. I remember. I figured you wanted to act like it didn’t happen.”
“I avoided you, Lucinda, because it was painfully obvious you were listing every single reason why that night was a bad idea, and I didn’t want to have the conversation where you give voice to those thoughts.”
I press my fingers into my temples. “Okay, so I was wrong about that. But I’m not wrong about the rest.”
“Why did you get me the gift?” he asks.
“What?”
He repeats the question, but I’m not entirely sure of my answer. “I don’t know; I didn’t really think about it. I saw it, thought you’d think it was funny, and got it.”
“Because you like me.”
“Well, yeah, you’re a pretty likable guy. Who doesn’t like you?”
“You like me as more than a friend. You know exactly what I mean.”
Of course I do, but the point of this conversation is to draw very necessary lines between us. “I’m not sure why that matters here.”
“It matters because I like you too.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know everything about me. You don’t know if you’ll be bored of me in a couple of weeks.”
“I know enough to know you’re wrong,” he counters, “and I can learn more too. I’m not asking you to fall in love with me at this moment. But you’re here, right now, and for a while. I want to explore you, and if you want to stay with me, even when this is all over, is that so bad?”
“I—” This is not at all how I pictured this conversation would go. Especially after talking with Bethany. I thought he’d agree just to appease me, and we’d move on. Easy, if a little awkward, and then normal. Like two roommates who work together. “How would this ever work?”
“How wouldn’t it?”
“How would you explain me to your family?”
“I don’t have to tell them how we actually met, what’s happening with Valerie. There wouldn’t be a problem. They all like you already.”
“Valerie would find out eventually.”
“She won’t,” he says, firm. “And even if she did, we’d deal with it. I’ll deal with it. I’ll take all the blame. I’d handle the brunt of it all.”
I shake my head. “And what about when it’s been long enough that your family starts to notice I don’t actually have the job you told them I did?”
“By then,” he says, “you’ll be working at the shelter. We can tell them the truth about that.”
“We live in different states,” I remind him.
“I like to travel.”
“Anders,” I say.
“Lucinda,” he says.
“I’m being serious here.”
“As am I.” He pulls me closer to him. “Tell me you don’t want to explore whatever this connection between us is, and I won’t pursue you. I’ll be polite, help you when you need it, and we won’t speak at all outside of work, I promise. Tell me now, and I’ll do it.”
I stare at him. “You told me you thought love was fleeting. That people don’t know how to stay in it.”
“I did.” Anders nods.
“So why are you saying all this now?”
“Because I’ve never felt this before. I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you. Your company. Your laugh. Your body. Even when we’re silent or awkward, I crave it. I crave you,” he says firmly. “And I know I won’t stop.”
“I have nothing to offer you,” I say, the words scraping out like a confession. “I can’t take care of you. I’m a mess. You’re so put together. What am I supposed to do with that?”
“You do take care of me,” he says softly. “God, Lucinda . . . you make me feel. Everything with you feels better—warmer, softer, brighter. You’re not a mess. And if you get into one, let me be the one to take care of you.”
When I start to shake my head, Anders adds, “Why won’t you accept that people care about you too? If you think it’s so important, then let me take care of you. Let me be with you.”
His words steal my automatic denial.
A small, hopeful voice in my head wonders if it wouldn’t be so bad to be cared for. To be held together by someone who doesn’t expect me to earn it first.
And maybe I’m not so broken that I have to keep proving I’m worth something. Maybe I already am, just by being a person. Haven’t I done enough good in my life that it would be okay?
And yet, the hope fights with fear. “You’re not seeing the bigger picture here,” I say, trying to find a straw to grasp, wondering why I can’t just tell him no, he shouldn’t pursue me. All the reasons I had seem to go hazy when he brings me closer to his chest.