Part 17 (2/2)

I walked over to the table and sat down. He had made a simple salad to go with the kabobs. I was impressed.

He brought the plate over, set it on the patio table, and sat down across from me.

I tried the chicken first (incredible), then the steak (unbelievable), then the veggies that Jake had finished on his own. They were also good.

”I'm gonna miss this,” he said as he licked his fingers clean.

”Yeah, I guess it's back to frozen pizzas for you two,” I said dryly.

”Guess so,” he agreed. ”But I was talking about hanging out with you, not the food.”

I didn't know why he'd want to hang out with a gold-digger who ran away from her problems, tried too hard to impress people, cared too much about what other people thought and had a fear of intimacy that would lead her to a life of mediocrity ... but I didn't say that. I didn't have any fight left in me. I wanted to eat and get back in bed.

”Tell me about this cooking school,” he said to break the uncomfortable silence.

”I'm not going to sit here and talk to you like everything is normal, Jake. Not anymore. I'm tired of pus.h.i.+ng things aside to try to get along with you. We shouldn't have to try this hard.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I could grab them and reel them back in. The look on his face left no doubt I'd hurt him, and I felt bad about it, even after the things he said earlier. The two of us had issues, but Jake was truly a good guy and didn't deserve any of this.

He swallowed like he was getting ready to say something important, but I think he changed his mind. ”Okay,” he said. ”We don't have to pretend anything, but I didn't want this food to go to waste.”

”Thank you for finis.h.i.+ng it for me,” I said quietly.

”Sure.”

We ate the rest of the meal in an awkward silence. When we were done I stood up and started clearing our dirty plates, and we both went inside. While he wrapped up the leftovers and put them in the fridge, I rinsed our plates and put them in the dishwasher.

”I'm going to bed early tonight,” I told him when I was finished. ”But thanks again for dinner. I really mean it.”

He closed the refrigerator door and turned around to look at me. ”I'm in love with you, Roxie.”

I didn't even know what to say to that. I just shook my head.

”The reason I didn't have girlfriends was because I didn't want to waste my time on the wrong ones. I've known who I wanted all along. If you think I'm some kind of womanizer, you're wrong. I don't want an endless string of one night stands. I want you. Only you.”

I sighed. Those were nice words and all. He may even mean them right now. But that's the thing. People always want what they don't have and when they get it they're like, what the f.u.c.k is this s.h.i.+t? I couldn't fall for that.

”Jake, you can't want me,” I insisted. ”You don't even know me. You said yourself you don't know the New York me, and this me is a phony.”

”That's an ironic thing to say. I was thinking it was the other way around.”

”I have to go upstairs and get something. I'll be right back.”

I ran up to my room and pulled my folded up Good Life List out of my purse and ran back down to the kitchen. I unfolded it and handed it to him.

I watched his face as he read over the now wrinkly and check-marked piece of notebook paper. He didn't seem surprised or mad. He actually seemed a bit entertained.

”Everything I did this summer,” I explained, ”was on the list. It wasn't really me. All the fun things I did, they were Hope's ideas, not mine. You don't love me, Jake. That girl that hula hoops in the grocery store is not me.”

”You think I'm telling you this right now because you played with a hula hoop?” he asked, like it was the most obscene idea I'd ever had. He set the Good Life List down on the island and touched the side of my face with his hand.

Why does he have to do that? It makes my heart fall straight to the floor every time!

”I've loved you since I was ten,” he explained, ”and you found me under that table in your living room the one with all of the plants. Remember?”

I nodded slowly.

”Girls were gross back then, so I thought I loved you like a sister. It wasn't until we were in high school when I realized you weren't gross. You were actually kind of amazing. But at the same time, you were too important for me to lose. I knew I couldn't tell you how I felt until I was ready, really ready for you. And that's why I'm telling you now.”

This was it, the climax of my movie. Those were the words I'd been waiting to hear since I was a little girl. I didn't know what to say to him. I sighed again and closed my eyes so I could really enjoy the moment.

Jake slowly traced his finger down my neck, past my collarbone and then across the top of my s.h.i.+rt. I squeezed my eyes shut and hoped I wasn't literally melting.

Do you remember that summer?” he asked, and I knew then that he remembered everything the way I did. I knew he had all kinds of images from that summer flas.h.i.+ng in his head, just the way I still did all the time.

”That summer,” he said again, ”when you were finally mine, I knew you were the only one I'd ever need.”

”But you said ” I interrupted.

He put his finger on my lips to quiet me. ”I know what I said. I said I didn't want to long-distance it. Nine months wasn't a long time for me. I'd already been waiting so long, nine months was nothing. I didn't want to turn what we had, which I thought was pretty f.u.c.king awesome, into something that caused us both stress. I didn't want to be that 'boyfriend from home,' like I was a liability to you.”

I'd had a few friends in college that had a ”boyfriend from home” and Jake was right they were a liability. My friends had to make sure they called every night by a certain time or the guys would freak out. If the boyfriends didn't call by a certain time, my friends would freak out. It was just another task to check off the list. Paid the phone bill Check. Studied for Psych test Check. Called the boyfriend Check. Those girls had very little fun when they were being good girlfriends, and nothing but grief when they were bad. I totally understood what Jake was saying. All this time I thought he didn't like me enough to deal with it, but he had been trying to spare me the bulls.h.i.+t.

”I still don't really understand why you didn't come back to me,” he continued, ”but I forgive you for it. Maybe this was how it was meant to happen. Maybe we weren't ready then. I don't know. But I do know I love you. Whether or not ” he picked up the Good Life List again and scanned it quickly, ” you play in the rain or wear underwear.”

If this was a movie, there would be no questioning. I would jump into his arms, and we'd share a really gross kiss. Our mouths would be wide open like we were trying to eat each other's faces off, and our heads would move from side to side every two seconds. The credits would roll to the tune of a dramatic, but catchy, love song performed by the runner-up of the latest reality show talent compet.i.tion.

It would be a.s.sumed we lived happily-ever-after, but no one would ever know for sure. Because the movie would be over. The movie always ends when the characters finally get together. There's a reason for that it's because n.o.body wants to sit in a theatre and watch petty arguing and boring s.e.x scenes (ahem, Jason Segal and Emily Blunt). If the real Hollywood screenwriters couldn't come up with something good, and some of the best actors couldn't make it entertaining, how could we?

I started to feel like I was being backed into a corner. All this time I had been able to scurry on by and pretend this thing between us was just for fun. I could pretend I didn't love him, and that I couldn't tell he loved me, too. But when he said it out loud like that, there was no way I could pretend anymore. If we were still kids, I could put my hands over my ears and sing lalalalanotlisteningtoyou. If we were drunk, I could pretend to black out and not remember it tomorrow. But I wasn't a little kid, and I only had one gla.s.s of wine, and even I couldn't think of a way to avoid this conversation without being painfully obvious about it.

That was probably exactly what he was expecting me to do, right? That's what the girl who runs away would do. Should I do what was expected of me because it was the easiest way out? Or punish myself by sticking around just to prove him wrong? Was the risk worth the reward in either scenario?

He lifted the few strands of hair that fell in front of my eye and pushed them to the side. ”I know what you're doing,” he said with a crooked grin.

”What am I doing?” I asked. I wasn't even sure what I was doing.

”You're trying to figure out a way to get out of this conversation without putting me in a position to say 'I told ya so,'” he replied.

He was right.

”Look,” he said. ”Baby, you don't have to say anything, okay?”

He called me baby again! d.a.m.n he was making this hard on me!

”You can run if you need to,” he continued, ”but I let you leave before without telling you how I felt. When you didn't come back, I wondered if things could have been different. I don't want to have to wonder again if I didn't do enough. Know what I mean?”

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