Just The Way You Are
THE days that followed that seventh day were rough. I, of course, woke up with doubts ringing through my head, sure that I wanted to take back that initial I love you, sure that Vince wanted to take back his response. I didn’t show that fear, though, because it wasn’t supposed to be about me right then. Vince opened his eyes to find me watching him nervously, berating myself for being that guy, the creepy one who watches his partner sleep like it’s supposed to be romantic or something. I averted my eyes momentarily until I felt his fingers on my face.
“Paul,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
I shrugged, trying to minimize everything. “You okay?”
He sighed as he dropped his hand. “I think so. Maybe. It’s weird, you know? I hadn’t spoken to her in months before this week, and I was okay with that. A little mad, maybe, but okay with it. Now she’s gone for good, and I’m… what am I? Sad? Relieved? Angry?” He looked away. “I don’t know what I am right now,” he muttered.
“She was still your mom,” I said quietly. “Regardless of what else happened, regardless of what she did later, she was still your mom.”
“Yeah.”
/>
“Vince?”
“Yeah?”
I chose my next words carefully. “Everything always won’t be perfect, you know?”
“I know.”
“So you know you can’t pick and choose what to tell me, then, right?”
“Yeah. Look, Paul, I—”
I shook my head. “Don’t. I’m not mad at you for that. I’m sorry that I acted like a jerk. It wasn’t my place to. I should’ve respected your wishes and not gone behind your back.”
He was silent for a moment, then said, “I’m not ashamed of you.”
I was startled. “I never said you were. I never thought that.”
“Okay. I just wanted you to know that. If anything, I was ashamed of them. And jealous of you.”
I snorted. “What the hell do I have for you to be jealous about?”
“Everything,” he said seriously. “Your friends, your family. You. You have everything. You are everything.”
“Vince….”
“No, Paul. How can you not see it? Why can’t you see that you’re perfect just the way you are?”
His earnestness was catching. I’m a sucker for earnestness. And bike shorts. Put those things together, and watch the fuck out. “I’m pretty sure your definition of perfect is skewed,” I told him. “You may have a bit of a bias here.”
He looked satisfied, as if I’d agreed with everything he’d said. “A very big bias,” he assured me. “But it doesn’t matter. Even if I didn’t, I’d still see it. I just didn’t want to put any of this on you. It wasn’t fair. We’d just met. Hell, you would have probably run screaming, your arms flailing in the air.”
“I would not have flailed my arms,” I said, slightly affronted.
He smiled weakly. “A bit,” he said, sure of himself. “Probably would have written in your diary all about it.”
I rolled my eyes, glad to hear him joke, but also hearing the sadness in his voice. I brushed my fingers over his face. “You can tell me anything,” I said. “At least, you should. It’s how these things work, Vince. You have to know that.”
“I just didn’t want you to see pain,” he said. “I didn’t want you to know sadness. I didn’t want you to see me like this. I just wanted you to be happy, every day, all the time.”