Steph stomps her foot. “It turned out okay for us, didn’t it? If you don’t open the freaking door, I am going to kick the side of the car.”
My eyes snap open. “You’re what?”
“I’m going to kick it. You have five seconds, and then there’s a dent going in on this baby. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”
I’ve pretty much had it with Steph’s countdowns, so I let her get to one just to see what’s going to happen. Sure as shit, she winds up and nails the side of the car. I also know she’s wearing flip flops, so there’s a moment’s pause, and then a loud wail.
“Ow! Ow, ow, ow, ow!” Steph starts hopping around, grabbing her foot. “Ow, my toes!” She wails. She faces me, her foot in her hand, and promptly bursts into tears.
Shit. She might have actually broken something.
I unlock the doors and scramble out of the car. Steph isn’t trying to trick me. Those tears aren’t of the crocodile variety. She’s sobbing while holding her foot. I don’t think she’d welcome my help at the moment, but I’m surprised. She drops her foot and steps right into my arms. She wraps her arms around my waist, and even when mine wrap around her shoulder, I’m not sure who’s holding who, but it feels good. It feels so. God. Damn. Amazing.
The thing about living without hope is that it really makes you feel worthless, I guess. Ex-Stephanie might have used me, she might have married me, and she might
not have given a shit about me at all, ever, but I was the one who took what she said to heart. I was the one who punished myself. I was the one who kept telling myself I was everything she said I was even though I knew better.
“Are you okay?” I rub Steph’s back soothingly. “Are your toes broken?”
“I…d-d-don’t know,” Steph sniffs against me. “Are you okay? Is your pride broken? What about your heart?”
Only Steph would ask me that. She’s never taken crap from anyone, but she talks to me like she’s known me her whole life. She doesn’t let me get away with much, at least not when it comes to the truth.
“I don’t know,” I say in a husky voice since I know she’ll know if I’m lying to her or not. “About either.”
“Just because I buy your underwear and organize your household stuff and all that doesn’t mean anything she said is true. You’re busy, and you do so much. You seriously rock at business, and I have no idea how you do half of that stuff. I’ve seen you give presentations. I’ve seen you talk to investors. And you make socks really fun. You make them better for people’s health. You make them such that they’re not just socks anymore. And you help so, so many people. Don’t let her take that away from you. I know for a fact that if I don’t bring you food and remind you that you’re human, and you can’t run on empty all the time, you get so busy that you forget to eat. I know for a fact that last year, you doubled the company’s sales, which were already crazy impressive. I know for a fact that your family not only loves the heck out of you, but they’re also so proud. They didn’t just hand you anything. You worked for it, and you continue to work so hard. And you care. God, you care so much. About the business, about the people who buy your socks, about the people who work at the stores that sell your socks, about providing great working conditions for the people who make your socks, and about absolutely everyone. Everyone your company touches, all those people…you care that they have a good salary and great benefits. So, don’t let her tell you that you’re worthless or useless. Who cares about the fucking lightbulbs anyway?”
“Geez.” I keep rubbing Steph’s back, and she lets out a shuddering breath that threatens to topple her after her big speech. “If I paid you more, would you tell me nice things like this every single day?”
She sniffles. “You’re so ridiculous. I tell you nice things all the time. You just don’t listen to them.”
I hug her tight to me for a few seconds while I work up the courage to tell her what I have to say. I know she’s not going to like it. She might even try and knee me in the balls. I know I’m going to hurt her. It hurts me to think about it, but I know I need this.
“Steph?”
“Hmm?”
“I have to tell you something,” I whisper against her ear. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you.”
She pulls away so fast that her knee nearly does connect with my balls. “What? You’re going to tell me what? That you don’t want this? You and me? Because we have to go back to Denver and go back to reality, and the reality is that this was a paid thing, and it was about your ex-wife and not about us at all? We were just a fluke?”
“It wasn’t just a fluke. Steph, listen to me. Please.”
She was edging away slowly, but now she stops and grasps her arms around her chest. “Whatever. Say it then.”
“I…I really didn’t mean—”
“Stop right there. I don’t want to hear it.” She storms off to the cabin. I follow her because I need to say this, and she needs to hear it, even if it sucks.
“You don’t know what I’m going to say.” I plunge through the door after her. Steph hunkers down on the couch, and she looks miserable, which makes me hate myself for doing this. “I was going to say that this thing between us, neither of us expected it to happen, but it wasn’t a mistake. That was not at all what I was going to say. The truth is, it was the furthest thing from a mistake.”
She stares at me like I’m the snake we found along the path.
“It was stupid. It was really, really stupid and childish. This whole plan was. I should never have asked you to do this. It was worse than childish. And I’m glad you’re here, even if you had to see me get completely destroyed like that. I haven’t had my head on straight for a long time. I’ve been a mess inside, and I’ve used work as a crutch, so I didn’t have to get the rest of my shit together and work on that. I need time, Steph, to fix that. I don’t want to just rush into this with you because that’s not fair to you. You deserve to be with someone who treats you properly.”
Her jaw drops. “I can’t believe you! It’s the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line. Are you for real? That’s what they all say.” Steph rolls her eyes. I try to tell her that’s not what I mean, but she cuts me off. “Blah, blah, blah. I get it. I’m not rich, I’m not even pretty, and I’m shaped like celery. You could do way better.”
“Stop. That’s not what I’m saying, and it’s certainly, sure as fuck, not true. I’m trying to tell you to just give me a couple of weeks to decompress and figure out what makes me happy other than working a sixteen-hour workday so that I don’t have to go home to an empty house and so I don’t realize that outside of work, my life is pretty much meaningless. I just need some time to figure out who I even am.”