Page 72 of Pete and His Precious

With Pete, everything was...perfect.

I think, I could be wrong, but I think that if I said that I wanted to be together, from what he was saying it sounded like he would be okay with that.

And I do want to be together. But, I don’t want to say it if I am misunderstanding him and he really doesn’t want me. I’m not sure my heart can take that. Because, there was a flutter of hope in there. Hope that someone would love me just the way I am, and not need me to be successful in my job, in order for me to be worthy. I don’t know where I’ve gotten the idea in my head, that I need to be successful, that I’m not worth anything unless I have money, but it’s hard to shake. I know what Connie said, and she’s right, but I also know that I have a tendency to do that to people. I wouldn’t even consider a man who couldn’tsupport me. But, the man is supposed to be the provider and the protector. I guess... I guess I’m expecting him to do what he’s supposed to do. And I’m expecting me to do that, as well as everything else the woman is supposed to do. Maybe my expectations for myself are too high, but I suppose I just assume that everyone else has those high expectations as well.

Not that I’m happy that Pete has low expectations, I guess I’m just happy that he sees me, me for myself. Not for what I can do or what I can give him or what I have. But the actual person me. Behind all the voices and all of the entertainment and all of the trappings, it’s just me.

Maybe I’m overthinking this.

I finished the Scarlett Pimpernel over the weekend, and it’s uploaded on my social media. The last I checked it was doing pretty good. Surprisingly well. Actually, far more views than anything that I’ve ever uploaded has had.

That’s probably because Hollywood has released a movie based on that story, and it’s doing really well in the theaters. I’ve gotta say, God has perfect timing. I hadn’t thought about it until I’d realized it had been doing well, and I had to try to figure out why.

Still, even the small success of that can’t take my mind off of Pete. I’ve had all weekend to think about it, around the edits I did, and the new story I started, and... I think I just need to go and tell him how I feel. I feel like he was honest with me before he left, and I couldn’t get my scatterbrained together to figure out what I should say.

I finally decided after he left that he was telling me that I was the one who was keeping us from moving forward. Because of everything I had said about wanting my career and all that. I don’t think he cares about that though.

And I’m a little scared. Nervous. Probably because I’ve never liked anyone this much before. But, I’ve avoided him longenough, and so, even though I hear him over in his apartment after I get home from the diner, I decide that I will go see Bexley. That will give me a little bit of a buffer.

They’re playing ping-pong when I walk in, about thirty minutes after she would have gotten home from school.

Pete doesn’t seem to mind playing, and I know Bexley loves finally having a partner, and having a partner who is as good as Pete has to be like hitting the jackpot for her. I’d almost say she doesn’t want her mother to come home, but I know that’s not true. I wish there was a way to get Kylie to see that Bexley just wants to spend time with her. She doesn’t want all of the things that money can buy, she just wants a mother.

I suppose that’s been a problem down through time and every civilization. People who show love by showering money, rather than time or attention or consideration or by just being there.

I walk into the room, and they don’t notice me at first. They’re both focused on ping-pong, and the concentrated look on Bexley’s face makes me smile.

Pete’s back is mostly towards me, and I admire his movements. Sure, and swift, his reflexes are admirable, and I watch the play of muscles as they move under his shirt.

I know how they feel, and it makes my fingers tingle with the desire to touch them again. But I ball my hands into fists and ignore that feeling. I suppose I could have that feeling about anyone, but I wouldn’t admire their strength of character, their commitment to doing right, their desire to be kind and have compassion and to take drawing lessons just so that they could do face painting at the church Fall Festival.

He had hired me to teach him, before he knew who I was. That says a lot about a man who cares that much about his church and community. That he would do something so faroutside his comfort zone, especially when he’s so talented in so many other areas.

That definitely makes me admire and respect him more. The muscles under the shirt are just a bonus.

I move to the table, and Bexley sees me first. It’s right after she hit the ball, and she says, “Aunt Zoe!”

Her eyes dart back to the ball, but her exclamation has made Pete lose his concentration, and the ball flies past his head as he looks at me.

“Zoe,” he says, somehow sounding surprised and relieved and excited and thrilled all at the same time, while still speaking in that low voice that always makes me smile.

He doesn’t go after the ball, he just stands and stares at me.

Bexley comes around the table to me and wraps her arms around me. “I’m so glad you’re here, Aunt Zoe.”

She seems like she might be a little bit sad and missing her mom, because she squeezes me extra tight. Then, to my surprise, she does something she’s never done before. “I’m going to go upstairs and see how long it’s going to be until supper.”

Supper is at the same time every night, so I see this as an excuse. And my brows go down, but she just smiles at me and then turns and heads toward the steps.

“I’m sorry. I told her that if you came, I messed things up with you, and I needed to talk to you. I didn’t realize she was going to go running out the second you step foot in the door.”

“You didn’t mess up anything,” I say, knowing that to be true.

“I feel like I did,” he says, twisting the paddle in his hand, as though he is nervous.

He looks down, like he just realized what he was doing, and he puts the paddle on the table, very deliberately. He looks back at me. “I haven’t seen you. You haven’t come to see Bexley, and I know it’s my fault.”

“No. It’s mine. First of all, I did get The Scarlet Pimpernel done, and it’s uploaded.”

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