Page 48 of Speechless

“Us. It’s time, don’t you think? We should be together.”

“Jack, I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

“Liar.” He smirked, like he knew exactly how this conversation would end. “Lu—I’ve been in love with you since freshman year. You know this.” I didn’t, but my face revealed nothing. “I knew that as soon as I asked you out, that would be it for me. I’m ready now.”

I looked at him incredulously but was betrayed by the giddy feeling inside me. I never wanted to admit it, but I’d had the biggest crush on Jack since that very first day.

“I’m serious, Lu. I’m gonna marry you one day. But for now, be my girlfriend?”

The smile I was desperately trying to hide stretched wide across my face. He kissed me then. Not just any kiss. The perfect—grab my face with both hands, dip me just enough to kick a heel off the ground, sigh with relief into my mouth—fairy talekiss.

That first year was perfect, but there were signs, and then there were more signs.

When we graduated, there was no question whether or not I’d move to Boston, a city where I had zero friends or family. That’s where he got a job, so of course we went. I’m not sure he tried applying anywhere else. He always acted like my job as a writer was just a steppingstone to being a housewife, so I don’t think he ever gave any thought to where I’d prefer to live after college.

When I wanted to take some time to travel, to work on my book somewhere new, he acted like I was trying to have an affair. As a professional writer, having a change in scenery can do wonders. To Jack, he only saw me wanting to get away from him. I never wanted to hurt him, so I didn’t go anywhere.

Even for our honeymoon, I was desperate to go to Europe, to visit old libraries and be surrounded by history. But he’d already been to all the cities I suggested, so we went to Napa instead. I never really cared about wine, but he spent the whole week educating me so I’d be more knowledgeable at dinner parties.

The worst was when I opened up to him about my endometriosis. Sarah was the person who had always helped to take care of me, who went with me to the hospital so I wouldn’t be alone, who laid with me in bed and swapped my heating pad when it cooled too much to alleviate the pain.

But once we moved to Boston, I needed Jack to be more involved. He was mostly just . . . uninterested. Always asking if I could just deal with it myself since “it’s just bad periods, right?” Telling me it was a “girl thing” so he shouldn’t be obliged, how he’d rather avoid going to the doctor with me because he felt awkward at a gynecologist. He was really encouraging when I asked for his opinion on training Rowan as a medical alert dog, but it was easy to tell that he saw Rowan as another way for him to avoid my illness.

Looking back, even that magical day when our romantic relationship began, it was completely on his terms.

None of these things were so bad on their own. I liked how decisive he was. But when I look at them all together, I realize he was molding me. Like I was never enough of what he wanted, not on my own. Change this, ignore that, pretend this doesn’t exist. He had to make these little adjustments all the time to fit me into his life.

And then came the day when no adjustment could be made, and that was the beginning of the end.

I keep tryingto pinpoint what’s made me so happy here in Malibu. The weather? Surfing? Sharing these magical moments with Henry? Spending an entire month pain-free?

Maybe it’s just feeling like I might finally be enough.

* * *

I’mgrateful to be back in my bed with Rowan curled up next to me and giving me lots of puppy kisses. Petting his soft and shaggy fur is my favorite form of self-care. There’s so much happening in my head right now, I need some time alone to think. I run my fingers through the extra silky fur on his belly while he licks at my elbow. He’s in full submissive position with his paws tucked into his chest and his hind legs butterflied out. “Love you Row. Thanks for always being there for me. If you’re really good this afternoon, we can play hide-and-treats later.” I drop my head to give him a quick peck on the nose but instead get a wet tongue across my mouth.

Everything Henry told me today is running on a loop through my head. So many questions I had about him have finally been answered. I should probably apologize to Adamma because it sounds like she was right. He wasn’t explicit about romantic relationships, but I’m going to infer he hasn’t had many.

And there’s still so much more I want to know about him. Like how music saved him, how he became so close with Graham, what happened in his childhood to cause the struggles he told me about, why the one person who’s somehow immune to his anxiety isme.

But what I also want to know, if I’m being honest, is what he looks like naked. And this I’ve probably thought about the most. When I lie in bed at night, I’m assaulted by images of him, usually on the piano, but he’s never playing. Sometimes I’m straddling him on the bench, hearing random notes as we both try and fail not to hit the keys. Sometimes I’m lying on top of the lid with Henry between my legs. Sometimes we’re just curled up together on the futon, tightly pressed against each other.

Ever since I’ve been here in Malibu, Henry and I have shared these . . . moments. I’ve never been sure how to label them, but today, it felt like a switch was flipped. My attraction to him isn’t one-sided. I can’t just keep pretending I have some silly crush. Being with Jack might have stunted my maturity for the last ten years but I’m a grown woman, and I know what I want.

I want Henry.

His confession today didn’t determein the slightest. But the problem is, he won’t want me anymore if I offer the same insights into my own past.

My endometriosis has always felt like this invisible disability. I can be in excruciating pain—physical and mental just ping-ponging back and forth for days—but no one around me ever understands what I’m actually going through.

Pop some Advil, suck it up, get the surgery, move on.

It would have been easy to tell him my own story today. To explain about my divorce, why this past year has been so somber. But I’d rather keep Henry in the dark; then I never have to hear what he might say about it.

As much as my body might want something physical with Henry, my heart is much too fearful.

I’m still lyingin bed, thinking about Henry, when I hear a soft knock on my door.

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