Page 65 of It's a Love Story

He says, “I love your jaw. How weird of a thing is that to say, like from one to ten?”

“My jaw?” He runs his fingertips along it, from my ear to my chin. “Maybe ten?”

“I like the way it tenses when you’re really mad. And the first time you wanted to murder me, I wanted to murder you right back, but also I was wondering what it would feel like to kiss you there and make you look happy again. Because when you laugh your jaw does this other thing that makes your face look honest. You’re beautiful when you’re having big emotions.”

I smile and kiss his chin. I am certainly having big emotions right now. “That’s completely nuts.” He loves my jaw. It’s not even my best part. “I’m glad I already know everything that’s wrong with you,” I say.

He laughs. “That was the tip of the iceberg. There’s tons more.”

“I doubt that. Tell me more horrible things.” I run my fingers down his stomach and think how I’ve never met a more flawless person.

“I take my clothes off inside out, so it’s a pain when they come out of the dryer.”

“That’s fine. I wasn’t ever planning on doing your laundry.”

He laughs again. I like the sound of it and the way I can feel his chest vibrate under my cheek. “Okay. I don’t like cozy mysteries.”

“No.”

“I don’t. They feel like homework. Ten people, one dead guy, two knives, and some poison. It’s like algebra, solve for X. Not relaxing.”

“Wow, this is going to be a big problem,” I say and pick up my head to kiss him like this is never, ever going to be a big problem. I love lying in Dan’s arms. I love feeling him solid next to me. “What else?”

He examines my face before he answers. “Sometimes I worry my dad might be right about me. That I’ll never really make it.” His eyes soften in a sort of vulnerable way, so I pull back and wait for more.

When he doesn’t go on, I say, “He’s not right. You’re so talented. The way you capture the beauty in things. You’ve already made it, the money will come.”

He tightens his arms around my back, and we’re quiet for a bit.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks. “Besides your spotty taste in movies.” We are exactly nose to nose. He puts a piece of my hair behind my ear and watches it until he’s sure it’s stayed. “Tell me.”

“Let me see. I have never lost my driver’s license. Until recently I’ve been pretty conscientious about my work.”

“Yeah, this is terrible,” he says and kisses me, just the softest kiss.

“My closet is a total disaster, and I eat candy in it when I’m stressed.” I rest my chin on my hands and look in his eyes. I really do want to be like Dan. I think of how I wish I could get inside his body and grab the part of him that’s not afraid to say the true thing. To him, to my mom.

“There it is,” he says. “I just saw you think something. What’s so serious?”

I close my eyes. I have been in bed with this man for the better part of twenty-four hours. I feel like I’ve set my membrane to permeable and have taken him all the way in. “Okay,” I say and open them. “It’s not a small thing. It’s more who I am.”

“I think you’re amazing,” he says. He’s looking right into my eyes when he says it.

My defenses are gone. I am naked, lying on a naked man. I am in love, all the way out on a limb with Dan, and I feel safe here. So I say it: “The thing about my dad dying? He did die. Three-car pileup on Highway 10. But, before that, he left.” It’s alarming how naturally it comes out of my mouth, the truth about my dad.

“Why?” he asks.Brutal.The word pops up in my head, uninvited, and I wince.

“Me. He didn’t want to be my dad anymore.” It’s the simplest and most complicated truth of my life. He changed his mind. “Like he actually said so.”

He tightens his grip around my back. “You didn’t tell me that before.”

“I’ve never told anyone, besides Clem. My mom doesn’t even know I know.”

“Then how do you know?”

“When I was fourteen, I had a really bad day. A boy broke my heart. My mom was still at work, so I couldn’t go to her, so I went to her photo box. I went there sometimes for comfort, to flip through the old photos and relive my parents’ love story. I think I was looking for clues as to who I was, who my dad was.” I remember the pink envelope the birthday card was in at the bottom of the box. I’d seen it before and I don’t know why I opened it that day. It was from her friend Carole and was dated a few months before my dad died. There was something written on the blank side about how she was better off without him and her friends would be there to support the two of us, and it made no sense. I raise my head to check Dan’s eyes. He’s looking at me with so much love that I feel brave all over again.

I reach around my back and take his hand in mine. I bring it up to his chest so that I can see this grounding thing, our hands woven together. “I found a card that led me to look deeper, and there was a letter from him—terrible handwriting like mine—basically saying, sorry, I can’t deal.”Brutal.It hits me again. He actually used the word “brutal.” Being my dad was brutal. That word, on that night, mixed with all the things Jack said earlier in the day—it all hardened like cement around my heart, my identity crystal- ized. For some reason, I was not a person to be loved.

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