Seconds pass, and it’s like hours as I wait for her to respond.Maybe she didn’t hear me.
“Rachel?” I lift my head, staring at the blue door. “Are you still there? I said I know about—”
A sharp click of the lock echoes in the night’s stillness, and I take a step back to watch the doorknob turn. Slowly, the door creaks open but just a sliver, only enough for her eye to peak through the slit. “What do you mean? You know?” she demands in a hush whisper, her lip is trembling.
“I know about your RA.”
She sucks in a breath. “What? H … How? I don’t understand.”
The moment has arrived; it’s time to tell her, though a knot of anxiety tightens in my chest at her reaction.
“The day I met you at the bar. Remember?” She nods and glances at her socked feet, a slight blush grazing her cheeks at the memory. “I overheard your brother talking to the Oldies but Goodies. It wasn’t my intent to eavesdrop, I swear. I was coming out of the restroom and heard your brother telling them you had a doctor’s appointment with a new rheumatologist and how nervous you were. Then Slick asked if your RA was acting up. I walked away after that because I recognized it for what it was … a private conversation.”
She’s still staring at her big fluffy socks, taking this in. A single tear drops and hits the hardwood floor. She swipes another from her cheek and looks at me again, contemplating. Processing. “I don’t understand. You knew and yet you asked me out, anyway? Like, you keptasking.”
“I did.”
“And you kissed me. Three times.”
“Best kisses of my life.”
“Why, though? I’m damaged. My body works against me and literally hates me. And you’re”—the door opens a tad wider as she waves a hand over my body—“you. You could have anyone. Why me?”
Motivated by nothing but love, I step to get closer to her. All I want to do is push wide open this huge blue door and encase her in my arms. But I won’t invade her space until she invites me in. Nervous tension rises in my stomach. “You really want to know why?” She shrugs, her eyes back on her socks again.
God, I hate what this disease has done to her self-esteem. It’s time to let her know why I’m here on her doorstep, the weight of my feelings for her heavy on my chest. “Because you’re you.” I tilt my head to the sky, trying to collect my thoughts. Everything I’ve felt about this woman is bubbling to the surface. “When you smile, there is nothing simple about the movement of your lips. Your grin travels clear to your eyes, making them shine. It changes the color of your cheeks, and the laugh that usually follows causes your nose to crinkle. The whole thing is a marvel to watch, and it is so genuine. Yet, I know every person who is fortunate enough to get a smile from you deserves it because nothing about you is fake.”
I inch forward some more, and she opens the door wider, gradually letting me in. Physically and emotionally. Quickly, I scan her body. She couldn’t look more adorable if she tried. An oversized zip-up Pittsburgh sweatshirt with shorts and socks. Reaching through the crack in the door and placing my finger beneath her chin, I gently lift her face towards mine, her skin soft. I need her eyes on me while I describe the incredible woman standing in front of me. Because I’m not sure any man ever has.
Their loss is hopefully my gain.
Our eyes lock. The tranquility of the night suspends, breathing, flowing. “You are so much more than a pretty face.” She shakes her head and tries to break away again, but I hold firm. “I’m serious. I have never met a woman as cool as you.” A mock chuckle erupts from her like,‘Yeah, okay.’
I continue. “It’s true. You have substance and a story, one I hope you will share with me some day. You are so strong. I can’t imagine what you have gone through. You show up every day for your uncle, who I’m not sure even deserves it.” I pause as her expression goes flat with this statement, yet she studies me, taking in my entire face. “You are smart. So smart. The medical field is lacking at the moment because you aren’t in it. And if you ever decide to go to nursing school, I will cheer you on every step of the way. Hell, I’ll even wear a uniform with a skirt if that will help change your mind.”
The smile I love so much appears. It’s small but pure as her eyes shine slightly. “Will you have pom-poms?” she asks.
“Obviously.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Good. So, is that a bet?”
“Yes, that is most definitely a bet.” And this is a bet I’m happy to lose.
The door swings fully open, revealing her inches from me, yet I hesitate on the porch, silently requesting her permission to enter. As I wait, I take in more of her appearance. Her face is free of makeup, and she’s been crying. Hard. Blotchy face, puffy eyes; dried tears stain her cheeks. It’s obvious she was cryingwaybefore I got here. Yet, she’s never been more beautiful.
It’s her hair, though, that I zero in on. Wet, shiny strands hang limply from her shoulders. That’s when it hits me. She really was washing her hair. But why cancel our date for that?
I reach out and slide my fingers under a wet strand. “Rachel, I could go on and on about how wonderful you are, but … I need to know. Why did you cancel our date? Please, be honest with me. Now that the truth is out there, you can tell me anything. No judgement.”
Gradually, she steps out of the way and motions for me to come inside.
Thank goodness!
She shuts the door, taking a second to compose herself. “I wasn’t lying when I said I needed to wash my hair. I collided with my brother at work. He was holding a pitcher of beer, and it went everywhere. My hair was down, and so it took the brunt of it, together with my clothes. I didn’t want to show for ourdate smelling like Bud Light. But also, I’m having a flare-up today. When that happens”—her left hand goes straight to her right elbow and rubs—“I have a very hard time raising my shoulders and bending my elbows. Which makes it hard—”
“To wash your hair,” I finish for her. My gut clenches with the rising tide of guilt as I berate myself for having any sort of anger toward her for canceling. I peer at the floor, taking in this new and private side of her life.