Page 6 of Man of the Month Club: January
His deep laugh is sexy, and I find myself wanting to hear more of it.
When he asks, “Aren’t we all?” I sense that he’s just trying to make me feel better, so I splay my hands to encompass his beautiful property and say, “You seem to be doing okay for yourself.”
That is the understatement of the year, but Jett doesn’t seem to take any offense to it. Instead, he says humbly, “I’ve just been lucky in the real estate market.”
Although I doubt that luck had anything to do with it, I don’t call him out on the fib.
His voice sounds far away when he adds, “There’s nothing quite like showing people a home they love. The moment you walk into ‘the one,’ you can see it in the way their eyes light up.”
I smile at the mental image he creates. “That must be very rewarding work.”
He nods before asking, “What type of job do you think would give you that kind of satisfaction?”
“I’m really not sure. Ever since the fire at Squared, I’ve been a little lost. It’s not like working in a donut shop was my dream job, but it paid the bills, and we made it fun. Now, I’m not sure what to do with myself.”
“Perhaps you could work at another donut shop until you figure out your professional calling?”
Already shaking my head at his suggestion, I say, “I can’t work with the public anymore.”
I leave the reason for the change unspoken. His eyes work, so he must see that a scarred monster wouldn’t be what anyone wants to encounter with their morning meal.
“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. You’re beautiful.” He whispers so quietly the light breeze off the water almost carries the words away before they reach my ears.
The tears are welling unwanted in my lower eyelids at his kind sentiment, despite the fact that I know he can’t possibly believe it to be true.How could anyone see beyond my grotesque scars?
Staring out at the water, I blink rapidly in an attempt to keep the blasted tears from falling.
Rather than shying away from discussing it, as most people do, Jett addresses the fire directly. “I heard about the fire at Squared. It was all over the news at the time. I’m so sorry you went through that.”
His simple words are perfect. I hadn’t even realized what I wanted to hear as others bumbled through awkward platitudes and offered positive thoughts and prayers. I really just needed someone to acknowledge what I went through and sincerely care.
I can’t find the words to thank him for understanding, and I’m afraid I’ll start crying if I try, so I merely nod in acknowledgment of the healing balm his words are providing for me.
We stay cuddled together like that for a long time. Eventually, curiosity gets the better of me, so I say, “You already know many of my secrets. How about if you tell me one of yours?”
6
Jett
The desire is strong to share all of my secrets with Maggie, but I’m concerned about scaring her away. Everyone else leaves as soon as they get a glimpse of the real, raw, and scarred version of me.Why wouldn’t she?
She’s too important to risk, but I sense that if I don’t open up with her, I’ll lose her anyway. Knowing that I need to be brave, but feeling like a scared little boy, I say, “If someone tells you enough that you are worthless, you eventually start to believe it.”
“You are about as far as is possible from being worthless,” Maggie says quietly.
My heart aches to believe her kind words. It has been a long time since anyone, other than Phoebe or her mom, has tried to reach out to me with heartfelt tenderness.
Quiet consumes the boat once more, and I appreciate it that Maggie doesn’t push or question me. It makes me want to share my truth with her, even though I’ve never openly spoken about my childhood woes with anyone.
When I finally speak, the words blurt out in a loud rush that startles Maggie, making her jump. “I was a twin.”
“Was?” The slowly-spoken, one-word question proves that Maggie has already picked up on the problem.
“Yes,” I answer in a croaky voice. I’m not sure how to tell the story gracefully, so I just dive in. “There is a condition called Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome, or TTTS, where twins in the womb share a placenta, but have different connections to it. Have you ever heard of it?”
Maggie shakes her head, but remains quiet, letting me speak at my own pace.
My voice takes on a clinical tone as I explain. “In our case, I was what is referred to as the ‘recipient’ twin, who received more than my share of the blood flow. My brother was the ‘donor’ twin. He became very fragile, while I grew stronger. We were born prematurely, and his tiny body couldn’t handle the stress. Our mother had an overdistended uterus and didn’t survive the birth either. So, I was the only one of the three of us who lived.”
