Page 63 of The Weight Of It All
“What did you tell Em just now?”
“That I left because I realised I don’t belong here.” My heart was hammering, but I somehow swallowed down my fear. “Because I don’t belong with you.”
He did a double take. “What?”
The bubble of laughter that escaped didn’t exactly sound sane. “I know, crazy right? That I would even think that I possibly could belong with you. I don’t know why I did. Well, actually, that’s not true. I can tell you exactly. Because the attention was nice. Because the conversations and the texting was the closest thing to a relationship I’d had for years. Because it made me realise that what I had with Graham had died years ago, and you made me feel special. You made me feel wanted and fun, and that was something I hadn’t felt in a long time.” I took a deep breath. “And I left because I really fuckingstupidly thought I had a chance with you, until I saw you yesterday. Doing your trainer’s challenge and being all superhuman and with all those fit and beautiful people, because I’m not like them. I’m a fucking blimp compared to them, and it was never more apparent than it was yesterday. You know, theSesame Streetthing where it shows four things and they all sing ‘one of these things is not like the others’? Well, Reed, I am that one thing.”
Reed was still staring at me, half horrified, half amused.
I shrugged, defeated. God, I felt like I’d just done a two-hour work out session. “I would still like to continue with my program, if that’s okay. But I’ll understand if you don’t want to be my personal trainer anymore. I would miss our conversations and our recipe swaps, but I’m sure I’ll get over it.”
“I don’t want you to get over it.”
“Oh, okay, thanks. I can suffer for all eternity if you’d prefer.”
He laughed, despite the tension between us. “No. I meant I don’t want you to get over it, because I don’t want it to stop. Our conversations and our recipe swaps, that is. And me being your personal trainer.”
“Oh. Okay, good.”
“But Henry?”
“Yes?”
“You do belong here. Just like any of the people who walk through those front doors.”
He seemed to be missing the entire point of my whole tirade where I’d just told him I wanted to be with him, yet somehow ending with a song from my childhood. God, I hated my brain sometimes. “Was theSesame Streetsong too much?”
“No. It was good. Perfect, actually.”
“Perfect might be a strong word…”
“Henry, why don’t you think you belong with me?”
“Oh.” I blinked and stammered, “Um, well, God, it’s just, um…”
“Do we not get on well?”
“We do.”
“Do we not talk for hours and enjoy each other’s company?”
“We do. Well, I do. Enjoy your company that is.”
“I enjoy yours too.” He waited and waited for me to answer his original question.
“I don’t belong with you because you need to be with someone who looks like Seth.”
“Like Seth?”
“Well, yeah.”
“He’s a nice guy, Henry. But he’s straight and married with two kids.”
“Oh.”
“Do you think I need to be with someone because of how they look?”
“No!”
