by Virna DePaul
“Jenna.”
“Let's get on a plane to Vegas and elope right now.”
Does she seriously think I'm joking? Can she not see that I made myself vulnerable for her? Does she only see me as a player who only wants casual sex and emotionless relationships?
“And then we can get pregnant with twins tomorrow afternoon and you can get started on our white picket fence.” She laughs again, still not looking at me. Still shoveling in food like this is the last meal she'll ever eat before the world ends.
“I'll bring you beers from the kitchen while you watch the games and I'll join a walking club in our suburb neighborhood.”
Is it really so hilarious, the idea that I could be in a serious relationship with her? Or is this something else?
With her plate clean, Jenna suddenly stands up and starts looking around the kitchen. “What time is it?” she asks.
“Eleven,” I say, suddenly feeling tired and drained.
“Oh, man. I have to go. I didn't realize it was so late.”
“Yeah, all right.”
She gathers up her clothes and still won't look at me. She doesn't even stop to change back into her dress.
She pinches the chef’s coat. “I'll give this back to you tomorr – Well, not tomorrow, but soon. Or, I don't know. I'll send it over or something.”
“I have plenty, Jenna. Don't go out of your way.”
“Great. Okay. Well, thanks.”
She darts out of the kitchen without another word and without a glance back. The door swings back and forth, and I watch it until I hear the front door of Torch slam shut. Then I slowly gather the plates and pans and walk them over to the sink.
Then I curse and fling a plate across the room where it shatters.
Chapter 13
Jenna
* * *
Of course, I knew Lee was serious. At least, I’d started to believe he was, when the shock wore off.
Lee was a player but he wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t mean. He wasn’t inexperienced.
He wouldn’t say he wanted a relationship with me unless he really did.
But I ruined it. Actually, ruined is too kind a word for what I did. I demolished it? I butchered it? I smashed it and left it in a ditch on the side of an abandoned highway? Yep, that's probably the closest description of exactly how terribly I acted.
I'm driving back to my apartment with my ass sticking to the car’s leather seat, because I darted away wearing only Lee's chef jacket. I roll down the window and lean my head toward the blast of cool air.
What would have happened if I had said yes? If I hadn't pretended it was all a massive joke? If I hadn't shoveled food in my mouth and dashed away half naked?
I know what would have happened - I would be in a relationship with Lee. Just like he wanted.
For the moment.
It’s what I’ve dreamed about since practically the day I met him. Back then, I secretly wrote his initials on my middle school notebooks and strategically flipped the top of a soda can so it popped off on the letter 'L'. Because every middle school girl knew that meant I’d marry someone with a first name starting with 'L'.
As I grew older and Lee grew older, it turned into something deeper. But it also became more and more apparent that it would never happen.
I accepted that. I stopped dreaming of what it would be like to wake up next to Lee every morning, watch him cook, just enjoy being near him. But now as I’m driving, all those dreams flood back into my mind.
It doesn't matter, I tell myself, rolling up the window and shaking my head clear of those long-ago cherished dreams. I said no. Well, not exactly, but the effect was the same. I said no, and that was the right thing to say.
That's what I need to focus on. Rationality. Logic. Safe decisions.
Lee hasn't changed. He’d enjoy a serious relationship with me for a week or a month. But soon enough, he'd see a model walk through his restaurant. She'd be offering a wild night of partying followed by no strings attached sex. And he'd have to decide between that and a stuffy, boring work party he agreed to attend as my date. He could make that sacrifice for me once or twice, but not a lifetime. Eventually, he'd rub my arms and gently tell me it's not working, and I'd act like I agreed.
But it would crush me.
My doorman gives me an odd look as I walk past, and I realize I probably should have changed. I shrug.
“Weird night,” I tell him.
“Should I be expecting your boyfriend to coming sprinting in again tonight?” he asks.
“Oh, he's just a client.”
My doorman nods politely, and only then am I aware how terrible that sounded. I'm half-naked and just called Lee a client. Great. This night keeps getting better and better. My doorman probably now thinks I'm a hooker.
I catch him studying me as I wait for the elevator and resist the urge to tug down the bottom of Lee's chef jacket. After I finally make it to the safe haven of my apartment, I walk inside, and sag to the floor against my door. I rest my forehead against my knees and groan.
What have I gotten myself into?
Lee and me, together? No, I made the right decision. I suddenly raise my head and slam it against the door.
“Fuck.”
The blog. Yet again, I forgot about that nasty elephant in the room. How can I say yes to a relationship with a man whose career I anonymously but definitely sabotaged – and then ignore every opportunity to just tell him? The blog was a mistake, it was terrible, I know. But it's brought me closer to the man I've fantasied about for years.
Why don't I just tell him? Seriously, what is wrong with me that I can't just tell him?
Because then this would all end. Once I tell him, he'll be gone. He'll be done with me. And the truth is, I'm not ready for that. Not quite yet. I know this is temporary. I tell myself it has to be temporary. But can't it be this temporary thing for just a little bit longer? Is that really so bad?
In the midst of my self-loathing on the floor, still in Lee's chef jacket, I hear a ding from my laptop. I sigh and drag myself up, rubbing my tired eyes. It's probably a work email. My boss just needs me to make changes to the brief for tomorrow's court date. It’s going to be long and tedious and I'm not in the mood. But maybe it will take my mind off Lee, for once.
I slip off Lee’s chef coat and his apron. Then I put on some sweats, throw my hair up into a messy bun, and ready myself to work until the wee hours of the morning. Snuggling into my bed is tempting fate, but fuck it. I scroll through my email and don't see anything new. Spam? Nothing there either.
Then I see my blog opened up in a separate window. A thrilling jolt courses through me when I realize that Lee sent me – no, the blogger – a message.
I have a feeling you would have really liked the new dish I cooked up tonight.
Shouldn’t I be concerned Lee is simultaneously asking me to be in a relationship while messaging and certainly flirting with the blogger? The fact that they're both me isn't the point. The point is that Lee doesn't know they're both me. That should upset me. But for some reason it doesn't.
I feel like I'm two different people. The Jenna in real life, who can run my hands against his burning skin, take him inside of me, kiss him until I'm struggling for air and not even care. The one where I can be vulnerable physically, but not emotionally. When I'm face to face with him, I don't know what happens. I just can't say what I feel. My throat clenches and my mouth clams up and I just can't.
But then there's the other Jenna, the one behind the screen. The one hidden in the internet, safe behind anonymity. That me, for some reason, can be honest and open and flirtatious and say everything I want to say to him.
I should close the laptop screen and slip into bed, close my eyes and hope tomorrow all of this with Lee and the blog is gone, but I don't. My fingers slip to the keyboard as if moving on their own.
Hi.
It's all I write.
It's not flirtatious or sexy. I guess I just want to talk to Lee,
openly. Even if we just discuss the weather. I need him. And I don't want to fight that need right now.
Is everything all right? he types.
Do you ever just feel lost? Like you find yourself in a situation and you don't even really know how you got there?
Lee types back immediately.
All the time.
I feel my eyes starting to well up, and I have to just laugh at myself. What is wrong with me? My computer dings again, and I read what Lee added.
But isn't that what makes life so exciting? Maybe you should embrace it? Grab it and own it and make it yours.
For a moment, I'm surprised. I expected a few responses when I typed that to him. I wouldn't have been surprised if he signed off at the first sign of any emotional, serious talk. It wouldn't have been out of character if he made some dirty joke or blew it off with some offer of sexy times. But, I definitely did not expect Lee to respond kindly with understanding advice and what appears to be patience.
Now that I think about it, he’s been surprising me a lot lately. He stayed to help me with my hangover. He cooked me breakfast when he could have just left after sex. He ate me out without expecting anything in return. Okay, no. Don't go there. I squirm in bed and start typing again.
I wish I could do those things. I really do.
We'll see how long he sticks around to help a random stranger who committed an injustice towards him and his business only a couple of days ago.
What's holding you back?
I drum my fingers against the keyboard. I'm afraid.
I never, never would have said this out loud, let alone out loud to Lee. And yet I typed it, knowing he doesn't know it's me, with barely any hesitation. I didn't break out in hives. I didn't turn red in the face or run away screaming from my laptop. Thank goodness I didn't smash it. I need it for work.
It's okay to be afraid, Lee types. But if you let it control you, you'll be missing out on all the wonderful things life has to offer.
Control? I've always thought of myself as completely and entirely in control of myself. I've prided myself on my self-control, my restraint, my guiding rationality. But maybe that really isn't control? Maybe Lee is right. I've just been using it as an excuse to stay safe in life, to not get hurt. Is fear controlling me?
How do I stop it from controlling me?
I wait anxiously for the ding of my computer. I keep expecting a notification that Lee has signed off. I prepare myself for the possibility that he's fallen asleep or left to meet up with a date and I'll never get a response. But a few seconds later, the message box blinks with the dots that tell me he's typing.
You have to have something worth letting it go for.
I stare at the words on the screen.
It's not something. No, that's the wrong word. It's someone.
What in your life, Lee types, would you regret not going for if you let fear control you? Keep that in your mind. And leap.
I rub my eyes that are tearing up. I'm tearing up because I think I know what that one thing is, who that one person is. But can I leap? Can I close my eyes, let it go, and leap?
My computer dings again.
Love will help you conquer fear. If you love something, it's more important than fear.
I lean over to my nightstand for a tissue and type to Lee. Are you ever afraid of anything?
I can't imagine Lee being afraid of anything. His go-to mode is to leap.
The little dots flash in the instant messenger. I'm surprised it's taking so long. It only takes a moment to type n-o. Maybe a smidgen longer if he’s going with h-e-l-l n-o.
Everyone has something they're afraid of. Everyone has a mask they wear to hide behind.
A mask …
I realize I've been moping and focusing entirely on myself. I keep telling myself Lee is brave and bold and confident, but this is a vulnerable side I haven't seen before. I guess the internet helps him out being honest, too.
I start typing and stop. I shouldn't say this. I'm stepping into water that is surely too deep. But I want to. I want to say it. I type out half of it and slam the “Delete” key.
Jenna, self-control. Yes. Good choice. Smart choice.
But wait. Lee just said I'm letting my fear control me. If I hold the thing I want in my mind, if I hold the image of Lee in my mind, I want to type it. And I don't want to stop myself from typing it.
I take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. I type as quickly as my fingers will fly and hit the “Enter” key before I can talk myself out of it.
Maybe we can help each other.
I slam the screen shut, toss my laptop, gently, onto the floor, flip off the lamp light, and duck under the covers. I’m new to this no fear, leaping thing. I’ll look tomorrow when I’ve refilled my bravery tank.
Baby steps.
Chapter 14
Lee
* * *
I nod to Jenna’s doorman and pause when he gives me a strange wink. “Going up to see your attorney, sir?”
“Um, she's not my attorney.” Well, not technically, anyway. I mean, she’s my friend. My lover. And she happens to be an attorney who’s giving me legal advice about the blogger, but only because she is the blogger…
“Oh, is she a chef today?” The doorman winks again.
“What?”
“Don't worry, sir. Your secret is safe with me.”
I have no clue what he's talking about, but it seems like a road I don't want to go down so I nod and give him a thumbs up. “Excellent.”
I hurry away, glancing back as I walk to the elevator. If I were a doorman, I'd probably drink on the job, too. As I step into the elevator he throws me a thumbs up and he almost looks ... jealous?
Shaking my head, I clear whatever that was from my mind and try to organize my thoughts. I'm not exactly sure what reaction I'm going to get from Jenna after what I’m about to tell her. I brought some Kleenex in case there's tears. I'm wearing sneakers in case I need to run away. I have chocolate on hand, because chocolate heals all.
After messaging with her last night, I made up my mind. She's never talked so openly with me in person before. And I've never realized she had these fears. Jenna in a suit is just about the scariest thing in the world to me. There’s not a single thing that woman can't accomplish in her tight pencil skirt and fitted jacket. If I was a criminal she was trying to put away, I'd admit to the crime right then and there in the courtroom, just because of the sight of her standing there in her suit.
But last night, it was such an eye-opening experience for her to reveal what she did, especially after running right out the door of my restaurant. What she told me through the messaging, thinking I didn't know it was her, put everything into context.
She didn't know it, but I think she was talking about me. So, yes, part of the reason I came up with this plan and decided to tell Jenna is selfish. I want to be with her. Seeing her vulnerable side last night just confirmed it. And it breaks my heart that this fear has been holding her back. Not just from me, but from life.
So, I'm going to push her a little bit. For her sake. And for mine.
It may earn me a trip to the hospital, but I'll risk it. I'll risk it for her.
I step out of the elevator and do a quick couple of jumping jacks and burpees to loosen up my muscles. Should I need them, of course.
As I get closer and closer to her apartment door, my steps slow down. Doubts enter my mind. Maybe this isn't smart. Maybe this is pushing her too far. Maybe I should just wait for her to come to me. Maybe I should just turn around, sprint right back to the elevator before it closes, and take a shot of whatever the doorman was drinking this morning.
I stop myself, because that would be the very definition of hypocritical. Here I am asking Jenna to be brave and take a leap and I'm running away?
I knock on her door, so I can't escape now.
“It's open!” Jenna shouts from inside.
How many times do I have to tell her to lock the door? Though if she'd locked the
door that night she was in the tub, we probably wouldn't have had sex that night and I wouldn't be here about to do this, so maybe it's not really that big of a deal.
I open the door and don't see Jenna in the living room.
“Jenna?”
“Lee?”
Her voice comes from the kitchen.
“Yeah, it's me.”
I walk in and find her cooking over the stove. Her face is scrunched up in concentration as she tries to flip what appears to be a poorly cooked crepe. She looks adorable hunched over the pan, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, as she tries to slide the spatula underneath the floppy crepe.
“Fuck, damn it, shit. Fuckface, fucker, goddamn motherfucker.”
Well, I picked a marvelous time to come poke at this angry bear.
“Um, hey, how's it going?”
She growls and dumps the pan’s burnt contents into the trash. The pan clatters as she shoves it back onto the stove top. She turns to me, and I try to hold in a laugh. Her hair is a mess, falling out of her bun into her face and eyes. It's frizzed from the heat and her face is red and glowing. Splattered batter is all over her shirt and sweatpants.
“What's up, Lee?”
Yeah, if I were smart I’d dart right back through that front door, and not say another word.
“Making crepes, huh?”
“Does it look like I’m making crepes, Lee?”
She shoves her batter-covered hands against her hips and glares at me.
“Do you see the platter of delicious, Nutella and strawberry filled crepes? Do you want one?”
A tiny chuckle escapes my lips before I can stop it, and Jenna’s hands become fists.
“Lee, this isn’t funny.”
“I’m sorry, Jenna. But you just look … I’m sorry.”
“I’ve been up since seven this morning trying to cook a simple crepe and they’re either clumpy or burnt or mushy or – I can’t even remember all the ways I’ve failed.”
She collapses onto a barstool in a pathetic heap. I just want to wrap my arms around her, put her on a plane to Paris, and eat every crepe I can find in the city naked in bed with her. But I know Jenna would bite me if I touched her right now.
