He kissed her again, biting at her lip. "I’m hungry."
"You’re always hungry," she laughed as she stood up.
He got up and shook out the blanket. "I have to have some vices, don’t I? And I lived this long without lunch."
"So where to, then?"
He folded the blanket. "I know just the place."
It took them forty-five minutes to get back to Boston. He parked in a lot in the South End and they stopped on every corner for a kiss. Twenty minutes later, they got to a little bistro playing old jazz. Michael spoke in hushed tones to the maître d, and after a few minutes he nodded his head and led them to the table furthest away from the front.
"I see therapy has done nothing to improve your friendliness."
"I am perfectly friendly," he said as he took her hand. "I just want more time alone with you."
"Oh, still really possessive, too?"
"Oh shut up," he said as he kissed her hand.
"You know," she said after a minute looking around, "I think this is the first time you ever took me on a real, honest to goodness date."
"Excuse me?" he said, slightly offended. "We went out when we were married."
"I seem to recall that you took me to a movie once or twice—after much hemming and hawing—"
"Miranda, you have the worst taste."
"Michael, why do you set yourself up so easily?"
He rolled his eyes. "Go on—you were complaining?"
"But otherwise I don’t remember too many dates as a couple."
"There was the ice cream."
"Which came after the movie," she corrected.
"There was the benefit."
Her hand went limp. He wished he could take it back. "Yes," she said quietly. "I do remember that."
"Is that the real reason?" he asked after a moment. "Is that why you wanted me to leave?"
She was starting to feel sensation come back. "Is that what you thought?"
"I wondered. Many times. It was the one time I really did prove how much I didn’t deserve you."
"No, Michael," she said, not looking away. "That wasn’t it."
The waiter came by to take their order. He ordered a well-done burger with fries and a seltzer with lemon. He was surprised when she ordered a veggie burger and a ginger ale. "What?" she shrugged. "You wanted me to order a salad instead?"
"Well, I am curious about the veggie burger, but really I’m just impressed that you’re eating."
"I’m not sure I’d be able to face Emily if I got meat tonight."
Michael let go of her hand. "You’re going back to her house? Oh, let me guess—you have to baby sit tonight—so she can go out on a date?"
Miranda looked at him pleadingly. "Don’t be mad. She was really excited right before I left, she said she had a great idea, and we had to work on it tonight. And no, Hellie is with Mitch and Martin—and Jessie—tonight, but don’t sound so resentful when you talk about her. She’s my little friend."
"It is one thing to compete with a forty- or fifty-something year old pervert…"
"Michael, don’t start."
"…and another thing to deal with your ‘friends’, but now you’re throwing in a toddler? How much can one guy take?"
"Okay, being mean to Jessie when she was a little girl was one thing since you were a little boy—sort of—but it’s not cool at all when you’re in your late twenties."
"I’m perfectly nice to Jessie now."
"Uh huh."
She looked away. He took her hand again. "What?"
"Nothing."
"That’s not fair."
"What?"
"Not telling me the truth."
"Fine." She shrugged. "Why did you hurt Jessie?"
"Do you remember that day?" he asked after a moment.
"I do. Very well. Richard was—I’d never seen him so happy, like he didn’t have to worry about anything. And Jessie was there, and they were happy. I felt the same way I did when Jessie’s mom was alive. Like we were a real family. And for the first time it was okay that there wasn’t anyone to take care of us, because we were all grown up."
"Did it ever occur to you that I wanted to see Richard happy too?"
"Not then."
"I did. I love him too, Miranda. For a long time he was my only connection to something decent. And I wanted to be with him like that too." He looked down. "Do you remember what you said to me that day?"
"Sort of."
"You told me, in effect, not to be me. You told me not to screw up Richard’s day, like I always did. You couldn’t believe for one moment that I was going to be...good." He took a deep breath. "And you—you were very pretty that day. I think I even told you so."
Miranda didn’t move her hand. "Not exactly."
"As close as I might have gotten."
"I thought you were joking, or just being mean."
"I wasn’t. I thought you were beautiful, and Alex wasn’t there." He smiled just a little bit. "But you just wanted to make sure I behaved."
"You didn't though, did you? And that’s when you hurt her." She raised her eyebrows. "And you did that on purpose."
"I wanted to give you...what you wanted."
"Jessie didn’t deserve to be used like that."
"I know. And I’m very sorry. And I’m very glad that you and Richard walked in when you did." She could see the remorse on his face. "I hope you believe that I’ve spent quite a few hours talking about that with my doctor, and I imagine I will for many years to come."
"I do."
He squeezed her hand. "What else?"
She blinked. "What did you do to Sophie?"
"She came over early to see you that weekend before you got back from school. God," he leaned his head back and laughed at himself, "I was so jealous of that girl, you have no idea. When she wasn’t with you, she was with Richard. And I don’t know what you said to her, but she didn’t like me at all. We were alone, and I knew I could get rid of her."
"So what did you do?"
"I stuck her hand down my pants." Miranda didn’t say anything. "I think I asked her whether she had done anything like that with Richard yet, but then you came home before she could answer and she ran out."
"How original," Miranda said drily. "And let me guess, she didn't get you back like Emily did?"
He frowned. "No."
"She was my best friend, Michael. And Richard was in love with her."
"I know. I’m sorry now. I was sorry then. I saw how broken up you were, and I know you cried yourself to sleep that night." He held her eyes. "I came to your door when I heard you. I wanted to apologize, but I was too afraid you’d scream at me."
"I remember," she said quietly.
He rubbed her hand with his thumb. "What else?"
"That summer—with all of the fourteen-year-olds—"
"Okay, they weren’t younger than fifteen, I swear."
"It was still gross."
"Maybe."
"Why did you do that?"
"I wanted to see if you’d get jealous."
"I wasn’t jealous, I was just lonely."
"I know."
"Because you were following me when you weren’t acting like a satyr in training." She frowned. "Then why...?" She smiled and looked away. "Forget it."
"No, tell me."
"Why weren’t you just nice to me if you wanted to...get my attention so badly?"
"I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me; that you’d think I was just playing."
"It would have been nice to have had a friend."
"I didn’t want a friend."
"The essence of creepy."
"But I value that now, if that means anything."
"Really Michael?" She asked in a syrupy voice and tilted her head. "So we’re...friends? What do they call that? Friends with benefits?"
"No," he said slowly. "Because that implies that you can have other such...friends."
"And that’s a no? Because you didn’t seem to mind when you were
younger—"
"Do you really need me to tell you that you’re different?"
"So are we...special friends?"
"What is wrong with you?"
"I guess I want to hear you say that you like me. I mean, you love me, you want me, you need me, blah, blah, blah, but I don’t think you’ve ever said that you, you know, liked me."
"I like you."
"What do you like? About silly little old me?"
"You’re—um—"
"Yes?"
"You’re very sweet. And you stick up for people you care about. And you’re brave. And you’re nice to people, even if other people aren’t."
"Honey, are you blushing?"
"Okay—do you like me?"
"Yes."
"What could you possibly like about me?"
"Separate from the wanting, needing, loving part?"
"I guess."
"Well, you fill out your swim trunks pretty well—oh wait, that’s wanting, isn’t it?"
"I’ll take it."
"No, no, no—forget I said anything."
"You know I won’t."
"And that, sweetheart, is part of what I like about you. You’re very committed. Stubborn, maybe, but I’d never worry about you not finishing something you started. And you, too, in your own way, are very protective of people you love. You just don’t love that many people."
"No one’s perfect."
"And you’re also kind of funny, when you’re not being mean."
"Really?"
"Truly."
He sighed. "What else?"
"Emily?" she whispered.
"You were so angry with me after Jessie. You threatened me. Good for you. But what you didn’t maybe, appreciate, was how much of your attention I had then. And I really liked that. I knew Emily was your friend, and Richard’s. Even Jessie’s. I thought it would annoy you if I hit on her, and irritate you even more if she took me up on it. But—" He raised his eyebrows a little at the memory. "She wasn’t like most of your other friends. She wasn’t afraid of me. She was really angry. She told me I was a coward, and that I needed them not just young but compromised or I wouldn’t be able to, um, perform. I wanted to make her afraid, and I wanted her to shut up."
"That didn't work out all that well," Miranda smiled with admiration for her friend. "You’re right, she wasn’t afraid of you. She would have gone to the police—Mitch would have taken her—but I stopped them. Because I knew there was no point." She sighed. "Another thing you might want to thank Alex for."
"I’m sorry I did that because she’s your friend, but that’s as far as I go. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive her for what she did."
The food arrived, but Miranda couldn’t eat. "No, that’s not fair," she said quietly. "She had a good reason to do what she did, and she wasn’t trying to hurt either of us. Really. And she had a very good reason to be so angry with you that day."
"What?" he said, but Miranda could tell he was only humoring her. "Bad boyfriend?"
She told him anyway. "That, but more importantly, a friend of hers was raped the month before. Someone her friend had had a crush on for months. Someone that she came to whenever he snapped his fingers. Someone who could have gotten her into bed just by asking. But he didn’t want to ask. So he drugged her.
"Her friend, so I’ve heard, wouldn’t leave her apartment. And Emily snapped. She found the guy and she beat him up and she made him leave. I don’t know how, but her friend never had to worry again. But Emily, for some reason, always held herself responsible. Frankly, when she saw you, I think she saw the other guy too."
"Oh, what a hero," Michael said, shoving some fries into his mouth. "Does her friend have a name?"
Miranda leaned forward. "Zainab," she whispered.
Michael stopped chewing. He swallowed a moment later. "Are you serious?"
"I wouldn’t make that up."
Michael shook his head. "Oh my God—I never knew. Does Richard know?"
"Yes, and I sort of got the impression that he had something to do with getting rid of the guy, but I think it was before he and Zainab even met." She frowned. "But I didn’t want to pry with any of them."
"Poor Zainab."
"No," Miranda said. "She—she had Emily there, and then she had Richard. She doesn’t beat herself up about it, because it wasn’t her fault. And Emily shouldn’t either. But now maybe you understand why Emily hated you on sight?"
He pushed his food away. Miranda took his hand again. "Michael?"
His lip trembled. "I’m very glad," he repeated, "that you and Richard walked in when you did." He clenched her hand as if for dear life. "And I’m so sorry about the benefit—"
"I know," Miranda said gently.
"I still think about how much I hurt you. That comes up even more with my doctor."
"My ankle healed up pretty quickly."
"What about the rest of you?"
"I didn’t say no. Please stop acting like it was—"
"I knew you—or I should have known, at least—that you didn’t know what was going on. But I didn’t stop myself, and I should have."
"You didn’t hurt me."
"But it wasn’t—I don’t want you to remember being with me like that, and the first time was bad enough."
"I remember the next night much, much better, for what it’s worth."
"There’s something."
"Just one more."
"As many as you want."
"You said that when you were younger, when we were kids, that you were afraid I’d go."
"It’s true."
"Then...what did you think would happen when you told me about Alex and my mother?"
"I couldn’t take being in Alex’s house any longer, and Richard’s was off limits, for the most part. After Emily, I had the opportunity to finally get my house back. I’d never wanted to leave it. And I thought, maybe, things might return to normal for me, whatever that was. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. That’s why I came over as often as I could. And you couldn’t stand me, of course. I liked it, but I hated it.
"We fought the very last time I set foot in that house, do you remember? And you were so angry with me. I’d never seen you like that before. So you said some things, and I got mad. And I thought, fine. Now I’ll tell her. I couldn’t stand to have you think that I was such scum and he was such a hero.
"You came to me later," he said with some difficulty. "And you asked me how drunk I was. I think I was on my fifth by the time you got to me. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I mean, maybe I could find you through Richard, but you’d never be in the same room with me again. And then there you were."
"Oh," Miranda said at last, unable to take her eyes off of him. "So you really were drunk?"
"Yeah."
"Well, then, that’s what we’ll chalk it up to," she said, then smiled.
He pushed his plate away and moved to sit next to her. She smiled but didn’t touch him. He smiled, looking her up and down. "My turn," he said softly.
"Okay."
"Why are you asking me all of these things now?"
"Do you think I don’t have a right to know?"
"Of course. But you had a right three years ago too."
"And I should have asked you then."
"Why didn’t you?"
"Because I didn’t care."
"So why do you care now?"
She tried to think of something to say, but then she shook her head. "I don’t," she said at last, "but I want it gone."
"I wouldn’t hurt anyone else again." She smiled uncomfortably and nodded. He put his hand on her knee. "And I wouldn’t hurt you either."
"I know," she whispered.
"One more."
"Okay."
"Why did you go to him?"
Miranda sat up straight. "Why Michael? I never even asked for anyone else’s name—"
"You really don’t see how he’s different?"
"No, I really don’t. Because he’s just someo
ne else from the past that doesn’t matter, that you’ll never have to worry about ever again. Just like I’ll never have to worry about any of those other people you were with."
"I only loved you."
"Why does this hurt you so much?"
"Because I loved you, and I had to watch you love him. And then you loved me, and you told me to leave, and you went to him."
"Michael—" She wished she could crawl away just at the mention of ever having loved Alex. "I loved him like a child, but for a long time. But I never loved him like I loved you." She closed her eyes. "And I didn’t love him...after."
"Then why?" he asked with quiet fierceness.
"Because it was better than being dead," she said softly. "Because he wanted to take care of me, and I could pretend for a few minutes at a time that I was still a person he could take care of. He wanted to hold me and touch me, and I could remind myself of when that was all I wanted. And he told me he loved me and he said he was sorry. And I could think it was all his fault and that if he apologized he really could make it better. And I could forget and stop feeling like I was gone because I wasn’t allowed to have what I lived for." She refused to cry. "Does that answer your question?"
"He didn’t love you like I did, or like I do."
"Do you think I didn’t notice?"
"He knew you loved me."
"Yes, I know."
"He knew that when you were—" Michael swallowed—"when you were in his bed, you were dreaming about me."
"I know."
"And he didn’t care."
"And I always, for the record, thought that was very sad."
It took him a minute before he could speak again. "If you knew all that, why—?"
"Because I was terrified."
He looked at her as if she’d punched him. "Everyone else and what they thought were so much more important?"
"That wasn’t what I was afraid of." She reached out to him tentatively. "But I’m not afraid anymore, so please, I’m begging you, even though you hate it when I do that, please don’t punish me for the past."
"I don’t want to punish you. I just want to understand—no, that’s wrong. I just want to know that you loved me like I loved you when we were apart."
"I guarantee you; I missed you so much more than you could have missed me."
Let's Move On (The New Pioneers Book 4) Page 6
