“Is that why you’re stalking me? For pet stories?” There’s no humor in his voice. It’s hard and biting.
“No, but I am sorry.”
“About the dog?”
“Yes.” I’m looking at my hands. “No. About the rest of it. The way it was when I left.”
“What are you doing here, Jane?”
I turn toward him and pull my knees up to my chest. The words swim around my head, and I pick some. “I don’t want to give up. Like the hawk said.”
“I didn’t give up. You’re the one who lost her shit and left. Is that a thing you do? Because it’s not totally shocking that you haven’t had a long-term relationship.”
“That’s just it. It’s not a thing I do. I don’t do any of this. I smile nicely and wear exactly the right thing.” I scrunch up my face a little. “I talk about my work, but just a little so guys will feel comfortable if they want to pay for dinner. I’m five minutes late and the tiniest amount bored. I am kissable but not overtly sexy. That’s what I normally do. It’s a whole thing.”
Dan shakes his head. “I don’t even know that person. You don’t even bring a bathing suit to the beach.”
“Ha, see? Even my pajamas were wrong. And I talk about my work constantly, and I had sex with you almost immediately. I’m a disaster with you, Dan.”
“I think we’re on the same page then.” God, he’s infuriating.
I get up and walk to the window. I need to refocus, because I don’t know when I’m going to get another chance to explain myself. This would have been a great situation for a script. “When I auditioned forPop Rocks,I got the part because I’m a lot like Janey Jakes. I’m loose and funny and my face shows exactly what my heart feels. That’s who I actually am. I stopped allowing myself to be that person a long time ago, but I feel kind of unleashed with you, you know? Like I don’t need to contain myself.”
He still says nothing, but he’s looking at me like he agrees that I am entirely unleashed. I have no place to hide, so I just keep going.
“And it’s funny that I’m such a mess with you and that you actually liked me. Because when I date, I have all these rules about how guys should look and act and how I should look and act. I basically lie to them so they’ll think I’m Reese Witherspoon. And I’m not Reese Witherspoon, Dan. That’s the thing I know now. And that’s the thing I think you were okay with.”
I stop and take a breath and sit back down on the couch, my legs crossed under me. Dan runs his fingers through his hair and crosses his arms over his chest.
“So,” I say, “I think I should have started with this. I’m really sorry that I blew up and shut you out. Jack said some things that made me feel that old sense of worthlessness. And I walked out of that limo so small and there you were so perfect. I thought I had to be the stupidest person in the world to think you might love me.”
He meets my eyes, and I should take back the love thing. It’s too strong of a word to use, but it’s the word I mean. I really did feel like he loved me.
“So rather than saying, hey, Dan, this feels scary, like a normal person who’s been to therapy, I blew the whole thing up.”
He nods. “You really hurt me.” I can see the hurt in his eyes and I marvel at it, that a person like me could hurt a person like him. “Is that it?” he asks.
My need to be close to him is like a hunger. I am starving for his arms around me, my head on his chest. And I feel terrified, an actual chill through my body, that he is going to ask me to go.
“I brought you something?” I say. I reach into my bag and hand him our watercolor.
He takes it with both hands. “You thought it was shitty,” he says. “So, thanks?”
This isn’t going the way I saw it going in my head. He’s not seeing the painting the way I do. He’s not accepting my apology and taking me in his arms.
I take a breath and look down at my hands. I am on the verge of begging for something from him, and that’s not how I want this to go. “Okay,” I say and get up. “Thanks for hearing me out.”
I pick up my bag more slowly than necessary. When I am on the other side of that door, I will actually have lost him and I’m going to fall apart for real. “Okay,” I say again.
Dan follows me to the door. He’s going to open it, I’m going to walk through it, and he’s going to close it. That’s how doors work.
I turn to him and his eyes don’t meet mine. “I forgot to say, the movie got canned.”
“I’m not surprised,” he says. He puts his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, signaling that he’s not going to hug me goodbye.
“I’m probably going to quit my job,” I say. “That’s a whole other thing, and I know you’re trying to get me out of here. But maybe we can talk about that later?”
He steps toward me, reaches for the doorknob, and opens the door. “Sure,” he says.
