Finally, he says, “I’ll let you finish getting dressed.”
I close the door and then my own lids, stifling out the remnants of our small interaction. Changing out of my formal clothes and into my comfortable pajamas of a tank and shorts, I then exit the room, ready to crawl under the covers, praying that morning comes quickly so that this night can be behind us.
Breathe.
Two steps out the door.
Foster.
Unmoving.
I stop in my tracks.
He sits on my bed, next to my bag, focusing on the ground.
“Foster?”
“I can’t do this anymore,” he says low and steady. “I thought it would be easier this way, but it’s not. It’s worse.”
My breath hitches, and the blood pulsing through my body drums loudly in my ears.
“Was any of it real?” Slowly, he connects his eyes with my own. “For you? Was it ever real?”
I gulp, unbelieving. “I don’t know what you’re asking me.”
“The way you used to look at me sometimes, and even still, like you just did when I was helping you with your dress…I wonder if it was real or if you were just pretending.”
“I…” is all my stunned vocal cords can muster.
“I’m not going to hide it anymore. It’s real for me, even more so than I thought.”
He stands, and I’m a statue glued to the floor.
“When your ex came to your apartment that day, I didn’t like it one bit. I hated the way it made me feel. At first, I thought it was jealousy, which I played off as being normal since we were sleeping together, but then I realized it wasn’t just that—the simple act of coveting something that wasn’t mine. It was something else, something more.”
Words.
So many words foreign to his mouth fly into the stillness and linger between us.
“The thing is, Evelyn…” Foster rubs his forehead. “Fuck, Evelyn! Do you know how hard it was for me to tell everyone that was your name tonight?”
“No,” I reply, startled, not fully comprehending. “I had no idea.”
“I guess you wouldn’t, would you?” He shakes his head, muttering to himself, “It was all part of the show. The act. The deal. Our arrangement. But it wasn’t for me. It meant more.”
“Fozzie, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fozzie.” He laughs. “Every time you say that, I always think…”
“What do you think?”
“I’m tired of pretending, Evelyn—pretending that we’re just friends, and tonight, pretending that we’re a couple.” He drags a palm across his face. “But most of all, I’m exhausted from pretending that I don’t love you—not only to you, but to myself.” Foster lowers his voice. “I’ve been falling in love with you from the moment I met you even though I’ve tried so hard not to.” He takes three calm steps toward me so that we’re an arm’s length apart. “So, I’m asking, was it ever real for you?”
My world comes to a standstill. Silence ticks and tocks between us.
“Yeah. It was,” I whisper tentatively and somewhat shakily. Releasing the pent-up emotions, I let them out slowly, so they don’t explode all at once. “It is.”
“I don’t want to be your friend, and I’m not interested in dating.”
