Perfect Tragedy by Jennifer Miller

15

My heart stalls in my chest.

He’s here. Blake is here. He stares and me and his eyes take a journey from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I realize that I’m only wearing a tiny tank top and short shorts that don’t leave a lot to the imagination.

The fire in his eyes makes me realize that perhaps for the first time he’s looking at me completely unguarded and holy hell batman, I know without a single doubt that Blake finds me attractive.

“Hi,” I say awkwardly.

“Can-” his throat sounds dry and he clears it and tries again, “Can I come inside?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Of course,” I say when I realize he’s still on the porch and I’m leaning against the door stupidly staring at him.

He walks inside and I close the door. He steps into my house, pauses, and looks around curiously. I realize he’s never seen the home I’ve created for myself, which makes me wonder, “How did you know where I live?”

He laughs softly, “Jack. All I’ll say is that he’s pretty pissed off right about now and probably trying to fall back asleep as we speak.”

I return the slightly uncomfortable laugh imagining my angry brother.

It quiets and we stare at one another.

Life seems to stand at a complete pause.

I feel like we’re on the verge of something big - something we can’t come back from. I’m aware of every breath – mine and his – and even the slightest moves he makes. I feel like he wants something from me, but I’ve no clue what it is and I still feel empty - I already gave him all the words I have.

“Did you want to sit?”

He shakes his head, “No, I don’t want to sit.”

Okay, standing it is then.

“Do you want to go to the kitchen? I can get you something to drink.”

He shakes his head again, “I don’t want a drink.”

We pause longer. I feel a large amount of air release from my own lungs, unaware that I was holding my breath.

“What do you want? It’s three o’clock in the morning and you’re here for some reason, I presume. What is it?”

I cross my arms over my chest as if doing so will protect me from whatever he’s going to say. Fear of repeated rejection quickly washes over me and I suddenly feel cold.

He looks at me, holding my gaze. Oh, those unchanging, captivating eyes. They look like the grass and trees before a rain storm. That moment when everything looks so green and peaceful, no sign that in moments a flood may open and drench the earth.

“I have some things I want to say.”

I nod and brace myself.

“I missed you too,” he says softly. “I want you to know that I felt the loss of you too. Every day. And those photos, the ones of you taking your clothes off when you’re drinking, I want to see them.”

I laugh – a brief, nervous giggling laughter that catches me off-guard, not expecting those comments or the change in conversation.

“I want to have shots with you, party with you, dance with you.”

He takes one step toward me but stops.

“And the guy that hurt you? Betrayed you? I want his name. I have connections you can’t possibly imagine,” he says so dead serious that I feel a shiver run up my spine at the dangerous tone to his voice.

“Mrs. Dooberry,” his lips curl in amusement, “how do you even remember her?”

I smile a little as understanding dawns. He’s responding to each of my emails. He read them. He read all of them.

His face grows serious again and he takes a few steps toward me, closer, this time taking my upper arms in his hands. “Your mom knew you loved her. I’m convinced that moms know those things in their souls. It doesn’t matter how many times you did or didn’t say it, they can feel it, they know it. And proud of you? I think maybe, just maybe she was more proud of you than you could imagine and even more than me. Yes, me. And that’s saying a lot because damn I couldn’t be prouder of you. Proud of the woman you were, the one you’ve become, and all the happiness and joy that I know you brought to her life and those in your circle. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to hold you and to love you through losing her. I know that you’ll feel the loss of her forever, but she’ll always be in your heart, in your memories, and I’m here now. I want to accompany you through the rest of that journey. And share my own.”

I nod, unable to say a word as unshed tears clog my throat.

“The way you felt about taking care of your dad, it’s understandable. It has to be difficult. Yet, how generous of you to trade your needs and dreams to take care of him and help him through the recovery from his loss when your load was already so heavy. He is blessed with a very special daughter. But we all know that. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to tell you that then too, so just another thing I want to be sure I say now.”

He lets go of my hands and the momentary separation makes me feel sad until his hand cups the side of my face and he waits for my eyes to meet his.

“I need to make something very clear. I didn’t choose her,” he says staring into my eyes. “No one can compare to you. I settled. I took the easy way out or what I thought was the right solution, the right thing to do but it was anything but right. And I’m sorry. I’d give anything to go back and make a choice, the choice, the right choice.”

I bite my lower lip, trying to hold in the emotion.

“Si” he whispers softly, “I also need you to know that I saw you. Know that. I couldn’t stop seeing you. I’ve always seen you. Every day, every conversation, every shared interaction and event. I could describe you in great detail - not merely your beauty and physical attributes, but your spirit, your heart, the person you are. I saw you when I was here and when I wasn’t, it was all I could think about – those thoughts kept me sane and stable and whole in spirit. I more than saw you. I wanted you. I needed you. I still do.”

His thumb brushes the side of my face, his eyes fall to my mouth, then meet mine again. “And you were questioning if we ever had anything, had truly meant anything to each other? Thought maybe you remembered it to be more than it really was? You didn’t, because if that were the case, I wouldn’t have felt it too. That we didn’t speak of it, act on it, did not make it less real. Hell, the fact that you weren’t able to be with the other man that loved you, well thank fuck, that’s just evidence…and good thing it never went anywhere because then I’d have to call on those connections again.”

He smiles when I laugh softly and roll my watery eyes.

“I love you,” he says.

Three. Simple. Words.

Three little words that mean everything.

How my heart has wanted to hear those words.

I open my mouth to respond in kind, but he places a finger over my lips. “There are so many things I love about you. How you love with your whole heart. Your captivating, sweet and at times, flirtatious smile. How proud you are of your family, your love for animals, your loyalty and kindness. The freckle right here,” he says brushing the top of my lip and repeating words I said to him, “and the reminder of the fall you took here,” he says brushing the other side of mouth and it makes me remember the time he almost kissed me years ago.

“The way you bite your lip when you’re nervous; how you slightly scrunch up your nose and murmur “mmm” when you really enjoy something you’re eating; how smart and yet, how practical you are; how extremely beautiful. Being loved by you is a privilege.”

“You don’t know who you belong to?” He asks referring to how I ended one of my emails. “I’ll tell you. You belong to me. Now. And always.”

“You mean it?” I ask, afraid to hope.

He laughs, “I may not have claimed you before, out loud, but in my heart, that’s always been the case. I couldn’t wait one more minute to tell you - to show you. There’s no doubt that I mean it, that I’m sure.”

He smiles softly, looks at my mouth, then puts his mouth on mine. His lips are soft, the kiss firm and exploring. He pulls on my hair gently and my head naturally follows backward, deepening our kiss. With a newfound confidence, I pull away from him and take his hand and lead him without a word to my bedroom.

We undress each other. He stiffens slightly as I remove his jeans, demonstrating what I interpret as a momentary concern about his leg prosthesis. I take the hand that he placed on his jeans to stop me and softly kiss it holding his gaze with my own. I trust that my response and look convey the pride knowing what he endured for his beliefs and moreover, for what he’s overcome to still be here. I show him with my words, my lips, my hands and with my body how much I love him. How there is nothing about him that isn’t beautiful, whole, or desirable. I tell him and let him show me that he’s more than enough man for me as we become one.

After we finish, laying face to face, his fingers trail up and down my back lazily. My eyes are so heavy, but I don’t want to fall asleep. I’m afraid to. I don’t want to wake up and find out this has all been just a sweet dream.

“I forgot one thing,” he whispers.

“Mhm?” I can’t form words.

“Remember those places you told me years ago you want to go? I want to take you there. To each of them.”

Smiling, I respond with a demand, “Tell me again.”

“I love you,” he says knowing what I want.

“I’ll never tire of hearing it,” I smile, eyes finally falling closed, happy, content, confident in our love.

He places a kiss to my lips, “I’ll never stop saying it.”