I spent the rest of the day scrubbing toilets and sinks, the shower tiles, and the kitchen floor. I vacuumed the carpet, swept the downstairs hall, and cleaned off windows and mirrors. I changed the sheets on my bed, washed a load of towels, and paid bills. The entire time I worked, I thought about what I was going to say to him, and what his reaction might be.
Would he get defensive? Angry? Sad?
Would he admit I was right but refuse to budge?
Would he try to sweet-talk me into waiting a little longer?
Would he put those hands on me in a way that would decimate all my carefully constructed arguments, render me completely defenseless against him?
Maybe I should tie him up. Put a bag over his head. Stick him in the closet and talk to him through the closed door.
If I saw him, heard his voice, felt his touch, it would be so much harder to stand up for myself.
But I had to.
By the time I was in the shower, I knew exactly what I wanted to say to him. I wouldn’t accuse or criticize. I wouldn’t yell or cry. I would calmly but firmly explain why I felt it was time for us to take the next step, tell him how much I loved him, and ask for the chance to love Scotty too.
He’d see that I was serious, that I was understanding, that I wasn’t expecting him to be perfect, just to be fair. I didn’t need everything, but I needed more. And I was worth it.
Needless to say, it didn’t exactly go as planned.
? ? ?
He knocked at twenty after five, and I opened the door to a blustery cold breeze and an apology.
“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late.” He grabbed me in a hug. “I had trouble getting out the door.”
“That’s OK.” I wrapped my arms around him, and we stood still for a minute, chest to chest, my head tucked under his chin. It felt so good that my resolve wavered.
“God, I missed you last night.” He kissed my head. “I’ve missed you all week.”
“Me too, Levi.” I pulled back. “That’s why I want to talk. Come on upstairs.”
He nodded, but I could see the anxiety in his expression.
I led the way up the stairs and went into the kitchen. “Can I get you anything?” I asked. “A drink? Some coffee? Something to eat?”
“No thanks.” He took off his coat and hung it on the back of a counter stool. “Is everything OK? You’re making me nervous.”
On the other side of the breakfast counter from him—which wasn’t an accident—I took a breath. “I don’t know if everything is OK. I need you to tell me.”
“What do you mean?”
I tucked my hair behind my ears. “For the last month, I’ve been asking to meet Scotty, and you keep putting it off. I’m starting to feel like you’re delaying the introduction because you don’t have the feelings I do about us.”
“That’s not true,” he said, coming around the counter and taking my hands. “Jillian, I love you. I’m crazy about you. You know I am. I just want you all to myself for a while.”
Tears filled my eyes, and I knew my plan to remain calm and rational was futile. “I do think you love me, Levi. If I didn’t, this would be so much easier. We could call it quits, and I’d go nurse my broken heart.”
“Jill—”
“I think you love me and you’re just afraid.”
His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re using your son as an excuse not to let me into your life because you’re scared.”
He dropped my hands. “What the fuck, Jillian? I’ve told you why I haven’t introduced you yet.”
“I know. And those reasons made sense for a time. But if you really feel about me the way you say you do—if you really love me—you’d let me into his life too, because he’s everything to you. You’d give me the chance to love you both.”
“You said you understood,” he said, his jaw clenching, fingers flexing. “You knew from the beginning I had to put his needs first.”
“Stop blaming him!” I shouted. “This isn’t about Scotty’s needs, and you know it! This is about you being unwilling to let me in because you’re scared of something—and I don’t even know what! Do you think I won’t be patient with him? Do you think I might not love you if I see you make a mistake? Do you think I’ll try to be his mother? Or your mother?” I put a hand on my chest. “I’m not interested in criticizing you or judging you for the parenting choices you make. I want to be part of your life on a real level, not just a romantic interlude.”
Levi let me finish, but I could see his hands curling at his sides like they did when he felt attacked and on the defensive. Those fucking hands—I couldn’t even look at them. They never failed to arouse me, and that was the last thing I needed to feel right now.
“I told you,” he said, his tone bitter, “I told you from the start I couldn’t be what you wanted. I told you I couldn’t give all of me.”