Page 127 of Let’s Make a Scene

“I know that.” She smiles. “Intellectually, I know that. I’m just working on believing it.” She frowns. “Maybe you were right before, about me finding someone to talk to. I’ve always been resistant to the idea of therapy because I get so little privacy, but perhaps…”

She looks up at me again and exhales heavily. “I hate that I’m making this so complicated, so difficult. Honestly, Jack? I can’t imagine why you’d think I was worth the effort, all this work. I’m such a mess.”

“You’re—” I start, and then I stop myself, force my mouth to slow down, my mind to slow down. “I’m worried I’m going to get this wrong,” I admit.

“Just tell me the truth,” she says softly. “You’re right, that’s what we should have been doing from the start.”

“The truth?” I say wryly. I rub my jaw. “Okay, but remember you asked for it.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” She smiles, still jittery.

“The truth…” I take a breath. “I think I’ve been in love with you for thirteen years—from the moment you stormed into my life and I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. I think when I was twenty-four and I met you, I was scared shitless of how you made me feel, and I behaved like an absolute asshole about it. You’re smart and beautiful and funny and full of fire. I love arguing with you, just as much as I love not arguing with you. So yes, I think you’re worth the effort—whatever the fuck that means—because despite what you seem to think, it’s not hard to love you, Cynthie; it’s easy. It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Her lips are parted, her eyes wide. There’s a beat, and then another.

“Right,” Cynthie says. “Okay then.”

I clear my throat. “Do you have anything you’d like to say?”

She makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Truth?” I nod. “I want to kiss you very badly right now.”

“I have no problem with that.”

She holds up her hand to stop me from moving. “Whoa there. You’re not the only one who wants to get this right.”

She closes her eyes for a moment, settling herself.

“I love what you just said. I’d like it on a T-shirt. I want you to record it on my phone so that I can make it my ringtone and listen to it all the time. I don’t think you’ll ever understand what that meant to me.” She pauses here and blinks. “I also think… I share a lot of your feelings. Maybe I haven’t felt this way as long as you say you have, because honestly, thirteen years ago I really did think you were a bit of a dickhead… at least most of the time…” She drifts off, flustered, and I can’t help laughing.

“Shit.” She presses her lips together, her chin trembles. “It’s not fair, because you made this perfect, beautiful speech like you’ve been scripted by Richard Curtis, and I just called you a dickhead. I am messing it up.”

I can’t help it, can’t stand to see her working herself up, especially when her words make me feel like throwing a parade, and I get to my feet, tugging on her hand until she’s up too, then I sit back down and pull her into my lap. She snuggles against me.

“I think you’re doing a great job.” I smooth her hair away from her face, tuck her head under my chin. “Not enough emotional declarations feature calling the other person a dickhead if you ask me. Shakespeare has nothing on you.”

“Okay,” she mumbles into my shirt. “That’s good because I doubt it will be the last time I call you one.”

“Noted.”

She toys with a button on my shirt. “But I still think what I said is true. We’ve done everything badly and in the wrong order. We hated each other, we slept together, we had to pretend to be in love, to break up; we didn’t see each other for thirteen years, pretended to be in love again, became friends, slept together again, and now, what? We’re supposed to be in a real relationship? How can that possibly work?”

“Well, sure it sounds bad when you say it like that,” I agree mildly, and she pokes me in the chest. “Would it help if I told you that I have a suggestion?”

“I’m all ears.”

“I understand your worries, and I heard what you said about the place you’re in right now.”

“I have a lot of shit to work out,” she says, her voice small.

“Right,” I agree. “So what I suggest is that we don’t break up.”

“Can you break up if you’re in a pretend relationship?”

“Fair enough,” I amend. “I think we should start again. For real.”

Her fingers stop fidgeting. “What exactly does that look like?”

“I have a few ideas.” I smile. “But essentially, I think we stop performing altogether. I think we should date. I think we should do what you do at the start of any relationship and get to know each other. I think we should talk. Constantly. About everything.”