Page 52 of Bloom

I know he doesn’t mean that to be as insulting as it sounds, and yet I can’t seem to stop my reaction. I’m not sure if I want to hit him or cry. Maybe both.

“You know what?” I rasp, feeling tears on the way and knowing I need to make a fast exit. “Fuck you.”

I rise to go but he stops me.

“Elle,” he says. “It’s not that. Just wait, because you’re taking that all wrong.” He stops to gather his thoughts. “It’s not that I don’t want to. If my memory of last night is correct, it was pretty clear I wanted to. You’re just too young. That’s why it would be wrong. Not for any other reason.”

I swallow my tears, but my voice is still rough. “No one but you thinks that.”

“Look,” he says. “I can remember babysitting you. I can remember giving you piggyback rides. I remember you learning how to read. And now … you look like an adult and … ”

“I am an adult,” I tell him.

“You’re not,” he argues. “You look like an adult but it’s an illusion, because there’s just as big a difference between us as there was when you were younger. And it’s killing me because the adult you is … well, it’s you,” he says, gesturing at me. “You’re … perfect.”

“So when I’m 80 and you’re 86, is the age difference still too great?” I ask.

His jaw sets. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“You’ve only been out of your parents’ house for a year. You can’t even drink yet. There’s just a lot that happens soon and you haven’t lived any of it.”

“I disagree. I think this is just about you wanting to see Ginny as a child, and because of that you have to see me as a child. Because I guarantee you that I could walk inside right now and Max would agree that I was adult enough to do anything I offered to do.”

His face grows grim and his eyes darken. “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

“So did you mean the things you said?”

He closes his eyes. “I don’t remember what I said. And I don’t want to know what I said. But yeah, most likely, it was all true.” He looks over at me. “So are you going to tell me what happened?”

“You tell me,” I say. “What do you remember?”

He sits again. “I don’t want to tell you because I’m not sure what was a dream and what wasn’t.”

“Why would you assume any of it was a dream?”

“Because … ” he flinches. “Because it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had fairly vivid dreams about you.”

A muscle in my belly flips over. “Really?” I smile.

“That hardly makes me unique,” he sighs. “I’m sure every guy in this house has had vivid dreams about you.”

“Tell me what you remember,” I offer, “and I’ll tell you if it’s correct.”

“I kissed you,” he begins. He looks over at me and I nod. “And I remember you telling me to go to bed. And then we were in my room and there was more, but it’s all vague. That’s the part I’m less sure about.” He looks to me beseechingly, but I stay silent. “So we didn’t sleep together?”

“No,” I reply.

“Did you, uh … ” he looks at me again, and I wait. “Did you give me … ” He trails off, unable to even ask.

“No,” I sigh. “Nothing happened. I stopped it because when it happens, I want it to be something you actually remember the next day.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not ever going to happen.”

I laugh, and the sound is slightly evil, like Max hatching a plan. “If you say so.”

Chapter 30