Chapter 8

Noah

            My heart is back to pounding quickly in my chest.  Sitting this close to Leah is doing a number on me.  There is no doubt that under different circumstances I would have tried to sleep with her.  She is beautiful and intelligent which is a lethal combination for me.  I feel my stomach drop low when I start to think about how quickly I would have messed things up if I had not met her the way I did a few days ago. 

            This is not me.  I don’t like this dance that couples do and I try hard to avoid situations exactly like this with women, but there is something about her that isn’t allowing me to treat her like them.  I want to protect her, to show her that she can love again, but the irony is that I know I will also show her how badly it hurts.  With one wrong move I could prove her right, only to prove her wrong in the end. 

            I lean forward on my elbows and try to get the TV to the right input so I can start the video.  I can feel her eyes on me and I want so badly to turn to her and lean in.  I want to know what she tastes like and how soft she feels in my arms.  Instead, I run a hand through my hair and lean back into the couch.  My knee accidently brushes hers and instantly I feel the rush of adrenaline as my body responds to touching her. 

            “So, let’s go over it one more time and then watch a video so you get an idea of what I need from you.”  I love the way her eyebrows raise briefly with that statement and we both laugh at its possible double meaning.  I rub my hands down my face and internally remind myself she is off limits.  “You know what I mean,” I say softly as I reach to touch her knee again.  At the last second I realize what I am doing and drop my hand on the couch instead.  If she noticed, she doesn’t say anything.

            “Alright. I’m ready.”  As she speaks I hear her phone in the distance again and this time I see on her face that she is anxious ignoring it.  She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.  I notice she is holding her breath and I can’t take the thought that she is trying not to disappoint me by ignoring the caller. 

            “You can get your phone.  It’s not important that we start right now.”  I say the words but hate that they are true.  I’m jealous of an unknown caller.  Actually, that isn’t true.  I’m jealous of a particular caller, I just don’t know if that is who is ringing her now.  I watch a small smile play across her face and then she jumps up to retrieve her phone. 

            I hate that I care.  I hate that for the first time in many years, I want to be the one a woman wants to talk to.  It’s a lot of responsibility to do it correctly and normally I am happy to not be that guy.  As I watch her pick the phone up and slide her finger to unlock the screen I feel my stomach turn and I try hard to look away.  I reach for my own phone in my pocket and pull up the number of the girl I have just started hooking up with. 

            I can’t bring myself to type anything as my attention is fully on the hushed conversation Leah is having with the caller.  “I’m doing ok.  The move went good, but now there is a problem with my apartment so I am staying with a friend.”  Leah turns to me quickly and I pretend to not be listening and to be overly interested in my phone.  She turns back and tucks her head down and lowers her voice.  “I miss you.”

            With her innocent words I feel like I am watching someone walk right off the end of a pier.  I cringe and my heart reminds me exactly how it feels to be putting yourself out there when the other person doesn’t give a shit.  I rub at my chest for a minute with the familiar pain from so long ago.  I stand up and start to make my way to my bedroom.  When Leah spins around to watch me go, I whisper, “Take as long as you need.  We can do this another time.”  She smiles and nods her head before turning back around and shutting me out again.

            I have come a long way since my days of heartbreak, but not long enough to lose the empathy I feel for others and their heartache.  During work, I have a limited time to sit with someone in their sorrow.  Eventually time is up and the session is over.  I get to change hats and take a break.  With Leah living here, I won’t have that luxury.  I am starting to wonder if her living here is going to cause me to relive some of my pain again. 

It has been a long time since I have thought about my break-up.  I lie down on my bed and tuck my hands under my head.  I can’t hear the words of their conversation of course, but I can hear the soft lull of her voice from outside my bedroom door.  I left it cracked so she knows she is welcome to come in when the conversation is over.  So now I lay on my bed, silently begging her to hang up before it hurts, before she has a chance put her heart back in his hands. 

It feels like hours laying here waiting for the call to be over.  It gives me time to think back on how it felt to be in her shoes.  I remember the feeling of desperately wanting to talk to my ex-girlfriend, convincing myself that conversation would be the one that made her realize ending our relationship was a mistake.  I also remember the way it felt when that didn’t happen, and instead another sliver of hope is lost, as more time has passed without reconciliation.  I close my eyes and take a big breath, reminding myself this isn’t my heartbreak.

Eventually, I no longer hear her voice outside my room.  I sit up quietly and lean toward my door hoping to figure out what was happening.  What I hear causes my heart to hurt.  It is very faint, but I can hear the small whimpers and sniffles of crying.  I curl my fingers around the edge of the bed and a war begins inside me.  I should leave her out there to recover on her own.  Stepping in won’t help her through it any faster. 

I release the bed from my grip and adjust my position so I am not about to leap to the rescue.  When another whimper makes its way to my ears and heart I feel myself stand.  The war is waging, go to her—stay where I am.  As if they were controlled entirely by my heart, my leg start to make their way to my door.  I pull it open slightly and her silhouette stands backlit by the kitchen light. 

We stand there for a second in the silence, neither of us saying anything.  I was coming to her and she was coming to me.  Now we have reached an impasse, both of us not knowing where the line of this new friendship is drawn.  Her face is drenched in tears and her shoulders are slumped over.  I can tell she is fighting hard to not cry but is losing that battle.  Without thinking, I reach for her and pull her into my arms.  I know I can’t get her through this grief any faster, but maybe I can hold her while she makes her way through it.