If You Could See What I See

by Cathy Lamb

  “I’m going to be freakishly upfront with you, too, Blake.” I could jump into those gray-blue eyes and stay there, yes, I could.”

  “Thank you.” He nodded.

  “I’m not looking to date anyone.” I could tell that was not what he wanted to hear. “I’m not looking for a deep, open relationship. I’m not looking for a commitment of any type at all.”

  That brain of his was clicking away, rapid fire, I could tell. “What are you looking for?”

  “I’m looking for someone I like well enough.”

  “What exactly does ‘well enough’ mean?”

  “It means I’m looking for someone I like but I don’t love, and I’m not looking to love. Someone who doesn’t need attention or fussing over or ego stroking. Someone who will not get emotionally involved with me and will not cause me any stress whatsoever. Someone who won’t cling. Someone who doesn’t want more than what I want.”

  He leaned in, elbows on his knees. I was not deceived by his casual posture. “And what is it, exactly, that you want, Meggie?”

  “From you, specifically, a little laughter and sex.” I wasn’t even embarrassed to say it. What the heck was wrong with me? Ah yes, that. That was what was wrong with me. That’s why I’m a cold reptile.

  “No dating. No dinners, no picnics, no hiking. No prying too much into my life, especially my past. I don’t want to talk about it. No talking as if we’re going to have a future. I want an hour or two naked in the evenings sometimes, then home in our own beds so we can have our own space.” I needed my own space. Miles of my own space so my mind could melt down and I could scream in my black feathers rat nightmares alone.

  Blake’s whole face and body were completely still. As usual, he waited me out, watching me, analyzing. No wonder he was such an awesome police chief. He was sort of scary and intense in a you-have-all-of-my-attention sort of way.

  “What do you think?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “No.”

  “What?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “That’s right.” He leaned back on the couch. “That’s not what I want.”

  I was surprised, but not much. “I’m offering you sex with no commitments. Laughter, no stress, no relationship. It’s sort of a manlike way to go, isn’t it?”

  “There are men like that.” He nodded. “There are women like that. But there are many of us who aren’t like that. I am not like that. I don’t want a relationship where I wander into a woman’s bedroom, mess around for an hour, and go home.”

  “That doesn’t appeal?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “Why not?”

  His jaw was set tight. “Because it’s empty, Meggie, and you know it. It’s lonely. It’s hollow. It’s nothing. It’s shallow and cold and stupid. Someone always gets hurt. The kind of detached relationship you’re talking about is for robots or psychopaths and young people who are naive and inexperienced enough to erroneously think it’s going to be fun.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Yes, you could say that.”

  I noted his controlled anger.

  “It looks like what you and I want is different, Meggie.”

  I ran a hand through my hair. Stuck again! Why don’t I learn? I needed to do something about my tangles. “How exactly do you see us?”

  “I want a relationship with you. I want to see where it goes, but my ultimate goal is to be in love with a woman, one woman, for the rest of my life. I want to get married and have kids. I’m not interested in getting involved with a woman who only wants me to come over, much like a bull stud, and leave. What’s in it for me?”

  “The sex?” I said this hesitantly, with not much confidence. I knew why. A rat face appeared in my mind with black curls. “I can’t say I’m the greatest in bed, but I can offer enthusiasm. How’s that?”

  He did not waver. “Not good enough. I’m sure it would be outstanding sex, but I’d roll over, or you’d roll over, and we’d be done. Nothing else. No hugging, no talking, no sleeping together, no waking up together, no nothing.”

  “Are you that moral?”

  “Yes.” He did not break our glares for looong seconds.

  “How dull.”

  “No, how right.” His expression, which had been rock hard, finally showed his confusion and his frustration. “Do you honestly want to have a man in your life who only wants to sleep with you and leave?”

  “Yes.” No. Yes. I had a body that thrummed for sex. Years of being deprived of it, years of unhealthiness in the bedroom, had turned it up on high speed, and the presence of the police chief here had turned it on full blast. But I could not handle more than that, that was for sure.

  “Why? Honestly, Meggie, why would you want that?”

  The reasons were endless. I don’t want to risk being in a relationship and hurting anyone else. Ever. I would feel suffocated. I would feel like I was in emotional danger. I would worry that things would turn into a tsunami of destruction, like it had before. I don’t even know how to be in a healthy relationship, how to act, or how to stay stable within it. I certainly can’t trust.

  But basically I hate myself, and I don’t deserve a relationship, that’s why I don’t want a boyfriend or a husband.

  “This is what I want, Blake. If you don’t want the same thing, it’s fine.” I tried to look nonchalant, as if I was brave and confident, not quaking inside. “You’re my dream man. You’re smart, you’re nice. I thought it would be . . .” What’s the word, fun? Not fun. I don’t have fun. “Good for both of us.”

  “Good for both of us?”

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head. “My answer, Meggie, is no, and it will always be no. If you want something else from us, if you want to get to know me, then I’m up for that. If you want to be friends, see where it goes, I’m up for that, too.”

  “Friends.”

  “Yes. Friends.”

  “As in, maybe we can make each other friendship bracelets?” Ah, there was my sarcasm.

  “Sure. I’ll get you a friendship bracelet. If you want to date, please tell me, I’d love to take you out. Wining and dining you is exactly what I would like to do. You’re a compelling person. You’re smart as hell. You have a dry sense of humor. Currently you’re closed off, and I’m okay with that. I know something happened to you and I’m not going to look around searching for what it is, because I want you to tell me when you’re ready. But what I am not ready for, and will never be ready for, is cheap sex.”

  “It wouldn’t be cheap sex.” I heard the edge in my voice, the anger suddenly pouring in like hot lava. I had been here before. He was rejecting me. “It would be sex between two consenting adults who work a lot, who are both basically kind people, who will be safe with each other.”

  “At what point have I ever, ever given you the impression that I would be the sort of man who would want to jump in and out of a woman’s bed with no thought to how she felt before and after? With no commitment to her or to us?”

  “You haven’t. I was hoping you would say yes.” My temper had triggered. He was causing me stress. “Are you done drilling me about this? You could have said no, and the conversation would have ended. Why are we going on and on about this? I heard your no. I understood it. No problem. Thought I’d ask.”

  “Okay, Meggie.” If a gray-blue glare could kill, I would be trying to suck in air at this moment. “Good luck. I hope you don’t get what you want. I hope you can’t find anyone to hop in and out of your bed, because I don’t think you’ll be happy. I think it’ll end up hurting you even though you think it won’t. I think it’s a bad choice and I think it’s dangerous.”

  “Who are you to lecture me? Who are you to be telling me what to do and what’s a bad choice and what will happen if I make that choice?”

  “Who am I? I’m a man who wants to be with you. I like you, Meggie—”

  “You hardly know me. How could you like me?”

  “It
’s been easy to like you. I liked you the first time I met you.”

  I tried not to get all tangled up emotionally with that one.

  “What you want is reckless and damaging and dumb—”

  “Shut up, Blake.” I wanted to hit him. I wouldn’t, but I felt like it. “Don’t you dare tell me that. I chose you, didn’t I? You’re the police chief, for God’s sake. You’re a good man. You listen. You’re interesting. You’re hot. You’re easy to be around and you’re completely emotionally and mentally stable.”

  I saw the confusion in his eyes at “emotionally and mentally stable.” It’s not something you usually list. “Frankly, chief, I think I chose well.”

  “You think you chose your bull stud well. Good for you. You’re not interested in a normal, happy relationship? You’re not interested in seeing where we could go as a couple? No, you want to work all day, then come home, get laid, and go to sleep. Alone. Nice life, Meggie. How’s that’s going to look for you ten years down the road?”

  “Get out.” I stood up. My temper was on red hot and getting hotter. “Take your self-righteous, I-am-holier-than-thou attitude and leave. I hope you find what you’re looking for: Prissy Miss Perfect. Shiny smile. Hips to bear children. Mary Poppins with an umbrella she can stick up your tight ass and Pollyanna who will be so sweet she’s robotic. Maybe you need a porn star in bed, too. Hope you find her.”

  Now we had two tempers flaring, both voices raised. “I’m not looking for Prissy Miss Perfect. I’m not looking for a Mary Poppins to stick an umbrella up my ass. I’m not looking for a robotic Pollyanna. I am certainly not looking for a porn star in bed. I am, however, looking for a real woman. A woman who can handle a relationship with a man. Obviously, that’s not something you want. When you change your mind, call me.” He stood up.

  “I’m not going to change my mind.”

  “You should.” He was trying hard to rein in his temper, but it wasn’t working. He was one formidable man.

  “Don’t tell me what I should do. I don’t need any man telling me what I should do or what I should think. Just go. I think I’ve had enough humiliation for one night.”

  “You feel humiliated? Because I won’t sleep with you and walk away?”

  “Because I asked you to sleep with me and you said no.”

  “So you feel rejected.”

  Ah, that word. “I don’t want to deal with you anymore. You won’t sleep with me, that’s fine, chief. I’ll find someone who will.”

  Now that shot him up. I could see it in the fire in his eyes. He was smokin’.

  “That easy for you, is it, Meggie?” His words were quiet, but I was not fooled by the control. “You can go out and find some other man and that’s that?”

  I hesitated, then came up swinging. “Yep.”

  I thought he was going to yell, or toss the table. He swore, then started stalking out. I watched those broad shoulders that I so wanted to pull down on top of me. I looked at that blond hair, and thought about running my fingers through it. I thought about that tight butt and those hips. They would move exactly right, I knew it. His legs were outstanding, too. He was a huggable bear and King Kong and Mr. Protective all in one.

  “If you change your mind, walk across the damn street.” He slammed my door when he left.

  He wanted a woman who wanted a relationship.

  That would not be me.

  I didn’t cry.

  Sometimes you are past tears about men. I am way past tears.

  Pop Pop grinned. Jeepers hissed.

  I thought of Aaron.

  I thought of Josephine.

  My fault.

  Black rats were running over my body. I was trying to escape, but the rats kept leaping on me, climbing on my shoulders, biting my ears, biting my ankles.

  I was back in our apartment in Los Angeles, bleak and small. Aaron walked through the door and I called to him, I screamed at him, to help me, help me.

  He saw the rats jumping and lit a joint, then turned into a huge rat himself. He lumbered over to me, opened his mouth wide, and bit my head open. I could see my brains being eaten, chewed. He pushed his joint into my squished brains, then used a sponge to fill the gap.

  I could feel myself dying, falling, smashing to the floor, while a massive group of black rats, tails swishing, ate the rest of my body.

  When they were done, one black, broken feather floated down to my corpse.

  I could hardly concentrate at work. I felt off, lost, lonely. Deeply hopeless.

  I had meetings. I worked on our complicated Fashion Story. I checked on the revamping of our website, evaluated our order history, and took a serious look at how our call center was performing when people ordered from our catalog.

  I was half there. I faked it, but I was half there. I liked Blake. I could trust him. I could love him if I let myself. But no falling in love. No commitment. No future.

  Could I have slept with him and not become emotionally involved? I could have tried. I would have tried as hard as I could. Would it have worked?

  Maybe.

  Probably not.

  Now it was over.

  I was not going to crash into a wall again headfirst, like I had with Aaron. I couldn’t do it. I was not ready for what Blake wanted.

  A well of rage erupted in me. Searing hot, hurtful, all consuming. It was Blake’s way or the highway, and I guess I was stuck on the highway. I picked up a stapler and threw it across my office. It banged a hole in the wall.

  Abigail ran in. “Are you all right?”

  I was breathing hard, trying to get control. “Yes, I’m fine. Dandy.”

  “Can I . . . help you?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  She left.

  I threw another stapler. It made a second hole.

  “Still okay?” Abigail shouted.

  “Yep.”

  No, I wasn’t.

  Pop Pop got in a fight at doggy day care. I had to leave work to get his ear sewn up at the veterinarian’s. I had to plead with the irritated owner, Hildee, to let him come back. Now he’s on “probation.” Hildee told me, in a serious way, that I had to “talk to Pop Pop about his aggressive behavior.” Pop Pop is now on dog probation. I hardly know what to say.

  In the interest of peace, and to get out of the office, I took Lacey and Tory out to dinner at a fish house. Over buttered clams and baked salmon we hashed out the details of The Fashion Story, which Tory called “almost cataclysmic in its strangeness” and Lacey called “visionary. Let’s hope we don’t scare our employees so much with our vision they all quit at once.”

  I drank my beer to quell my nerves. Lacey poked at her salmon. Tory ordered another martini.

  “Are you crying, Tory?” I asked when she sniffled after dinner.

  “No. Yes. But not about The Fashion Story.”

  “You miss him a lot, don’t you?” I said it quietly so she wouldn’t screech.

  “Yes, I miss Farmer Scotty.”

  I put my hand on her fist. Her nails were bright red. “Tory, maybe you should write him an e-mail, a nice e-mail about how you want to start over.”

  “No, I can’t do that.”

  “Has he filed any divorce papers?” Lacey asked.

  “No. He’s probably waiting for me to do it. He’s a nice, nice man, and he knows it will hurt me when the papers come, so he’s waiting for me to do it.” Sniffle, sniffle. “He’s sweet. He’s calm all the time. He always listens and hugs me. He never says anything mean back to me.”

  “With one hand you’re pushing him away, and you wave a sledgehammer and a buzz saw to get his attention, and with the other you’re pleading with him to come get you. When he comes, you push him away again,” I said.

  “You’re like a great white shark,” Lacey said. “You want more than one husband can give.”

  “Why can’t I be with Scotty and not push him away?” Tory cried. “Why can’t I be normal? Why can’t I settle into my marriage and be comfortable?”

 
; “It was your childhood,” Lacey said quietly. “Your loss. Your grief, the feelings of being abandoned, moving in with us. You’re afraid you’ll be abandoned again. It’s part of your genetics now.”

  “I know. Intellectually, I get it.” Tory’s lips tightened. “I never felt like I truly belonged anywhere after my parents died. They were there for my birthday party, and a week later, they weren’t.”

  I tried to imagine that, I tried to imagine a five-year-old dealing with that.

  “I know I push you two away by being a mean, blunt, fire thrower before you two can push me back and leave me all alone again.” Tory bit her lip. “I’m so flippin’ brain mangled.”

  “I’m flippin’ brain mangled, too, Tory,” I said. “Let me tell you about my nightmares again and how I thought I saw Aaron drinking coffee the other day at a café and I actually went into the café to check. I think I scared that poor man.”

  “And I feel like my brain has been divided into five parts,” Lacey said. “For Matt, each of the kids, and the baby, and there’s no brain left over for me to think with. I push, you push. We’re still sisters, Tory. Always.”

  “We love you, Tory,” I said. “We’re a family.”

  “I love you, too,” Lacey said. “We fight, but I always love you underneath.”

  “You do?” Tory asked.

  “Yes,” Lacey and I both said. I leaned over and hugged Tory, then Lacey hugged her.

  “I worry about you two giving up on me and deserting me. I didn’t like it when you were gone, Meggie,” Tory said. She drank her martini. “I chronically worry about Scotty leaving me, too. During our whole marriage I would wake up in the middle of the night, scared down to my toes, and I would hug him tight, but whenever there’s the slightest problem, I blow up and I tell myself I’ll leave him before he leaves me, and before I know it I’ve slammed out of the house and end up wondering how I landed on the sidewalk with my suitcases and Jimmy Choos.”

  “But you understand how screwed up you are,” Lacey said. “Can’t you work with that?”