Mary Robb - Down the Rabbit Hole

Her tongue felt stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she was too aware that they were still holding hands. She let go and turned to face him.

“This isn’t going to work,” she said, blurting out words that were closer to the end of her prepared speech than the beginning.

“What?”

“Eh. That’s not how I meant to say it.”

“Say what?” He had the deepest, warmest brown eyes she’d ever seen. They were confused and cautious.

“I’m saying that this, you and me, it isn’t going to work. I’ve known for a while and I’m sorry now that I didn’t put an end to it sooner. Certainly before tonight.” She waved her fingers back and forth between them and their elegant attire. “All your plans and . . . the flowers and . . . I’m sorry.”

He studied her face. “What’s happened? What triggered this?”

“Nothing. Not one specific thing. And it’s nothing you’ve done. You’re great. I like you a lot. I’m just not ready for more than a friendship right now. My life is complicated and—”

“It isn’t any more complicated than mine, Elise.” He wasn’t angry, just stating a fact. “You’re scared.”

She was. It might save a lot of time if she just owned it.

“Okay. I’m scared.”

He nodded, like he’d known for a while. “So am I. I get it. Life’s scary.” He recaptured her hand. “And love is the scariest part of all. It’s supposed to be. If love was as easy and free as everyone says it should be it would hold no value. It would be as ordinary and objective as . . . getting hungry. But it isn’t easy and it isn’t free; it’s rare and fragile.” He secured her other hand. “Don’t let your fear force you to turn your back on something so special and out of the ordinary.”

“Yeah. Extraordinary. I saw what loving someone can do to you when my dad left my mom. She suffered. It broke something inside of her . . . and me. I knew better. But then Jeremy came along and I thought: Oh wow. This is real love, not what my parents had. This is something extraordinary .”

“And it was.” His frown was worried, his sigh was sympathetic. “Loving someone is never wrong. It’s what you live for. It’s . . . it’s why you live; how you should live. But it takes two people to keep it alive, Elise. If one person gives up on it, it dies—and it’s a painful death.”

“With a new girlfriend and all my money, I don’t think Jeremy’s feeling much pain.”

“I’m not talking about Jeremy. I couldn’t care less about Jeremy. People have shit in their lives—you scrape it off your shoes and keep walking.” He stooped to look into her downcast eyes. “I’m talking about you, Elise. About us. Right here. Right now. You’re the one I care about.”

She looked up, knowing she’d see everything he was saying with his voice set solid in his eyes. It terrified her.

His smile was small, sweet, endearing. “Besides, it’s too late to run away from me now. You’re crazy about me.” She frowned and his smile grew, but only a bit. “You can deny it if it makes you feel safer, but I know when someone loves me, the same way I know when someone doesn’t. I can see it in your eyes; hear it in your voice. I can feel it when we touch . . . and when we kiss.

“And you feel it, too. That’s why you’re afraid, isn’t it? Because it feels like you’re exposing your underbelly to me. Because you’re feeling weak and vulnerable.” He brought her hands up between them, kissed the back of one and then the other. “That’s not what I want you to feel. I want you to trust me. But I’ll take it—for now—because I know what it means.”

“How can you be so certain?” It was very unfair. “How do you know I haven’t met someone else?”

“Have you?”

“That’s not the point. How do you know you can trust me ? This could be revenge love . . . Maybe I’m using you to get back at your entire gender.”

“Are you?”

“No! That’s not it either. What I need to know is—”

“What you need is a guarantee.” He tipped her a sly look. “They don’t even have those in your romance novels. Love is a leap of faith . . . and hope and determination . . . and you know that already. You’re just afraid and—while I am prepared and very willing to hammer at it until we’re old and gray—you’re the only one who can do anything about it.”

He stepped back. Having presented his argument, he didn’t seem to have much more to say. He stood quietly, giving her time to speak, to reconsider, to look him in the eye and reiterate her case. When she didn’t, and when the silence between them grew awkward, he spoke again.

“Look, I was sort of prepared for this—sometimes the gears in your head squeak really loud,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe you weren’t prepared for me to fight back—you underestimated that in me, too, I think. So just for the record, I do know you’re serious. I know you want out. But I also know that panic and fear can make us do stupid things. Disastrous things. So I’ll give you a little time, and some space, to reevaluate our situation.” He knuckled her chin up to look into her face. “I’m not going to beg you to admit that you love me. Not my style. But I will be around if you change your mind.”

Her heart felt like an egg—cracked, everything inside spilling out. She watched him walk away, taking the stairs for expedience, not quite running. She wanted to scream.

The scene blurred and slipped away.

* * *

The few weeks that followed were torture, and she was exhausted. Elise vacillated in the tiny breath between feeling stupid for putting her heart in peril again and being stupid by throwing away what could be the love of a lifetime.

“Tough one,” Superman said, though there didn’t seem to be any pity in his voice.

“No kidding. And I still don’t know what to do. I . . . I think I love him. I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’d never deliberately hurt me, but that one percent, I can’t get around it. People fall down all the time, you know? But after the first time they’re more careful and take extra precautions because they know how bad it’s going to hurt if it happens again.”

“But don’t you think that standing in one place and going nowhere is extreme?”

“I’m not standing in one place,” she said, miffed. “I just think I’ll have better balance if I walk alone.”

“I might have to agree.” He had her attention now. He was tall enough to bend an arm across the top of the framed divider and lean on it. “Maybe Max is deluded. Maybe you don’t love him at all.”

“Why? I do. Of course I do. Who wouldn’t? He’s . . . We fit, you know?” Every inch of her ached for him. She missed him. “He’s wonderful. And smart and funny. And real. Kind.” She let out a deep, wistful breath. “He’s the calm to my crazy. He listens to me—even when I’m not saying much of anything. And hot ! He’s hot, don’t you think?” He raised his superbrows. “He is, trust me. I think he’s amazing. I just don’t know—”

“And that’s why I’m wondering: Do you really love him?”

“What?”

“In this conversation alone there have been twice as many I s and me s than he s and him s. It’s all about you. It’s always all about you. What you want, how you feel. What about him?”

He motioned with his head toward the Medieval tunics, hippie dashiki shirts and polka-dot poodle skirts as another episode commenced . . .

“Relax. She’s sweating. She’ll fold. Just a matter of time.” Her brother, Roger, looked as unconcerned as Max looked gloomy and miserable. “She’s scared, not stupid.” He hesitated. “She can be stupid . . . I just don’t think this is one of those times.”