A Sorta Fairytale (8 page)

Chapter 13

Stella & Alex

“So what kind of things do you paint?” I ask while staring, mesmerized, at all the different flowers. The colors, the textures, they’re all beautiful in their own way.

“All kinds.”

I shift my gaze from the flowers to you. You’re staring at me with such intensity my stomach starts to clench. Clearing my throat, I look back toward the flowers and begin to walk along. “I’d love to see them sometime.”

“Really?” you ask with amusement in your voice.

Turning to you with my arms crossed, I ask, “What’s so shocking about that?”

You wave a hand. “Nothing. I just didn’t think you would be interested.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Alex.”

You nod. “I’m starting to get that, but, Stella, I want to. I want to get to know all of you.”

“That’s a lot.”

“I know. But we have all the time in the world.”

I don’t want to argue. Arguing just opens a whole new can of worms I’m not ready to deal with. We aren’t anything yet, but we’ve argued already about the three-person relationship I’m partaking in. “Look, Alex. I’m not going to argue with you. If you want to be a part of my life, then you can be. But I’m with someone else also. This,” I gesture between us, “wasn’t my idea. Let’s make that very clear. If I had made the decision, I would’ve never suggested a third. I was perfectly fine with Thomas.”

“But clearly Thomas wasn’t fine with it.”

I can’t hold my anger back anymore. You’re pushing buttons in me I didn’t think you could. Spinning around, I yell, “Now what’s that supposed to mean? You think because we’ve hung out twice, you know me. You know this relationship. You know the rules, and you know everything about me? You don’t, Alex. You don’t know a damn thing.”

“It means,” you say forcefully, “that maybe there was some sort of calculation behind it. And no, like I said two fucking seconds earlier, I don’t know you. But goddammit, I must belong in the fucking psych ward because I want to. Now I’m going to tell you, Stella, to shut your mouth if you have nothing else to say. When we are together I want to talk about us. You hear me? I don’t want to think about you being with somebody else. I just want it to be us. You hear me?”

I stare at you, floored by the way you’ve spoken to me. “No one’s ever spoken to me like that.”

“Well, it’s about damn time.” Your features fall, and anger turns to amusement. “So would you like to continue with this date?”

“This is a date?” I ask, baffled.

“Goddammit, Stel.” You chuckle and nod. “Yes, this is a date. Would you like to continue?”

I stare at you, questioning whether or not I’m ready for this. This. With you it seems like a real relationship. I wonder if I’m ready to deal with you and Thomas. I should’ve been prepared for this, when I found another. I mean, I had two fucking years to get ready for it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t. I don’t think you can prepare for dealing with two people. Sometimes I feel like I have a split personality. I’m a totally different person when I’m with Thomas than when I’m with you. I’m just not sure which is the real me.

“Stella?” you question.

I clear my throat. “Yes?”

“Shall we?”

I look behind you and stare at the gardens, smiling. “They really are beautiful.” I look back toward you and see you’re watching me with a lazy smile on your face. “You should paint them sometime.”

Grabbing a flower from the garden, you walk over to me and place it behind my ear. Goose bumps run down my spine, and a tightness forms in my belly. I didn’t think you would give me these feelings, but you do, and I don’t fight it. As much as we have argued within the last hour we’ve been together, I’m curious about you. After all, curiosity did kill the cat. Maybe it’ll kill me too, because I’m determined to get to know you. Against everything I’ve said. Everything I’ve thought. Everything I’ve seen. I want to get to know you. And I don’t care what others think or say.

“There’s something else I would much rather paint instead.”

My eyebrows pinch together. “Me?” I ask pointing a finger to my chest.

“Mhm.” You smile. “You’re beautiful, Stella.” You don’t let me answer. Instead, you pull me behind you into a hideaway garden.

“Where are we going?” I giggle.

“You’ll see.”

I feel like two school children, running around, playing hide and go seek. Getting lost and enjoying adventures which to others are no big deal. My mouth falls open, and a carefree laugh escapes. It comes out very rarely. And with you, it has. I follow behind you, trying to keep my feet moving as fast as yours. “Jesus,” I say, “did you run track or something?”

“Yeah.” You laugh. “Hurry up, you slowpoke. We’ll be there in just a few more minutes.”

“Oh, fuck,” I whine.

“Quit your whining and hurry it up, Stella.”

I start to smile. Even while my stomach is tightening and my legs are burning, I still smile when I’m with you. I like that you push me to my limits, and even beyond them. I like that you argue with me, and you don’t take any of my bullshit. I like that I can be a totally different person when I’m with you. You and Thomas are totally different. I wonder how I was so lucky to find someone unlike Thomas.

“We’re almost there,” you assure me.

“Oh, thank god.” Sweat forms at the top of my forehead. I can’t believe I’m on a date and I’m running and sweating. Sweating from something that doesn’t involve fucking.

Releasing my hand, you sweep yours around the garden and sing, “Ta da!”

I stop running and fall over, trying to catch my breath.

“Aren’t you going to look?”

My eyes are still glued to my sandals. I sputter, “Just give me a minute, Alex. Please.”

Around a laugh, you say, “All right. I thought you went to the gym?”

“I do. But I don’t run. In fact, I hate running. Despise it. My trainer—”

“W-w-w-wait just a second! You have a trainer?”

I laugh. “Trust me, Alex. It wasn’t my idea.”

Your posture changes. You stand up straight, scrunch your brows, and fold your arms. “Thomas?”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d you agree to it?”

“I didn’t. It was just a suggestion, and if I don’t have to pay for it, then that’s all right with me. I actually hate the gym. My idea of working out is a good fucking.” The second I say it, I bite my lip. I don’t want you to get even angrier than you already are. But you don’t.

Instead, you smile. “Experts say it’s the best workout.”

“Thank you!” I cheer. “Finally! Someone else understands me.”

You laugh. “Not yet, but I hope to. So will you sit your cute little butt down?”

I smile. Looking behind you, I say, “Holy shit.” I finally take in the scene. “It’s…beautiful,” I stammer. The dangling trees connecting with one another. The wild flowers springing up all over the bushes. And in the center of the garden, away from everyone like it’s our secret hiding place, there’s a small table with two chairs. I point toward the seating area. “What’s this?”

You shrug. “I figured we could have a bite to eat. There are sandwiches and desserts. I have champagne, and there’s wine if you don’t like champagne. There’s also water.”

“Champagne’s good.” I smile and say, “Thank you, Alex.”

The small smile on your face grows exponentially. “You are very welcome, Stella.”

We stare at one another. I don’t know for how long. It could be two minutes or an hour. Frankly, I don’t care. I’m completely mesmerized by you. I feel like I could gaze at you for hours and never get bored. I want you to look away—I need you to—but I’m glad when you don’t, because I know you feel the same way about me. We might not have gotten off on the right foot, but I don’t believe in soul mates. I believe you have to work like hell to keep what you want.

Relationships. That’s a funny word. They are tough, and anybody who says differently is a goddamn liar. I believe the best couples are the ones who fight the most. Not about everything, but about things that matter, things you can’t overlook. Call me crazy, I don’t care. Because as much as I fight with you, I will also fight like hell to keep you.

I don’t think either Thomas or I were prepared for the outcome when we agreed on Rule Three. Because in the end we can’t all three grow old together. We can in some religions and cultures, but not mine. I believe in two people fighting for one another and staying together, no matter what the cost, no matter what trials and tribulations they have to face. Love is a funny thing. You will do things you never thought you were even capable of. You will question if you should be doing this or that. But in the end you will always choose that person over everything else. I’m starting to realize that all this time I have loved Thomas. Deep down I always knew I did. Now it’s rising to the surface, and while I get to know you, I’m realizing I could love you too.

“Would you like to sit down?” you ask, and I feel tears in my eyes. “What’s wrong?” You run to me and wrap me in your arms. “Please don’t cry, Stella. Please.” I try to push out of your arms, but you say, “Don’t. Just let me hold you.”

I’m stiff in your embrace, but slowly I come to terms with your arms around me. They’re comforting. They’re keeping me together. They’re keeping me next to you, in your warmth, my head underneath yours, hearing your calming heartbeat.

Resting your head on top of mine, you run your fingers through my long hair. “Please don’t cry, Stella,” you say once more. I swipe a hand over my eyes and under my nose. I try to get out of your arms, but you say, “Don’t think about it. Wrap your arms around me.”

I don’t fight. I listen and wrap my arms tightly around you, holding on for dear life. Holding onto you like the anchor of a boat. Like a tree’s roots buried deep in the ground. I’m holding on and never letting go. “Thank you, Alex,” I say softly.

Kissing the top of my head, you reply, “No problem,” and begin to release me. Hesitantly, I drop my hands to my sides and stare up at you. You smile, and I try to return one, but it doesn’t reach full potential. “Let’s go sit down.” Shyly, I follow behind you and sit down across from you. Grabbing the bottle, you ask, “Champagne?”

“Yes, please,” I say, holding the glass up to you. You walk over and expertly pull the cork off with minimal foam. Pouring it to the rim, bubbles seep out on either side. I laugh and begin to lick up the liquid that’s running into the cracks of my fingers.

“Sorry.” You laugh while pouring champagne in your glass. “Well,” you say, sitting down, “dig in.”

I stare at the sandwiches and desserts. “This all looks so good!”

“I’m glad you like it.”

I swipe a roast beef sandwich from the tray and take a big bite. “Like it?” I ask around my mouthful. “I love it.”

You laugh. “So dig in, Stel. I’m happy you’re actually eating something.”

Grabbing the champagne flute, I take a healthy gulp, allowing the foamy liquid to burn my throat. “What do you mean?” I probably look like a pig to you. One hand holding the liquid courage to open up and speak my mind fully. The other, holding the mouthwatering sandwich I can’t get enough of.

Swallowing the bite of pastry, you wipe your mouth and sit back. “Last time we were together you barely ate. You were standoffish and practically a robot. Is this the trick? Huge sandwiches stacked with meats and cheeses and expensive as hell champagne I can’t afford?”

I shrug. “What can I say? I love meat.”

Your head falls back, and this beautiful laugh escapes. It delivers a warmth to my chest, and a smile forms on my face. Halfway through your laugh, you stare contently at me. “Why are you smiling?” I shrug. “Don’t shrug, Stel. It’s not attractive. Speak your mind.”

“Is that what’s sexy?”

“To me? Yeah. Most definitely.” I swallow more of my alcohol and reluctantly put my sandwich back on the plate. “Oh, don’t frown. You’ll have your sandwich back before you know it.”

I look up at you and away from the sandwich. “I don’t understand.”

You don’t say anything right away. Instead, you grab the champagne flute and bring it to your lips. I break eye contact, watching your mouth as it takes the flute. For a split second, thoughts come to me of your mouth wrapped around some part of my body. It’s like Mother Nature is watching, because just as the shiver creeps up my back, a gust of wind comes blowing in.

“Are you cold?”

I wave a hand. “No.”
Just a tad bit horny.
I think you’re going to say something, anything, but you don’t. Your arm raises and your elbow rests on the table, something Mom always taught me not to do. Your index finger travels against your mouth, your eyes smoldering as they stare into mine. “Wh…what?” I stutter.

“Do I make you nervous?”

“No.”
Yes.

“You sure about that, Stel?”

“Yes.”
No.

Nodding, you say, “So why’d you say that?”