Fade In (5 page)

The next morning, I shower and dress quickly. Around seven, I'm strapping on my new shoes and wearing a simple slip dress with my favorite scarf. I decide to take my tablet with me and just people watch for a while out the window of the little diner Kurt thinks is ours.

I get there, find that the booth I want is open, and take it. I order coffee and watch out the impeccably clean window.

This is the time of day that I love the city most. Everything feels clean and new.

A couple walks past pushing a stroller and each drinking back their coffees as fast as they can. I make up a little story in my head about how they haven't slept in days and the only way their baby stops crying is on walks.

I make up stories about lots of the passersby. Let's see. There's the nun with white earbuds in who's listening to erotica on her way to confession.

Oh and there's a pair of girls doing the walk of shame after their threesome with the musician they met at the bar last night.

I spend the next hour or so blissfully scandalizing strangers and probably martyring others. I take notes when worth it—funny things for the show or new characters.

Taking advantage of seeing it first hand, I watch the sun start to make its way down the street and shops open up. Dog walkers triumphantly handle multiple breeds on webs of leashes.

It's like long soak in a warm tub for my brain.

Then I watch a man walk across the street about a block down. His shoulders are slumped and he looks tired. Running a hand through his hair, he stops and looks behind him like he's changing his mind about something. He just stands there for a minute with people walking by him. I can see him take a few large breaths. As if filling his lungs with just the something he needs to put his feet back into motion, he starts this way again.

Shit. It's Kurt, and he looks bad. I wasn't expecting this. Walking into the diner and scanning the room for me, he taps his hand on the side of his leg. Maybe his tapping is a nervous tick and not just his silent gesture for “I'm going to come.”

He smiles and walks to the booth we will share for maybe the last time. Leaning over, he kisses my cheek before taking his seat across from me.

“Happy late birthday. You look great,” he says to me before turning to the waitress who’s come to get his drink preference. “I'll have coffee, black. Thanks.” His posture is different.

“Do you feel all right, Kurt? You don't look like yourself.”

“I feel fine. I'm just tired and…I don't know. Shit, sad?” I can tell he's being truthful. This tiny conversation is more than either of us have openly committed to for over a year.

“I didn't expect you to be so upset about this. If I'm being honest. It just seemed like you weren't really invested in us.”

“Me?” He looks down at his hands, which are playing with the paper that one held the napkin around the silverware. He's wrapping it around alternating fingers. “You know, that's probably true, but I wasn't the only one like that.”

“What? When did I ever—”

“Tatum, all I heard was, ‘I don't need you for this’ and, ‘I'm doing this.’ At first, it was nice. You're a knockout”—he lowers his head—”great in bed, and you're successful. It wasn't like you needed me showering you with things, because you can just buy whatever the hell you want. I think it was after the first year that I just got settled into that role. The guy you spend time with on the weekends, go to events with, and fuck.”

I'm speechless. It takes everything in me to blink.

“I'm sorry, Tatum. I have been thinking about this since I left your apartment the other night. I was a complete jerk. I deserved what you did. I'm sorry that I didn't just talk to you about this in the beginning when I felt like that. Instead, I just took advantage of the situation and rode it out. It made me an asshole. I turned into a fucking asshole!” He lets out a long breath. “I don't want to be like that. I want someone who needs me. I want to feel like the other person would be crushed without me. You look fine. Hell, you look fucking hot!”

On one hand I'm pissed that he's blaming me for his behavior, and on the other hand I see where I am at the very least an accomplice to the murder of our relationship.

He's right though. In the last few years, I didn't notice right away when he didn't show up. I didn't care that his focus was on his career and not me. He just started acting like
I
was acting. Now that I have been a little more—fuck—needy lately, I've been angry at him for just doing what I didn't even give a shit about before.

I am a bitch. A selfish bitch.

I
am the bigger asshole in the booth by the window.

“I'm sorry. Kurt, I don't really know what to say. I didn't mean to do that to you. I just… I don't know what to say.” And for the first time in ages, there is no punch line. I have no clever quip, no retort to what he's said to me.

Kurt grabs my hand in his and rubs his thumb across my knuckles. “It's okay. You don't have to say anything. I just wanted to let you know that I feel bad about this and I do love you, even if I was a terrible boyfriend.”

I feel conflicted, but still set in my decision.

We spend a few minutes sipping out coffees and ordering our breakfasts. It’s almost comfortable.

“So how was your appointment with Dr. Meade yesterday?”

His concern shocks me. Was this the guy I could have been dating if I hadn’t been such a fucking do-it-myself control freak? It is just like me to push someone away and then blame them for it later. I almost want to cry. Almost.

“It went well. He didn't like my masturbation joke...again.” I smile and wait for him to return one. When he does, I keep going. “I thought it was growing on him. He told me to start taking this blind stuff seriously.” I try to make my answer sound playful and jovial, but he sidesteps it.

“That might not be a bad idea.” When he says this, he grimaces like he knows I won't take well to the advice.

Is it possible to choke on humble pie? I'm overwhelmed. I'm frustrated and ashamed.

“I know you're independent. Shit, everyone knows you're independent. But asking for a little help might do you good.”

I have to let that sink in. I watch him intently, looking for a recount on his suggestion, but one doesn't come. He reads my silence correctly and goes for a different angle.

“Are Coop and Winnie ready to bash my teeth in?”

Good boy. Change the subject. I'm granted a reprieve.

“No, not at all. Winnie is so wrapped up in the show and wedding plans and Coop has been really busy at work. They have bigger fish to fry. And I'm sure they will love this right here. Maybe I will tell them you stood me up,” I say, smiling but only half kidding. It isn't a bad idea.

Kurt shrugs his shoulders and offers me an apologetic grin. “It would be easy enough to believe.”

We're given our food and eat while we chat about things. It is the best date we've had in months. It's just too bad that it's likely our last.

After he pays for our breakfast, instead of sliding back into his side of the bench, he slides in next to me. Scooting back against the window, I shift sideways to face him. He's turned in towards me, too.

His handsome face is earnest. The color in his hazel eyes looking bluer with their red, tired rims.

“Tatum, if you ever need anything, please call me. Will you?”

I nod my head yes, still a little shocked at his closeness.

He continues. “I'm sorry that I didn't, I don't know, try to fix this before it blew up. I'm sorry that I hurt your feelings on more than one occasion, and I'm not saying this to hurt you. Yet again, now that I'm thinking back on it, you should know you hurt me, too. This probably is for the best.” He pauses and clears the audible lump in his throat. “I really want you to be happy. And after thinking about this for way too long in my apartment this weekend, I realized I want to be someone's man and not just their date.” Smiling, he cups my cheeks in his hands and leans in to kiss me.

His lips are sweet and taste like maple syrup. It's a sweet kiss.

His hands tighten on my face, and he pulls away just enough to talk and look at me. “And until I find her, whenever you get horny, you call me. Got that?” He's joking. Well, he's also totally serious, but it makes me feel a little better anyway.

“Deal.” I smile and he kisses me quickly once more before he slides out.

“Anyway, maybe we could be friends? With benefits? Yes?” He looks for approval, but not long enough for it to show. “No? Either way, call if you do need anything from me. Now that would be fucking weird, huh?” Ours eyes meet and I can tell that he's not sure if he wants to go. Maybe he was thinking I'd stop him.

I don't.

He begins to walk off and turns to say, “See you, Tatum.”

“See you, Kurt.”

With that, he leaves our diner with some of his confidence and swagger back.

I call Winnie when I get home and consider asking her to come over and help me lick my wounded ego, but that doesn’t really appeal to me. I tell her about meeting Kurt, and she thinks it was good but a little weird. I know she never really liked him. She tolerated him though, because that's what best friends do.

Cooper calls that evening and asks if I needed anything. He says that he has an evening showing in my neighborhood and wants to stop by afterward. At about seven thirty, he knocks on my door.

“Hey, Tater. I brought you some ice cream. Winnie told me about breakfast. How are you dealing with it?”

I take the bag from his hand and walk towards my kitchen. Pulling the Karamel Sutra-flavored Ben & Jerry's out of the bag and setting it on my marble counter, I shrug my shoulders at him.

For some reason, I've always felt small or really young around Cooper. Sure, he's older than I am, but not by a lot. It's only a difference of a little over three years. Always my protector and, next to Winnie, my best friend, he looks at me with brown eyes full of sympathy.

Finally, I answer him. “I don't know. What do you think about it? I mean, is it all my fault? Did I create that whole thing? I'm I really that awful?” After I rattle off my self-deprecating list of questions, I turn to the drawer and pulled out a fork.

“No. You're not awful. You're my kid sister and, therefore, awesome by association alone.” He playfully messes my hair and pokes at my ribs. He then tells me, “I did see it happening, but I just thought that was how you both liked it. I mean, it really didn't register for you until lately? You know he was just playing the part you gave him. It wasn't his fault your part changed.”

What the hell is up with this day? Did I miss the RSVP to Tatum is a Dickhead Day?

“I know!” I snap and quickly rein in my aggressiveness. “I just feel so cold and mean. I didn't consider that I was acting like that. I suppose I can be that bad.”

I put a bite of the over-the-counter, sugary medication into my mouth and let it melt.

“He did give me an open invitation to hook up until he finds a new girlfriend. Sounds bad, but I might take him up on it.”

Cooper looks genuinely offended. “Don't. You deserve better than that. Maybe this is just something you needed to happen to see that things are changing. Even if you don't realize how much you're changing, too. Tater, you have to.”

I again rake my fork through the half-frozen, half-melted ice cream, poking around for a good bit, and shake my head.

My eyes start to burn, but I fight back almost escaping tears. “I don't want to. I just like my life, you know? My job. My apartment.” The thoughts of it all just vanishing begin to steal my composure. “I love my independence, Cooper. And up until lately ,I loved my fine-as-fuck boyfriend. What is the next thing to go? Huh?” I look at my big brother and pray that he has the answers like he always did when I was small.

“Oh, come here.” Cooper opens his arms and comes to me. His embrace is warm and strong, just like him. I set the cardboard container down and hug him back. He says into my hair, “This is going to be okay. We'll figure it out.” He kisses my head before letting me go. “What did Meade say? Is it getting worse? You don't really talk about it much. You know you can tell me.”

He's gathering data for our offense.

“It's getting worse a little at a time. Shit, have you seen my legs and my head?” I point to both. “It's like there are booby traps everywhere. Only, I'm the one who set them up. He says that I need to simplify and get prepared, but I don't want to. I don't want to, Cooper. This is my life.” My voice is desperate.

He shakes his head. “Well, simplifying doesn't sound so bad. Right? And getting prepared will just help you stay in control. Not lose it. We need to get ready for this. I know that it fucking sucks. Shit, I would be mad at the world.”

“I'm not mad, I'm frustrated.” I'm annoyed that I can't do things like I once did. Frustrated when I need help that I'm too damn proud to ask for and then furious at myself when I fuck everything up with no one to share my blame.

“Okay, well let's make a plan.”

“What kind of plan?”

Cooper states, “We will get organized. Prioritize.” This is why I love him. He knows what I need to keep moving.