When in Rome(79)

Sadness leaks into my heart because more than anything, I want to explore this relationship with Noah. I want to follow my impulses. My heart says, This could be good. Very good. But my mind replays all the valid reasons we can’t. Why Noah doesn’t want it.

I’m feeling about as cheery as a Snickers bar run over by a truck on 100-degree pavement. Normally, when I’m in this sad state of being, I would get up and turn on an Audrey film. She would wrap me up in her comfortable familiarity, and by the end, I’d be feeling more hopeful. But tonight, I don’t, because the only movie I brought with me on this trip is Roman Holiday. For obvious reasons I don’t feel like watching that one right now. Maybe never again. I’m mad at Audrey. And I’m mad at myself for following in her shoes and coming here in the first place, and meeting Noah and his surly eyes, and his overly wonderful town, and his kindhearted, quirky sisters.

I kick the covers in a minitantrum. And then I kick them more. And again. This time, I add a little body swirl where I completely disrupt all my covers at once. It feels so good to let myself be angry. I fist my hands and pound them into the mattress now because I’m really getting the hang of losing my control and I don’t want to stop now. I add in a quiet little piggy squeal as I dig my heels into the mess of sheets and comforters, because I AM MAD.

Mad, mad, mad.

I’m mad that my car will be fixed and I’ll be leaving here in a week. I’m mad that I don’t want to give up my career. I’m mad that I’ll go home to loneliness. I’m mad that my mom is not my friend anymore, and that my dad never wanted to know me. I’m mad that over the years, I’ve let myself turn into a people-pleasing robot who’s afraid of upsetting anyone. And I’m mad that here, in this town, in this house, in this bed, is the first time in years I’ve been able to unleash my feelings and just be me without fear of repercussions.

But most of all, I’m mad that I’ve fallen in love with Noah, and I’ll never get to have a life with him.

As if the earth is angry with me, a loud peal of thunder shakes the house. I want to cheer and fist pump the air because it feels so good to just be pissed for a minute. What sounds like a deluge starts dumping over the house and the wind picks up. I think I must be the next Marvel villain because clearly my attitude summoned this. I want to stand on the bed and hold my arms out and let the storm take me. Cackle loudly with my fingers flexed.

Instead, I sob.

It’s the kind of cry you hold off as long as you can, pretending you don’t see the need for it even though it’s glaring you right in the face. And then one day, your emotions break, and anger dissolves into frustrated tears that won’t quit until your pillow is soaked through. There’s nothing for it—no magical answer or earth-shattering conclusion to be found. All I can do is wrap my arms around my abdomen and let my body rid itself of all this pain until it doesn’t hurt so much.

I hear a knock on my door and I sit up with puffy eyes and tearstained cheeks. “Noah?”

My door opens and there he stands in the dark. My heart hammers wildly in my chest, and when a sudden bolt of lightning strikes, filling the room with bright light for only a split second, I see the agony on his face. This isn’t a nighttime booty call. Something is wrong. I wipe under my eyes with the back of my hand.

Wordlessly, he walks over to the side of my bed and when he looks over the mess of sheets and comforter, I feel a twinge of embarrassment. “I was throwing a tantrum,” I say honestly, because that’s all I can be with Noah.

He nods, that painful scowl still etched between his brows. His eyes move to me, and instinctively, I reach out and take his hand. The hem of his long-sleeve pj shirt brushes against my knuckles. He’s in my room, in the middle of the night, in his favorite pajamas. This is level ten vulnerable for him. He notices that I’ve been crying, but he doesn’t ask me what’s wrong. I think he already knows. Instead, he brushes his thumb across my cheekbone, catching another tear.

“Can I sleep with you tonight? Just…sleep.” And the way he says it makes me know he means it.

There’s not a single part of me that hesitates. “Yes.”

Noah untangles my sheets and comforter, smooths them out over the bed before lifting a corner and sliding in. The mattress dips with his weight, and that small action shouldn’t make me need to swallow, but I do.

Once he’s under the covers, both of our heads lying on our pillows, we stare at the ceiling. Another flash of lightning illuminates the room and the wind beats the window. It sounds extreme. Noah rolls onto his side to face me, drapes an arm over my abdomen, and pulls me close to him so my back is pressed against his chest. It’s a tight hold. Like one someone would use if they’ve been out floating in the ocean near death and miraculously find a flotation device.

A warm ache settles low in my stomach. His body is so strong and solid against me. He smells crisp and cool and clean. And I can feel his breath against the side of my neck, blowing the tiny hairs around and making me dizzy.

I feel him take in a deep breath. “I…don’t like storms.” He pauses and I wonder if he thinks I’ll laugh. I will fight anyone who ever dares laugh at this man. “I’m terrified, actually.” He sounds shaken, so I wrap my hand around his forearm that’s holding me so snugly to him.

“We all…Well, after my parents died, I haven’t been able to sleep through a storm again. I usually just stay up and pace until it’s over. Sometimes I obsessively check the news. I call each of my sisters when it’s over just to make sure they’re okay. It’s probably a ridiculous reaction since I wasn’t even there when it happened to my parents.”