Page 98 of It's Always Sonny
“My scowl? That isn’t the compliment you think it is.”
“I’m not trying to butter your biscuit. I’m telling you how it is. I love you when you’re cloudy, sunny, and stormy. I love you when your hair’s a mess and when it’s pulled up high and tight. I love seeing you talk to my Nonna, and I love that you’re the sort of person who would consider trying a ropes course because you want my family to love you. But for the record, that was stupid. Don’t you dare do it again.”
“It wasn’t that stupid. It was totally safe and exposure therapy is a recommended treatment for anxiety.”
“Not when it involves a ropes course and a hyper-responsive vagus nerve that could get pinched by having to reach like that.”
“Point taken.”
“How did you do gymnastics, anyway?”
“It didn’t start until I was fourteen, and I was in killer shape. My body was so used to that kind of exertion that it didn’t trigger anything. If I were still practicing on the bars every day, this probably wouldn’t have done anything except make me want to pee my pants,” I say.
“I shouldn’t have told you what to do.”
“I get why you did it. And you were probably right.”
“Probably?”
“Okay, completely. It wasn’t my smartest choice. And I hated it. How do people do that for fun?”
“You do spreadsheets for fun.”
“Don’t knock spreadsheets.”
He shifts his arms so they’re around my waist instead of my upper back, and goosebumps erupt on my skin. “I meant what I said. You can test me all you want, but I’m going to prove it to you.”
All this deep breathing has me absolutely dizzy. “Prove what?”
“That my love isn’t going anywhere.” He yawns. “So buckle up, PJ.”
On the outside I smile. But on the inside, I’m squealing.
I’ve kept my heart in a box for so long. I had to protect it from the pain of my parents’ criticisms and disinterest and then the devastation of breaking up with Sonny. I’ve guarded this organ for a long time, because it’s soft and fleshy and easily harmed, no matter how much I pretend otherwise. But putting it in that box hasn’t kept me from criticism and heartache. It’s frozen my heartache in time.
I dropped a lot of truth bombs on Sonny last night, and he didn’t run. Quite the opposite. He’s here with me, in this sleeping bag built for one, breathing so slowly, I’m getting sleepy just thinking about it.
He’s here and, according to him, he loves me.
He still loves me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sonny
We can’t leave the comfort of our tent—or sleeping bag—until Ash and Sienna bring us clothes.
They have not brought us clothes.
So instead of braving the elements in our underwear and shoes, we stay in the sleeping bag and talk. Rusty included an emergency kit in the pack with protein bars, water, and mints, so we feast on those. (The mints are especially handy with all this close contact.)
And we talk.
PJ talks so much, I didn’t know she had this many words inside of her. She tells me things about growing up that change how I see her and understand her. I interject so much, though, that she has to tell me to stop.
“Santino, I get it. You hate that I had to clean up my own throw up in the middle of the night, but if you keep interrupting to get angry with every story from my past, I’m going to stop talking.”
I shut up. I wish I were one of those guys who didn’t have to be explicitly told how to act by the woman he loves, but I’m not. Even now, when I’m trying to be thoughtful and sensitive, I get so impassioned, it takes all my energy to stop myself.