Page 14 of In a Pickle
“I can’t imagine you know him. He was a guy out in L.A. I moved back to Pine Heights with my mom a few months ago, but before that I was living in L.A., trying to work at a movie studio. Then, last summer, I lost my job and then my boyfriend in the same week. But like I said, I didn’t blame the guy. I got where he was coming from. My health was terrible. It was like I was 85 years old instead of 25. It wasn’t what he signed up for.”
“I thought he signed up to be your fucking boyfriend?” James seethed. When she nodded and bit her lip, he shook his head in disgust. “Seriously, fuck that guy. Your health was getting worse, and you’d just lost your job, and someone who had the privilege of being let into your life decided the right answer was to ditch you?”
“It was for the best. I decided to move back to Miami, and the health stuff started to click into place. I needed surgery, and I finally got it once I moved here. My disease is supposedly in remission now. I still have bad days, but before the surgery, pretty much every day was a bad day. I couldn’t leave my apartment for a week at a time, sometimes.”
“That’s awful. Thank you for opening up to me about that part of your life, especially after that dickwad made you feel bad for something you couldn’t control.”
“I don’t like talking about it, mostly because I don’t want you to think I’m complaining. A lot of people’s lives are worse than mine. My mom was luckily in a position to keep me on her health insurance, and she let me move back in with her rent-free. I’m so lucky, really. It could have been a lot worse.”
“You’re not complaining. You went through something terrible. You said you have some better days now?”
“Better, yes. But it’s a lifelong condition. It’s called Crohn’s disease. The treatments for the disease have gotten a lot better in the last decade, but there’s no cure. I’ve dealt with a lot of chronic pain, and even if I manage my diet, which is the best way to control the symptoms, it’ll still flare up from time to time, which isn’t fun. But it’s not supposed to shorten my life expectancy. I don’t want people feeling bad for me. I’m not dying.
“But,” she continued, “it makes a lot of normal activities very difficult. Not only do I have an extremely limited diet — a super weird diet, by the way, not just what most people would call ‘eating healthy food’ — but I also have to eat every couple of hours so I don’t ever get too hungry. At one point, before I had surgery to solve this particular issue, every meal felt like Russian roulette. I wasn’t sure if this would be the one to make me bedridden for the rest of the day. So even though I don’t have a lot of those terrible days anymore, I still get a ton of anxiety around food, even food I can supposedly eat. Like, one day my friend was all excited because she brought over a home-cooked meal with a recipe she’d gotten from this Cooking with Crohn’sblog, and I nearly had a panic attack that she expected me to eat it and enjoy it.”
She noticed that as she’d spoken, he’d taken off his food glove and slowly brought his hand to her back and rubbed small circles, just a small touch meant to soothe, to reassure her that he was there for her. It almost seemed like he was touching her subconsciously. Why did that tiniest reassurance feel so good? And God, why did he have to smell so good?
Finally, James said, “That’s a lot for anyone to deal with. I’m still hung up on the asshat who broke up with you over having a chronic disease.”
“Don’t be. We weren’t end game anyway. He’s not worth thinking about.”
“Damn right he’s not.”
She chewed her lip. “I told you not because I want sympathy, but to explain… Honestly, you’re only the second person I’ve told about the Crohn’s disease outside of my family and my mom’s best friends, who are like aunts to me. I don’t want to go around broadcasting it. Hopefully now you can understand why I kind of hold people at arm’s length.”
His jaw worked. She could practically see the wheels turning in his brain. “So, that day when I asked you to dinner, you said no because… you didn’t want to eat dinner? Not because… you didn’t want to go out with me?”
She thought for a long beat about how best to explain. “I’d told myself I didn’t want to date yet — that I wanted to focus on recovering my health and on getting a job. I didn’t want any other guys ruining my self-esteem while I’m trying to get my lifeback in order. But — I wanted to say yes to dinner with you that day. I really did. If I said yes to anyone, it would be you.”
The look of devastation in his eyes made her want to take the words back. But he deserved her honesty.
He swallowed. “I hope you know, I’d never hurt your self-esteem. I respect you so much — I always have, even back in high school, when you didn’t let anybody’s shit get to you. But even more now, after knowing what you’ve gone through to be here right now and how strong you are.”
“Thank you,” she said honestly. “And I’m sorry.”
He pulled her into a side hug and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t be.”
Her heart was pounding, and she was suddenly very eager to change the subject. The only thing she could think of to say was lame, but it was the best segue she could come up with when he was this close to her. “So, you’re a pretty competitive person, right?”
Chapter 9: James
James furrowed his brow. It seemed like Liana was trying to change the subject. The entire time she’d told him about her health, James had experienced strong emotions that made his heart pound and left him with an excess of adrenaline. He wondered if he could get away with running a few laps around the block to get his energy out. No, that would be super weird, and worse, Liana would think he was running away.
But how could James just stand still? He was overwhelmed with awe for this woman but also angry at the ex who had fucked with her head and convinced her that she wasn’t a fun person. That was clearly bullshit; James had fun every time he was with Liana. He was about to beg her to go out with him. But he wouldn’t; he’d promised her that he wouldn’t ask her again. If he had one thing going for him in this trainwreck of a life, it was that he never broke his promises.
Focus, he told himself.She asked you a question. She asked if you’re competitive. Answer her so you get to spend more time with this girl. You’re a competitive person. Super fucking competitive. Maybe don’t say that. You don’t know why she’s asking. Maybe be honest but tone it down a little?
He finally settled on, “I played tennis competitively pretty much my entire life. And don’t knock pickleball, either; it’s a realsport, and people get competitive about it. Including me. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just that,” she smiled, “I’m pretty much an expert at making peanut butter sandwiches by now.”
Was she trying to turn this night of making sandwiches into a competition? He still wasn’t sure where she was going with this turn in the conversation, so he decided on some humor. “You had a great teacher.”
She snorted. “You thinkyoutaught me to make a peanut butter sandwich? What am I, eight years old?”
He scoffed and then looked directly into her eyes. “It’s not about who taught you the basics. It’s about who taught you to do itwell. It’s all about the technique, Abrams, as I’m sure you know.” Her answering blush was extremely gratifying.
“You may have been making peanut butter sandwiches for years,” James continued, his eyes glittering, “but you’d never made one with me before today. I’ve been told I’m very good not only at making PB&J, but at making sure my PB&J partner has an incredible time.”