Page 62 of Sweet and Salty
“Not really. At times, it feels like I know everything about him, and then other times, it feels like nothing.” I try a bite of my sandwich, but it tastes like cardboard. “The sad thing is that I don’t even really care any more.”
“Why?”
I pause for a long time. From my kitchen windows, I can still see smoke curling up above the trees, though they’veextinguished the flames. Jesse stands near the paddock, Lucretia Borgia standing near him like a shadow. He’s still talking to Rory.
“Because I love him. Even if he doesn’t tell me everything, I still feel like I know him. He’s good and kind and he makes me laugh. He makes me feel adored.”
“Gross,” Daphne says, a hint of humor in her voice. “Sounds like he’s shit in bed.”
“He isn’t. Not even a little.” My voice is hardly audible. I picture him last night, the way he had fucked me slowly, drawing out all my pleasure.
“What do you want, Laura?”
“Right now? I want to eat this sandwich, hug my dog, have a hot bath, and then crawl into bed for about nine thousand years.”
“Hm. What kind of sandwich?”
Having completely forgotten, I lift the bread to check. “Roast chicken with pepper hummus.”
“Yum. Now what do you want from life? I always pictured you as a mini Ma. Walking around with a passel of kids, making them work on the farm, with a chipped plate of cookies in your hands.”
The tears won’t stop now. Why did I think no one would see what I won’t even allow myself to visualize?
“You can have that, hon. No one deserves it more than you.” Daphne’s voice is soft and caring. “You put a lot on hold when Ma died. You’ve given so much. You need to find someone who can give all that back to you and more.”
But I want Jesse. More than a bakery expansion, more than a chance at fleeting fame. I want a life with him. Kids with him. Town festivals with him by my side. Snowed in during the winter, playing cards with him by candlelight. Rescuing as many animals as our little farm can hold.
The whole idea of us suddenly feels like a photograph dropped into a fireplace, the edges curling and blackening along the coals.
“What if”—I sniff loudly and use my kitchen towel as a facial tissue—“what if I never have that, though?”
Daphne is quiet for a moment. “You’ll always have me. And your family. And the town. You will always have love, Laura. I promise you that.”
“Thank you.”
“If all else fails, I’ll marry you and we’ll adopt some rugrats. We’ll live in some ramshackle shoe with an entire circus-load of animals. Deal?”
I smile through my tears. “Deal.”
“Love you, hon.”
“Love you, too.”
Daphne hangs up, and the kitchen is quiet except for the sounds of Einstein’s breathing and the distant noise from the fire trucks clearing out.
Why is it so easy for some people to say what they feel and so difficult for others? I know Jesse cares for me. Why can’t he admit it?
As if I’d summoned him, the kitchen door opens and there he stands. The sight of him makes my heart seize.
“Hi.” He glances down at his shoes, covered in ash and mud. “I, um, shouldn’t come in. I’m a mess.”
He looks at me, his expression full of wounds he won’t uncover for me. “I’m glad you got something to eat. Do you need anything?”
“No.” The single syllable cracks in my throat.
“Okay.” He swallows loudly. “I should probably sleep in the apartment tonight.”
I don’t bother to wipe the tears from my cheeks. “Sure. Whatever.”