Page 38 of The Loophole
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I’m too clumsy,” I muttered, lowering my gaze, “and I don’t pay attention.”
“Who told you that? Your mom?” I nodded, and he said, “Given everything you’ve told me about her, I don’t think she has the right to define you, or to put words in your head.”
I met his gaze again. “I’ve let her criticism be the voice in my head, all my life,” I admitted quietly. “It started when I was really young.” Suddenly, this felt important. I wanted Bryson to understand this about me, so I asked, “Can I show you something?”
When he nodded, I unfastened a few buttons on my shirt and held it open, revealing the large scar that covered most of my chest. “I always keep this hidden,” I said. “It’s why I didn’t want to take off my sweater, the first time I came to your house.”
“What happened?” His voice was the softest whisper.
“I fell onto a campfire when I was three, and my shirt caught on fire. It was the first time I can remember my mom calling me stupid and clumsy. She kept calling me that as I was growing up, and I guess I believed her, because it’s how I’ve always defined myself. Every time I trip and fall, or break something, or mess something up, it reinforces that message.”
I buttoned my shirt and looked up at him as I asked, “Do you think it’s possible to unlearn that? Because I know she was wrong to blame me. I was a toddler, and she should have been watching out for me. But even though I know that, I still hear it in my head, all the time. I really am an incredibly clumsy person, but I don’t think I’m stupid… am I?”
He muttered, “Fuck, Embry,” and drew me into a tight embrace. It felt like he’d gathered up all the broken bits of me and was holding them together. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, even for a minute. You’re not just smart, you’re brilliant. You’re also the most clever, resourceful, creative, andimaginative person I’ve ever met. It kills me that you don’t see that.”
“You really think I’m all those things?”
“I know it for a fact.” He leaned back just far enough to meet my gaze as he told me, “Let me be your cheerleader, until you can do it for yourself. Any time that voice in your head gets loud, come to me and I’ll remind you how wonderful you are.”
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. He was saying things I’d wanted to hear, all my life. He hugged me again and whispered, “It’s okay, Em. Let it out.”
“I’m so sorry. I don’t even know why I’m doing this now. We were having such a good night, and I’m ruining it.”
“You’re not ruining anything.” Once I finally let go of him, he took my hand and said, “Let’s get you home. It’s cold out here.”
When we reached the house, he waved to the purple dragon and called, “Hi, Smaug.” He was obviously trying to lighten the mood, and it worked.
“Smaug? Really?”
“It’s the only dragon I could think of.”
“Have you been a huge Lord of the Rings nerd this whole time, and I’m only now finding out about it?”
“Maybe.”
He smiled at me when I teased, “You think you know a person.”
We went inside and changed into sweats, and I let the dog run around the backyard for a few minutes while Bryson made us some hot chocolate. Then Dusty joined us as we took a seat on the couch.
We found an old Christmas movie on TV, and I pulled a throw blanket over all three of us. After a while, I said, “Oh, hey—it’s after midnight, so happy birthday, Bry. I hope it ends up being a good day.”
He sounded sincere as he leaned against me and murmured, “It’s already off to a great start.”
11
Bryson
Embry was so excited about the cake he’d made for my birthday that he insisted on presenting it before breakfast. I took a seat at the kitchen island, and he brought it to me with a single lit candle. Then he serenaded me with the birthday song before instructing me to make a wish.
I blew out the candle and told him, “This is incredible, Em.”
The cake was beautifully decorated in a basketweave pattern, but the most remarkable part was the scene on top of it. He’d used gum paste to make cartoon figures of him and me, right down to his curls and my glasses. They stood at a marble counter, which held a miniature rolling pin, a bowl, and a baking sheet with rows of tiny cookies.
He tried to tell me everything that had gone wrong with it. He’d initially wanted the figures sitting at a table, but they kept tipping over and the chair legs kept breaking off, so he had to rework it. “I hadn’t used gum paste before, and I’d always wanted to try it,” he said. “I obviously need a lot of practice.”
Then he served me a rainbow-colored slice and watched closely while I tasted it. “What do you think? I found a new recipe for lemon cake, so I thought I’d give it a try.”