“Rosso, arancione, giallo, verde, blu, viola, bianco, e nero.” I smiled, took a deep breath, and re-took my seat, among the applause of Professore Moretti. Mike was glaring at me, and I was trying to ignore him.
“Eccellente. Brava." He did a slow dramatic lap around his desk before stopping in front of mine and leaning forward. "So much improvement in so little time. And your accent is perfetto. Are you sure you don’t have a little Italian in you?”
The blood drained from my face as I shook my head and for one horrifying moment my filthy mind was sure he was going to add, “Would you like some?”
A quick glance at Mike told me he had the same thought. His eyes narrowed, his jaw was clenched, and he was gripping the edge of his desk. He wasn't just upset with me, but he looked like he was ready to kill our Italian teacher with the slightest provocation. I resolved to lie low for the rest of the class.
Despite no longer raising my hand, I was called on three more times to answer questions, and I couldn't stop myself from answering them correctly resulting in more praise, leading me to believe that Mike wasn't entirely off base with his idea that Professor Moretti might be interested in engaging in extracurricular activities with me.
Sure enough, he asked me to stay behind after he'd dismissed the class. I looked over my shoulder, but Mike was gone.
"I've never done this with a student before, but you are an extraordinary woman, and I'd love to have dinner with you." He was very handsome with messy brown hair, piercing green eyes behind wire-framed glasses, reminding me of a grown-up Harry Potter.
His invitation was awkward and sincere, leading me to believe he'd really never asked out one of his students before. He lacked Mike's charisma, confidence, and effortless grace. Also missing was Mike's larger-than-life stature and cover of GQ rugged good looks. I bet I'd never be mistaken for Professor Moretti's personal assistant.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” I smiled and took a step back.
“I understand.” He returned my smile awkwardly. “Of course, a beautiful and intelligent woman like you would be spoken for. I hope you’ll return to class.”
I smiled again and nodded, knowing I probably wouldn’t ever be seeing Professor Moretti again.
“So what did the professor want to talk about?”
"Jesus! Fuck!" I screamed. Mike was leaning on the building, out of sight, when I exited and nearly scared me half to death when he spoke. My hand flew to my chest, and I tried to get my heart rate under control. "If I tell you, do you promise not to make that annoying I told you so face?”
He didn't smile like I expected. Instead, he tucked his lips between his teeth as if he was seriously considering my offer before saying, "I can't make any promises, so you better not tell me."
I gave him an awkward half smile, and we stood on the sidewalk staring at each other until Mike spoke again.
“Jane, what the fuck is going on with us?” he asked. I didn’t answer him. “Everything was great until Boston. You’ve been weird and distant since the party. Did something happen? Did Erica say something to you?”
I shook my head.
“Is it us? Too much, too soon? Buyer’s remorse?”
I didn’t answer him.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Jane. I know something’s wrong. Just tell me. This isn’t us. We don’t keep shit from each other.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me about breaking up with Chellie?”
“Is that what this is about?” He sighed and wiped his hand over his face before tugging his beard.
“Are you going to answer me? You made me feel like an asshole all week, holding hands and cuddling with you thinking you had a girlfriend. Would you have slept with me without telling me if I hadn’t said something?”
He sighed and threw up his hands. “I don’t know, maybe. I was gonna tell you. I was.” He caught the tilt of my head. “I just didn’t want the start of our relationship to be about the end of a relationship I shouldn’t have been in, in the first place.”
“Then, why were you with her?”
"Jane, I wanted you. I always have, but you were with Rob. Then you broke up, and I thought I had a chance—and I felt like an asshole for being so happy, when you were so sad—so I waited. Then at the New Year's Eve party I tried to tell you how I felt, but you said you didn't want to ruin our friendship, then you left the party. Chellie kissed me at midnight, and I just figured if I couldn’t have you, then it was better than being alone."
“So, why did you break up?”
"Because I was wrong. Dead wrong. I didn't realize it until I saw your list. It was everything I love about you. It was smart, brave, selfless, fun… You thought of all the shit you wanted to accomplish in a year. You made a fucking list, and you did it. It inspired me to stop pretending that you weren't the most important thing in my life." He put his hands on my shoulders, and I felt my eyes prickling with tears as I took in his words.
“Mike,” I whispered. “I was hung over and depressed when I made that list.”
“What?”
"I planned on telling you that I had feelings for you on New Year's Eve, and I couldn't do it."
“What?” he repeated. “Why not?”
"I was scared, okay? I was scared of this, scared of changing things and ruining our friendship. But after we talked, I went outside to think. I decided that I was going to be…try to be brave and tell you. When I came back to the party, you were kissing Chellie."
“Shit.” Mike wiped his face with his hands again. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
"I thought it was for the best." I shrugged. "You seemed happy, and you and Chellie are so much alike… I was fine. Everything was fine before I dropped that stupid list—"
"No," Mike laughed incredulously. "It wasn't. I was fucking miserable. This week was the best week of my life, and I'm not going to go back to pretending to be happy. Picking up that list was the best thing that ever happened to me."
“What if it doesn’t work?” I asked. He furrowed his brow. “What if we’re not as perfect for each other as we think we are?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“We’re different.”
He just stared at me. “We’re not different, Jane. I feel the most myself when I’m with you.”
"When it's just us. It won't always be that way. You're you, and I'm just me. Maybe one day that won't be enough for you."
“You. Sound. Crazy.” He was squeezing my shoulders. “This isn’t you, Jane. Where is this coming from?”
"I made that list because I wanted to feel like the kind of woman that you would want to be with. I wanted to smarter, braver, more selfless and more fun. I wanted to be the kind of girl that doesn't miss her chance with the man of her dreams because she needs time to think. You spent this week making me think I was that girl, and when you weren't with me at that party…" I was trying not to cry remembering how small and insignificant I felt in that room. "I realized that I'm not and I never will be."
“Jane, I’m sorry. If I had known, I never would have left you alone—”
“But, Mike, you had to. That’s your life. That’s your job. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
He shook his head in frustration. "It's freezing out here. Let me take you home, and we'll talk about this."
“Mike, I think I should go home alone tonight.”
“What? Why?” The look of sadness and disappointment in his face forced me to look away.
“Because I need some time to think.”
"You took time to think on New Year's Eve, and we've wasted a whole year."
I whipped my head up to face him. “Well, you didn’t take any time to think, and the same thing happened.”
"So, we both fucked up. Let's not fuck it up any further. Come on. I'm taking you home." He grabbed my hand, and I pulled away.
“No,” I said with a little more confidence than I felt. “Mike, I think I need some space.”
He looked like I'd hit him in the chest. His large hands wrapped around my shoulders. "Jane, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I was hoping we could go back to my place, wake up together, go to Grammy's, eat our weight in cookies, then—"
“I think I need to go to Grammy’s alone this year.”
“So, now you’re taking away Grammy’s Christmas cookies, too? Well, that fucking sucks.”
A small chuckle bubbled past my lips despite my best efforts. My resolve was cracking, and I had to end this quickly before I caved. It would be easier if Mike's gorgeous brown eyes weren't pleading with me.
"Mike, if we go back to your place or my place, we're not going to talk. We'll have sex, watch The Meaning of Life for the fiftieth time or stay up all night eating ice cream and listening to old records."
"Jane, I'm really trying to understand here, but all of that shit sounds amazing. Can we just do that and stop whatever this is?"
“No, I really need to figure things out on my own.” That was an understatement. Sometimes it was easy to forget Mike was rich and famous. If we were together, it was a fact that I’d be facing every day and I wasn’t sure I was cut out for it. What if Mike woke up one morning and realized he settled for a broke kindergarten teacher who can’t walk in heels, when there are women like Chellie and Erica around? I was also still annoyed that he hadn’t told me about his breakup right away.
"Fine, but I'm driving you to your apartment. You're not taking the subway by yourself. Did you have dinner yet?" He took my hand in his, and we were walking to a nearby parking garage. I shook my head.
"Do you want to grab some sandwiches from Pret a Manger?" He knew I did. I nodded, and we walked in silence. Mike squeezed my hand, and I knew it was a plea.
“Jane, how much time do you need…to think?” he asked through a mouth full of chicken and mozzarella sandwich, as he drove uptown on the West Side Highway. “Not three years, I hope.”
“No, I don’t need three years.”
“Can you at least tell me what’s on your mind? Do I get a say in this? Can I throw myself on the mercy of the court?”
I chuckled, and I recognized relief in Mike's expression, but I didn't answer him.
"Look, Jane, I know I fucked up not telling you about Chellie. I finally had you to myself after all this time, and I didn't want to share you. It was selfish. The Jane I know wouldn't be comfortable with even the thought of me cheating on anyone with her, which I would never do. I've never cheated on anyone." He turned to face me, and I realized we were parked in front of my building. "I don't know what happened in Boston, because you won't tell me, but I wish you would. Those parties are a necessary evil for my job. I stay as little as possible, and I get the hell out. Holding you in my arms, drinking a beer, and watching a band murder a set is what I love about music. All that extra shit isn't my world anymore. You are."
Mike had his hand on my thigh, and he was searching my face for any indication of where his words landed. They pierced me right through the heart. I knew if I didn't leave now, I never would. I wanted to stay but I needed to figure out if I was strong enough to handle a relationship with him. I couldn’t do that if I was too weak to get out of his truck. I reached out and ran my fingers through his beard and his eyes closed at my touch.
“I have to go,” I whispered and unbuckled my seat belt.
"Hey," he said. "Can you at least tell me if I'm forgiven for not telling you about the breakup? I never meant to hurt you." His brown eyes were sad, and he was chewing his bottom lip. I leaned over, took his face in my hands, and pulled him into a kiss. He unbuckled his seat belt, and his arms flew around my waist, drawing me deeper into him. Mike's tongue teased the seam of my lips, and they parted for him. His embrace was desperate and passionate as if he could feel me slipping away. If this kiss lasted one moment longer, we would end up in my bed making love and delaying the inevitable. I pulled away and opened the passenger door ushering in a gust of cold air.
“I forgive you, but I have to go.”