33
The next morning Tom enters the living room in plaid pajama pants with his hair sticking up at odd angles. He slides in beside me on the couch and stretches out his legs on the coffee table.
"How are you?"
"Fine," I say, because I can't possibly put into words the chaos in my mind.
"Were you able to sleep?"
"Some," I lie. Last night after a couple hours with the heat of his body pressed against mine, I feared my tortured thoughts would wake him, so I escaped to the solitude of the living room where I've been wrestling with the renewed reality that my own father doesn't love me. I've felt unlovable much of my life, and he's reminded me of that fact once again.
Tom studies me. "Are you hungry?"
I smile weakly. "You don't have to take care of me. I'm fine."
He frowns. "No, you're not. What can I do?"
I caress his face. The shadow of scruff has grown since yesterday. "Nothing." I brush my hand against the bristly hair, enjoying the touch of him and how he smells in the morning.
His hand covers mine. "But I need to do something."
"You must have things you have to do today other than worrying about me. I'll be fine." He's been busy every day.
He smooths my hair as he speaks. "I'm scheduled most of the day. I'm sorry, but I can't change it."
Which is good because I don't have the energy or interest to do anything after last night. I’m a wreck, and I guess I always have been. It’s unavoidable when you grow up without a parent around. And I suppose it explains why I’ve never been able to keep a long-term relationship.
He lays his hand on my thigh. "God, I don't want to leave you here alone today."
“Honestly, I just want to be by myself.”
He takes my hand in his. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"
"Not really."
His concern is touching, but nothing can help me. I just want to stay with these miserable feelings. Sometimes it's easier to give myself over to the pain, because somewhere in those dark, lonely places, there's a sense of security. No one can hurt me anymore if I stay down here in my pit of misery.
"Chelsea?" He's watching me again, his eyes squinty with unease, and I'm not sure how long my mind wandered off.
"I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"I'll be back after my audition and we can have dinner before the show."
"All right."
That night I'm on the love seat in Tom's dressing room with the sound of his voice from the stage pouring through the wall speakers. He insisted I come to the theatre. I guess he was afraid I'd slit my wrists or something when he came home and found me in the same spot on the couch as when he left.
Hearing him perform in front of a thousand people when I've unloaded all my hellish drama on him adds another level of awe. I don't know how he can turn it all off and disappear into his character. I wish I could turn off the turmoil in my head.
The silky sounds of his powerful voice help soothe me. His talent is unparalleled with his ability to move people through a kaleidoscope of emotions. I'm lucky to have him and yet I feel so inferior. At this point I can’t manage to land a job. Why is he even with me?
The door opens and Tom appears, a sheen of perspiration on his face, his hair damp with sweat. I hadn't noticed they'd gone to intermission.
He grabs a bottle of coconut water from the fridge, a towel off the rack, and falls onto the loveseat beside me, dropping his hand on my leg.
I place my hand on his. "You're great out there. I don't know how you do it."
"Because I have to." He laughs, and leans his head back and closes his eyes. "That's the gig."
He lays there quietly, catching his breath, and coming down from the high-octane energy of performance mode. I experience the same thing on Celebrity Dance Off, but I only had to maintain the energy for a few minutes while on camera. He has to do it for most of two and half hours.
"How are you?" He tilts his head my direction, concern in his eyes.
"I'm not trying to pry open the window to jump, so you can stop worrying."
He smiles and I sense his relief.
"But I have been thinking."
"What about?"
"Life, big stuff, small stuff, you know."
"And?" He takes my hand.
"I’ve been bouncing around for a while with no real direction. Running into my dad made me realize that I've spent most of my life trying to please others."
He listens closely with concern etched on his handsome face.
“He’s my only living family, and he can’t bear to be in the same room with me.” I pull my hand away.
“Your father is an idiot.”
I stand and go to the window. The street is illuminated by the bright marquee, but few people are out. “Maybe so, but I need to fix things. I can’t keep living this way.
"As long as it doesn't take you away from me, I'm all for it."
I turn to face him. “If you’re sure you still want me around after seeing my dark side.”
Tom joins me and puts his arms around me. “Always. Nothing could change that.”
But I’m not so sure.