#stevieang

As you listened to the adults yelling, lecturing, and threatening, all you could think of was the scene in “The Incredibles” when Dash’s teacher was trying to convince the principal to suspend him for putting a tack on his chair, to no avail.  Except in your reality, there was no parent in the room to defend or punish you.  Your parents were divorced, your Dad living on the other side of the country and your Mom, a pharmaceutical sales rep for a national company, always on the road.  You had a good relationship with both your parents, but they were of the mind that the biggest part of their job was to instill solid moral character and independence from an early age.  When you turned 16 and started driving, your mom made good on her plan to prepare you for adulthood.  You had to complete all necessary home and school functions, maintain an acceptable GPA, incur no disciplinary problems, and communicate daily with her about the little and big things going on in your life.  In exchange, you could come and go as you pleased, and have run of the house when she traveled, which was more often than not.  Your living situation was the envy of the school.  You weren’t about to do anything to mess it up, but today, it seemed you were on the fast-track to doing just that.

As your mom was out of town, the person they called, your guardian in absentia, was your Mom’s best friend since childhood, Maria Stark.  Mrs. Stark was used to being called in to various offices of authority to answer for her son’s behavior, ego, or infractions.  Tony started building internal combustion engines when he was 6, so high school was something he could have skipped altogether, but was forced upon him by his mother, to “foster social skills,” and help him get the “traditional teenage experience.”  He was smarter than all his teachers and never let an opportunity pass where he could point that out.  It was never well received.  You two made a great “we don’t fit the mold and we love it” duo.  

“Explain to me again why we’re here, sir, because I am at a loss to understand what rule this young lady has broken.”   Maria was elegant, sophisticated and, in her own right, a very smart woman.  When she asked a question, most likely she knew the answer; she was simply gathering information to support her argument against the unlucky person sitting across from her.

“Mrs. Stark, this young lady used social media to smear and defame the reputation of another student.  As the school handbook states, this is grounds for detention and possibly suspension, as well as joint treatment sessions with the school counselor.”  You leapt out of your chair, full of righteous teenage anger, intent on storming out.  Maria’s hand on your arm and supportive gaze cooled your temper; she wasn’t going to let anyone steamroll you.

The next hour was spent determining what evidence, if any, conclusively linked you to the incident.  Turns out, there was none, other than the suspicion of parents who were mortified that their daughter’s abhorrent behavior was now out in the world for anyone to see.  You admitted to nothing, and though Christine’s face was chartreuse as the rapidly-growing Twitter feed was read aloud, there was nothing that pointed to you, other than the well-known fact that you hated the girl’s guts.  It was the tragically classic scenario of a beautiful popular girl collecting herdmates to make fun of and torture girls like you, someone who didn’t fit nicely in any round holes. You left with a week’s worth of detention for the bogus crime of “lack of adherence to the school’s honor code” and a promise to clear your name when they found out you were innocent.  After you filled him in, Tony shared your disbelief, and immediately started plotting.

You and he sat in the backseat while Maria drove home, spending the entire time texting with back and forth about ways to get even with the principal, to continue to make Christine’s life terrible, and to find out who suggested you were responsible.

“Hey, you two.  I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I know it’s some kind of revenge plan.  I won’t have that, Tony.  I will not have you two digging yourself any deeper.”

Tony:  My mom knows it was you?

You: I never said a word, but she’s not dumb.

Tony: No she’s not, but do you want to tell her?

You: u think I should?

Tony: I would.

You: You would put up a billboard on the highway to announce you did it.  Not a great role model.

Tony: I’ll give you that.

“Ok, Mrs. Stark, no revenge.  I promise.”  You leaned forward to lay your hand on her shoulder.  “Thank you so much for being there today.  I’d probably be suspended if you hadn’t been.”

“Yes, you’re right, I’m sure.  Let’s forget all this and have some dinner, shall we?”

The Starks employed a chef, but when Mr. Stark was traveling, Maria often chose to cook.  Tony ate, but he preferred the company of metal and circuits to people, so he often brought his plate in his room.  When you joined them, he was required to come to the table, and Maria always prepared something you both loved to eat.  Tonight, it was vegetable and pasta salad with steak and potatoes, accompanied by calm and civilized conversation that focused on things other than what happened earlier in the day.  You appreciated not having to rehash the event, again, not being judged.  You looked at the mother and son sitting next to you and felt cared for, taken care of.  It was nice to not be a grown-up for once.

Tony’s thoughts were multiplying on how to get back at that little bitch Christine and her circle of hags.  He looked at you, his best friend, one of the few people in the world that cared about him without reservation or expectations.  He looked at you, the girl who stood by him at every step, every failure, every success, who encouraged his work, appreciated his failures, and called him out on his bullshit at every opportunity.  Senior year was in full swing and he knew he never wanted to be without you.  He also knew your insecurities and that made his heart bend even more, because he had them, too.

Maria looked at you and her son and smiled.  Your rapid-fire conversation was smart, witty, and, at times, vulgar, but with an undercurrent of true affection.  When she and her best friend delivered what would be their only children within a month of each other, they made a promise to remain a part of each other’s lives.  That promise had borne this friendship playing out at her dining room table.  Tony looked at you adoringly, and you returned it with a gaze full of laughter and spark, two things that were necessary if you were going to ever be more than friends.  Maria knew the ingredients for a great match were already there, all that was needed was time and opportunity, and there would be plenty of both.

Until there wasn’t.

After graduating from high school, you both attended college in Boston;  Tony blowing shit up at M.I.T. and you diving head-first into your double-major at Boston College.  He was famous before he arrived, but after? He was a magnet for all things flashy, fun, illegal, and new.  He was surrounded wherever he went; inundated with phone numbers, obvious invitations to a variety of one-night stands, and so much debauchery and alcohol that the head of campus security told the president of MIT, who then called the big man, Howard.  After the browbeating, the only change in his behavior was an improved ability to slide under the radar and avoid trouble.  You only found out on the increasingly-rare occasion you texted each other.

You lived in separate apartments, attended different schools, pursued different fields of study.  It was natural that you wouldn’t see each other as you once did.  You shied away from the big loud crowds that were Tony’s new normal, and he couldn’t understand why you enjoyed spending quiet time with friends that weren’t him.  The waning friendship hurt both of you, in ways the other didn’t recognize.  Tony sought out the company of an unceasing string of one-night stands and you finally decided to open your heart to guys whose names weren’t always in the paper.  Life went on, with a little less spark, less laughter, less heart.  The holidays were fast approaching, and this time, they felt different; and not in a good way.

Thanksgiving break was a quick one, spent catching up with family and marshalling your energy to push through finals.  For the first time in your memory, you did not want to go to the Stark’s home for the traditional day-after-Thanksgiving dinner, where everybody brought a dish of leftovers, the Stark’s added liquor and pizza, and you caught up for hours.  You tried to get out of it, but it was non-negotiable, from your mother’s perspective.  You planned on staying away from Tony, kissing Maria and Howard, and coming home with claims of a headache.  After the party, the Moms talked and compared notes about how glum their children became at the mention of the other’s name.  They each took it upon themselves to plant seeds that would ignite the feelings they knew you had for one another.  

“Hey, Stark’s here for you.”  You were on your bed, hair up, pencil through the elastic, piles of books and your laptop spread out everywhere.  The sigh that escaped did not go unnoticed by the playboy who didn’t bother to wait for an invitation to enter your room.

“I heard that sigh and I resent it.  What? No confetti? No nudity?  What the hell?  When did you turn into a grown-up?”  You snorted, knowing this line of questioning was meant to either convince you to do something you didn’t want to, or to help assuage his guilt.  “I grace you with my presence on a Friday night and this is what I find? The old lady librarian look?”  It didn’t matter to him what you wore, anything you chose made his heart leap, but damned if he was going to let you know that.

Your glasses slipped off as you leaned forward, doubled over in laughter.  “Guess so, T.  There’s this thing most neurotypical humans do.  It’s called “studying,” it’s in every college handbook ever printed, and if I don’t do it, I’m not going to Oxford.”  Your undergraduate work had led you to your calling, Cognitive Neuroscience studies.  Your entire life’s goal was to gain admission to the Wellcome Trust Doctoral Training Program in Neuroscience at Oxford, which meant every grade counted, every test and paper was important.  You had no time to indulge in dinner out, let alone participate in the Unequivocally Unchecked Life of Tony Stark.

His facade fell, a bit, as he sat next to you and gently placed your glasses back on your nose.  You immediately pushed them up to avoid his eyes, and pulled loose papers out from under his exceptionally toned butt.  Not that you noticed.  “C’mon, it’s Friday night, when’s the last time you left this apartment to do something other than study? I told our moms I would check in on you.”

“Ahhhh, so that’s why you’re here, Moms Mandate.”  Your disappointment must have been evident, even to the oblivious Tony Stark.

“No.  I’m here because I didn’t get to see you over Thanksgiving and I miss hanging out with someone who doesn’t kiss my ass.  Though, if you wanted to kiss anything of mine, I would be more than open to that idea.”  Tony rarely seemed awkward, he covered it so well with bravado that it took a trained eye to realize that insecurity bubbled close to the surface.

You surprised yourself, and him, when you slowly leaned forward and, at the last minute, kissed his forehead.  His expression caused you to cry with laughter, again, as you hopped up and grabbed something to drink.  A surge of pride filled you; you had unsettled the unflappable Tony Stark.  “You can report back to the Moms that I am fine.  Working very hard, achieving excellent grades, exhibiting an appropriate level of safety, enjoying my friends, and unsullied by neither man nor woman.”  He sighed and dropped his head in disgust.

“That is the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.  C’mon, you’re coming with me, you are going to experience Boston nightlife and actually live the college dream.”  He was clearly thrilled with the idea, but you put the brakes on his party train.  

“Thank you for taking on the role of social protectorate, but I can’t.  I am not going to engage with you about why and how, I just need you to trust that I cannot go out tonight.”  His skepticism didn’t make you waver one bit.  

“Ok, then tomorrow night, and I am not taking no for an answer.  You are going to get all dolled up and enjoy a breathtakingly irresponsible night on the town.  My treat.”  Your heart flipped at the invitation, but it didn’t stop you from speaking your mind.

“As enticing as that invitation is, I do not want to be an anonymous member of the Tony Stark entourage.  I can find my own fun, thanks.”  You stood and opened the door, picking up additional reference materials and returning your attention to the task at hand.  “Bye T, thanks for stopping by, say hi to your Mom for me.  Please tell her I can’t wait to see her and your Dad at Christmas.”  

Tony Stark was unaccustomed to being dismissed.  He knew that other than his mother, you were the only person that could do it and cause him to pause and re-evaluate his behavior.  As he left, he knew he had to prove to you that he was sincere, that he wanted to hang out with you, help you lighten up, and watch you enjoy yourself.  You gasped and looked at him as he gently encircled your waist and hugged you.

“I miss you.  I want to spend time with you.  Please.”  You froze in his arms, unable to process what was going on.

“Sure, T.  Text me tomorrow and let me know what’s up.  We can meet up somewhere, no problem.”  Little did you know that Tony had much more in mind than a simple dinner.

You awoke to a confusing text.

Tony: When you read this, please head to the campus library and ask for the head librarian.  She has something for you

You: Ummmmmm, ok?

You’d be lying if you didn’t admit you were a tiny bit fluttery that Tony had taken the time to think about you to this degree.  You grabbed a bagel and your protein shake and headed over.  You knew the head librarian, Ms. Williams, very well and she smiled upon seeing you.

“One moment, dear.  I’ve got something for you.”

Follow this clue to the 8th floor.  You will find an old friend waiting in the Children’s Literature section, with your next objective. You complied, searching for the provided shelf number when you arrived at the 8th floor.

You laughed as The Complete Tales of Winnie the Pooh came into view, with a Pooh and honey pot bookmark stuck in the pages.  This book was a staple of your childhoods.  Your mothers gave each other copies, read the stories to you every night, and your favorite quote was under your senior picture in the high school yearbook.  Your excitement grew as you remembered how fun Tony could make the most mundane events.  You also wondered how the hell he had time to do all this between last night and this morning.

The bookmark was tucked into the page with the quote, and you smiled at his sweetness.  He knew how much it meant to you.  

 “You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” 

Did you think I could forget these words? They mean as much to me as they do to you.  I wanted to remind you of how much you mean to me.  There’s a surprise waiting for you at your apartment, where you’ll find the next clue.

You practically sprinted back home, gasping when you saw a beautiful soft yellow dress hanging on your closet door, with an appointment card to a very expensive salon on Newbury Street.  You turned the card over and continued to smile - Tony had already paid for whatever you wanted done and had left a tip. He really could be thoughtful when he took the time.

It was early December, so you bundled up before heading out to your appointment.  When you left, you could not believe the transformation.  

You: Thanks Tony, I can’t believe you did all this.

Tony:  For you? Of course.  I’ll be by at 8pm.  Can’t wait to see you.

That felt different.  Your insides squished and squirmed - whether it was excitement or nerves, you weren’t sure.  You dressed, beautified, and waited.  

Tony: I hope you’re ready, beautiful.  On my way.

Geez, he was laying it on thick.  You laughed when he pulled up to your building in a regular old car he must have borrowed from someone’s father and jumped out to open your door.  You had no idea why he would not drive one of his ridiculously flashy fleet.  You were a huge Madonna fan in your younger years, and this struck you as the plot of her “Material Girl” video; was he trying to impress you by thinking he was just as “regular” as you were? Tony could never be described as “regular” or “average,” even if he didn’t have a dollar to his name.

Tony never really stopped.  He momentarily paused, he changed his focus, but his brain, his body, his mouth were always in high gear.  So when he got out of the car and saw you, it was a wholly different feeling.  He had never seen you look so beautiful - the dress wrapped within your white winter coat, your cheeks pink from the cold, your hair beautifully styled.  He hadn’t realized how long your hair had gotten and how much it changed your entire appearance.  

“You look stunning.  I did a very good job picking this out, didn’t I?” Now this was your best friend.  

“Yes, Tony, you did an amazing job.  I loved the clues, loved the book, loved everything.  It made me realize how much I missed you.”  You turned to him and asked him to stop.  “How much I missed the real Tony Stark.” His eyes closed as you softly kissed his cheek and let your hand land on his.

“C’mon, time for me to show you off and ply you with insanely expensive drinks.” He kept his promise.  The night was fun, like old times, but prettier and with alcohol.  You talked about everything and nothing, filling each other in, sharing your hurts and stories and plans, and reveling in each other’s company.  Neither of you wanted the night to end, so you invited him to your apartment for a nightcap.  You were shocked when he refused.

“No thanks, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”  Your eyes questioned and he saw the sting of rejection.  He looked at you, held your hands, and pecked your lips with his.  You stepped back, stunned. “You have no idea how much I want to, but I want to earn you, and I haven’t yet.”

“What does that mean? What are you trying to earn?”

“Someone I don’t deserve.  You.”  With another soft peck on the cheek, he was gone.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas break, you wondered if that night was a dream.  You and Tony awkwardly texted a bit, but didn’t see much of each other in the mad rush of finals.  After handing in your last project and dragging yourself to your apartment to make up as much lost sleep as possible, you were stunned out of your stupor by the sight of Tony waiting in front of your door. 

“You’re done, right?” His tired smile mirrored your own.

“Yes, thank the Lord in Heaven and every deity known to modern man.”  

“Good.  I wanted to show you something I’ve been working on.”  He stood and took out his phone, ready to press play when you put your hand over his.

“Tony can we go inside so I can sit down and maybe sleep for 2 days?”  He barely heard you, his nerves clearly a distraction, but he nodded and sat next to you, relaxing when you lay your head on his shoulder.

He apologized for leaving you hanging since your night out, for not paying enough attention to you, for not showing you how much you meant to him.  “My mom also slapped me once or twice to drive the point home that I’ve been a douchebag.  I’m sorry.”  He cued up the video on his phone and played it.  The introduction included the theme song to the “Winnie the Pooh” movie and cut to your favorite quote.  He took your silence for awe, then realized you were sleeping soundly.

As he tucked a blanket around you and kissed your forehead, he whispered, “You are the reason I am braver and stronger, and that’s because you’re smarter.  I hope you hear me because I can’t imagine saying it out loud again.”  You smiled to yourself as you snuggled under your covers and drifted off to sleep.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.  Did I bump into you?”  Your momentary distress quickly morphed into nervous laughter as you realized with whom the gods had chosen for you to cross paths with.

“Nope, not even a little.  I’m the one who should apologize to you, as I’ve clearly interrupted a highly competitive game of hide-and-seek.”  You snickered and shrugged your shoulders as the back of your dress and each of your hands were unceremoniously yanked by little people who had yet to learn that patience is a virtue.  Maybe that’s why you enjoyed being around children so much - you hadn’t learned that particular lesson yet, either.  

You mouthed “sorry” as you turned your head away, and saw him shake his head, appearing to chuckle as he took off his glasses to clean them.  As he turned towards the other guests, you fell back into the seedy underworld of high-stakes hide-and-seek, but you weren’t likely to forget that moment any time soon.

Tom Hiddleston had just asked you to dance.

As the night wore on, you lost the company of your young compatriots as their parents collected their offspring, thanked you profusely, and carried them off. You were grateful to return to the grown-up world and quickly sought out the bar.  As you sipped on the best gin-and-tonic you’d ever had, the newlyweds and some members of the bridal party found their way over and a chorus of memories, laughter, and challenges rose up.

“C’mon, please?!??!  You can’t say no to us tonight, we’re protected under the “we just got married” statute.  Please????” The drunk pleading by the newly Marrieds almost made you snort Bombay Sapphire out of your nose.  

“You’d better be grateful that I’m in such a good mood.  Give me a minute to go over and introduce myself then I guess I’ll make sure I’m not held in custody on the ‘You Said No To The Marrieds’ statute.”

After a few minutes of getting redirected at each attempt to get away, you took the microphone and cleared your throat.

“Excuse me, folks.  I know you may have had your fill of my singing voice after the wedding today, but I’ve been asked by the newlyweds to close out the night by singing one of their favorite songs, which to be honest, is also one of mine.  I’m told that I cannot deny this request, as it is part of the canon of newly-married law, and since both of them are lawyers, I guess I have to comply.”  As the pianist started the intro, you closed your eyes and swayed.  This one earned you lots of applause (and much-needed gigs) in college, and the words poured out without thought.

The very thought of you and I forget to do

The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do

I'm living in a kind of daydream, I'm happy as a king

And foolish though it may seem to me that's everything

The mere idea of you, the longing here for you

You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you

I see your face in every flower, your eyes in stars above

It's just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love

When the last notes faded along with your voice, the remaining guests whistled and cheered.  Your blush quickly faded as your best friends, including the bride and groom, tackle-hugged you and walked you off the stage in a laughing huddle.  You thanked every person that was kind enough to compliment you, and smiled dreamily as you saw the unmistakable frame of the famous actor in the room talking with your best friends.  

As he saw you approach, his smile widened and The Marrieds followed his gaze to you.  He excused himself, gesturing “one minute” while he visited the bar, and quickly returned on his trajectory to you, now with a bottle of water in his hands.  It seemed to roll off his impossibly-long fingers while his other hand gently encircled your wrist.  You were feeling the effects of the performance high, your drinks, and the long happy day at the same time, which loosened your tongue.

“Thank you very much.  I know etiquette requires me to sip daintily, so you'll need to forgive me while I down this in a less-than-ladylike way.  Please don’t tell my mother.”  His laugh was a rolling baritone, easy and well-practiced, accompanied by eye contact that would usually make you turn away from its intensity.

You checked him out as you tried not to gulp.  Thankfully you didn’t choke or need the Heimlich because drinking bought you a minute to wonder what in the hell Tom Hiddleston wanted with you.  Was he trying to return something you dropped? Was he going to compliment your singing? You weren’t quite drunk enough to ask outright, so you capped the plastic bottle and smiled.

“Thank you, that hit the spot.  It was nice meeting you, but I think I’m going to head back….” His smile dimmed a bit as he recognized your attempt to leave. Reaching out, he quickly spoke over you so you wouldn’t end the sentence.

“Ummmm, no.”

Awkward silence. Crickets.

“Excuse me?” Tentacles of weirdness raced up your spine. Sweat formed on the back of your neck as you formulated your escape plan.

His nervous laughter caught your attention. “I mean, yes, it’s nice to meet you, too and you’re welcome, but….”

Your eyes followed his as they cast downward and then popped back up with a shyer, smaller smile.  “I’d hoped you’d have a dance with me.”

Cue full-on tipsy giggles. “I’d love to, but it seems the band is packing up.”  

He let your wrists gently drop and practically leapt over to the bandstand.  After a few minutes of bowed heads, covert pointing, and close talking, he returned with the smile you’d seen projected on a 50-foot screen.   With a short bow, he held out his hand.

“Problem solved.  Now, if you would be so kind as to dance with me?”  

You put your hand in his as he led you to the nearby dance floor.  You remained completely clueless as to what alternate universe you had fallen into. Maybe you were dreaming.  You’d have to pinch yourself to find out, but Tom didn’t give you the time.  

He pulled you closer, placed one hand respectfully on your thicker-than-average waist, and, taking your right hand in his left, placed it on his chest. You looked up and could not hold back soft laughter.  He quietly asked what you were thinking.

The band was doing a sweet rendition of “Wonderful Tonight,” and you hummed along.  As he turned you slowly, the distance between you lessened.  

“Nothing, just having a wonderfully unexpected dance with a world-renowned actor.  It’s how I normally spend my Saturday nights.”  He leaned back to make eye contact, smiled, and returned to twirling.  His hand had worked its way further around your waist and your hand that was not on his chest had moved to cup the back of his neck.  As the last twangy notes played, you tried to pull away, to quickly gloss over any awkward goodbyes, but he held fast.

“I sound like a broken record, but thank you.”  His face quickly changed from dreamy to serious, which was disconcerting.

“What?” Your face belied your urgency to cut to the chase and say goodnight.

He stepped back and moved his hands to your wrists, his light touch giving you goosebumps.

“I’m curious - why do you keep trying to leave? Have I offended you somehow?” His eyes locked on yours, a sincerely curious look on his face.

“No, of course not, but I figured you needed to go and I didn’t want to make anything awkward.  I avoid awkward at all costs.”

“If anything, leaving would be bittersweet. I was hoping you’d have a drink with me so we wouldn’t have to broach that subject yet.”

Your neutral expression masked your shock.  It was a practiced response after years of suppressing laughter when your students did something hilariously inappropriate.  He didn’t press, didn’t ask again, didn’t change his mind.  He simply waited and looked, bringing front and center how uncomfortable it made you to be seen.  

“Let me freshen up, and I’ll meet you in the bar downstairs in 20 minutes or so?”  You giggled, again, as he bowed and kissed your hand, taking your leave and saying goodnight to other guests.

You started to sober up as you took the elevator to your room, took a shower and threw on the outfit you wore to the bachelorette party 3 nights earlier, thanking God you had sent it out to be cleaned.  By the time you made your way downstairs, you felt more like yourself, more in control, less starstruck.

You smiled tiredly as he stood to greet you, offering you the outside seat on the banquette.  It was late enough that you didn’t need to shout, and you had just the right amount of attention from the waiter and bartender, without attracting fans.  You shared your plan to stay in the area for two more weeks, visiting friends and seeing the sights, while he mentioned he was going to be in town for a few days, as well.

You sipped on a delicious champagne Tom suggested and asked him something that had run in and out of your mind since the days of your high school obsession with Phantom of the Opera and Les Miserables.  

“Tell me how you split yourself between the real you and the part you’re playing.  I’d guess that every part you play contains some small piece of you, but how do you reconcile that with being “just you,” being the person that your family and dearest friends know? Is it difficult to become someone else and then return to everyday life?”

He listened, smiled softly, and sighed.  “You’ve just asked the same question that was posed to the very first people to pretend in front of others.”  He went on to explain about the psychological work he has done and still does to prepare for roles, the time it takes to transition back and forth between roles and real life, and some funny stories about times when he’s mixed up the two with memorable results.

The familiar chuckle snapped you out of your reverie.  You saw his loose curls move side to side and wondered why he had stopped talking, then realized you’d yawned several times in a row.  “I’m sorry, I heard what you said, but I think your voice lulled me into another state of consciousness.  It’s very soothing.”

His smile was bright, but tired.  “Are you saying I put you to sleep? Guess I’m not as captivating as I’ve been led to believe.”  He cut off your attempt to explain.  “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been going on but you’ve struck the mother lode - asking an actor about how they prepare psychologically for their life’s work is a question worthy of a monologue.  Didn’t mean to hypnotize you.”

He silently covered your hands with his as you brought out your wallet to pay for your drinks.  “Please, let me.  I invited you, remember?”  Your nod was followed by evidence of your stubbornness.  “Thank you, I’ll just leave a tip, then.” He stood as you did, steadying you while you took your leave.

“Thank you for the dance, and the drink, and the conversation, Tom.  It made this gorgeous day even better.”  You kissed his cheek, noticing he closed his eyes while you did.

“Thank you, as well.  Tonight was an unexpected delight.  Would it be alright if I asked to see you again?”

You smiled and sighed.  “You have my number.”

Jason: Is HE with you?

You: Good morning to you, too.  No.

Jason: Why not? It was clear how much he liked you.

You: Just was really tired last night, wasn’t the right time.

Jason: You sure that’s it? You ok?

You had known Jason for too long and subtlety was not a specialty.

You: J, don’t worry, it’s all good.  I’m gonna change the subject - when and where tonight?

As you figured out what the evening was going to bring, your text alert sounded. Tom.  

Jason wiggled his eyebrows and signed off, making you chuckle.

TWH: Good morning

You: Good morning, did you sleep well?

TWH: Somewhat.  Hard time falling asleep.

You: I’m sorry, I hate when that happens.  What are you up to today?

The conversation bubble popped up, then disappeared, then started bubbling again.  Your stomach called for breakfast so you left your phone, washed your face, pulled on your jeans, and made your way out the door. The bubble was still percolating as you opened the door and stepped out backwards to make sure it was locked.  You yelped and apologized as your backside connected with someone in the hall.  

“Oh my God, I’m so…” Your card key flew out of your hand as you turned around, hearing a familiar baritone chuckle and a set of familiar hands holding your waist.

“Sorry I startled you, darling.  I hoped I could convince you to join me for breakfast.”  His eyes found the key card as you stepped back towards your door, and his fingers barely grazed the top of your hand as he handed it over.  While you fiddled with the card to avoid his eyes, your goosebumpy flesh betrayed his effect on you.  

Your smile was tired, but real.  “You didn’t have to come all this way, I would’ve met up somewhere.”  Though it wasn’t your intent, your voice must have relayed something that made him step back.

He hung his head for a moment and you saw something new - seriousness.  “I’m sorry.  I made an assumption that you’d be needing breakfast, as well.  Of course, I should have asked before showing up.”

The tops of your shoes touched his and you entwined your right hand with his left as you sought out his eyes.  “A heads up would’ve been nice.  I might’ve put in a little more effort when I got ready, but seeing you here is wonderful.  Thank you for making the effort.”  He brightened - and not just his smile or his eyes, but his entire countenance that stayed lit the entire ride to the restaurant.  

The morning was so easy, so real.  You were both tired, so neither of you was trying to filter too much, try too hard, or impress the other.  Breakfast at an out of the way diner almost became a Comic Con event when Tom was recognized, but he sidestepped the hoopla by posing for a few photos, signing autographs, and making wonderfully genial small talk that made all his fans feel heard and special.

When you were safely ensconced in a cab, taking an unofficial sightseeing tour, you remarked how impressed you were by the way he treated his fans.

“It must be so difficult when people see you as one character, but you never seem to begrudge it.  In just a few days I’ve seen you be completely courteous, charming, and generous with anyone that approaches you.  It means something when you treat people nicely when you don’t have to.”

That famous smile made an appearance.  “What exactly, pray tell, does it mean to you?”

Red spots bloomed across your cheeks as you rested your fingers on his leg, “That you were raised to treat everyone with kindness and respect.”

He dropped his head forward and covered his hand with yours.  “Thank you.  I am grateful for my fans.  I recognize that I would be in a different place in my career without them, but to be honest, the attention sometimes makes it difficult when I want to spend time with someone special.” He reached for the hand you were resting on his thigh and looked straight through you.  

You were still.  Your thoughts were silent, your feelings calm.  The driver, on the other hand, took the lull in the conversation as a springboard for a rambling narrative about the various sights.  You both let out the breaths you were holding and laughed.  The rest of the drive was spent learning about D.C. and talking about the plans to meet up with your friends at a Deaf Theatre Company production of “Romeo and Juliet” that night.

While waiting for Tom, you checked yourself in the mirror.  You had pampered yourself - a nap, a luxuriating bath in the jet stream tub, and enough time to look your best.  You only had the clothes you’d packed, but you were able to piece together red pants, a black top and faux-diamond accessories.  The outfit along with your styled up-do and somewhat dramatic makeup made you feel more alive than you had in years.

Tom’s knock sent your stomach flipping, and his outfit - navy slacks and jacket with a crisp white shirt underneath and, of course, the glasses - may have caused heart palpitations.  His face was soft and caring as he complimented your outfit and handed you a beautiful white rose.

“Shall we?” and his ever-offered arm led you to the waiting car, where you shared how nervous you were, provoking a suspicious look.

Your fears tumbled out without stopping.  “I’m afraid I’ve built this up too much, and you won’t be as astounded as I think you’ll be, then that’ll just cause a shame spiral about how I wasted your evening.”  His face easily slid from questioning to playfully mocking and had you laughing and leaning back on the headrest before you even finished the sentence.  He turned a bit, taking your left hand in both of his and letting his leg rest against yours.

“No matter how good or not, what I’m most excited about is that it’s a new experience, a new way of bringing the words and feelings to the audience.  After the little bit I saw last night, I can only imagine the kind of energy an immersive signing experience will have.”

Watching two people sign is one thing, but being thrust into a space full of people using their bodies, voices, and faces to communicate is quite another.  You made sure to keep an eye on Tom, as his eyes rapidly scanned the lobby, his gaze unable to rest on one place.  You quickly found Jason and his boyfriend surrounded by your friend group from grad school.  You had time to introduce them all before the show - you signed for yourself and Tom, and voiced for everyone that signed to him.  You were sweating by the time you sat down and looked forward to the show, while Tom held tight to your hand and let you help him adjust his assistive listening device that channeled the interpreter’s voices.

A performance in American Sign Language is silent, which is an eerie feeling for a hearing person.  It took you years to get used to it, but now it was second nature.  You could tell Tom was trying to reconcile what he saw with what he heard and what he had done when performing the play, which was a huge amount of input and work for his brain.   You whispered the same advice you’d received when you were inaugurated into this world.

“Close your eyes, Tom.  Your brain doesn’t know how to process all the visual information, and it’s likely you’ll get a headache if you keep focusing on what you’re hearing and seeing with such intensity.  Just take little breaks from looking and then come back to it when you feel ready.”  His smile was weary, and he kissed your forehead and whispered his thanks before doing just as you suggested behind his steepled hands.  At the intermission you excused yourselves from the group and took him outside to a secluded area where you could speak to each other without excluding anyone who could not hear.  You handed him a drink, sat next to him, and held his hand.

“You ok? We can leave if it’s getting to be too much.”  He lifted his head and looked at you with an intensity you only recognized from his work.

“Absolutely not.  This….this...defies description.”  The fierceness of his stare sent shivers down your neck and arms.  “As do you.”

Before you could respond, his mouth was on yours, his hand behind your neck urging you to stay lost in the kiss, which you were more than happy to do.  When you unlocked from each other, you rested your foreheads together by some unspoken arrangement.

Your text alert sounded.  “It’s Jason, intermission is over.”

He stood, buttoned his jacket, and tugged on the hem before offering you his hand, giving you a much softer kiss before escorting you back inside.  Jason and company did not wait more than 30 seconds before starting the inquisition via text after you sat down.  

Jason: Did you just make out with him?

You: Did you seriously just make this a group text?

Jason: We were ALL thinking it, so YES.  

Tina: Answer the question!

You: Maybe

Jason: Told you! I knew it! You go girl!

You: I’m turning off my phone. I love you guys.

Tom leaned over and kissed your temple while holding your hand.  You squeezed back and filled him in on your nosy but loving friends.  That smile.

“It was worth an inquisition.”  He turned back to the stage as the curtain rose, feeling your excitement build.

You gladly accompanied Tom backstage to meet the cast and crew, who were starstruck and grateful for his praise.  He asked questions that caused a flurry of hands and voices that made him laugh in appreciation of its energy.  He answered their questions, many about his own Shakespearean work, that made them nod.  He asked the director for his info, and remarked that though he might need a bit of a break from all the visual input, he could not wait to experience another play in ASL.  You both took your leave to meet up with your friends at a local pub, Tom excitedly talking about the show and pulling you into his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders.

You slid into the backseat of the Uber and leaned back, your eyes closed, while Tom continued sharing his thoughts on the evening.  You realized he was no longer talking and lolled your head to the left, met his eyes, and smiled as he quieted.

“I’m sorry for the running on, darling, this is all new for me.  I can’t wait to think about it, learn more about it.  He closed the miniscule distance between you and kissed you while your eyes fluttered shut.  Your right hand gently laid against his cheek as you assured him you were thrilled that it lived up to all your hype and that yes, you were up to meeting your friends out for dinner.

The long table stretched across the largest part of the pub’s eating area and you guided Tom to sit where he would be able to hear you interpreting what was being signed.  He thought it was a good spot to give you a discreet kiss or two, but he had something else to learn about Deaf people - there wasn’t much that slipped by them.  You laughed and blushed and edited the snarky (but well-meant) comments directed at you, but that didn’t stop him from keeping his hands on or near you and nuzzling your neck when you weren’t actively signing.  You were happy.

Dinner was loud, fun, and over the top, like most Deaf-friendly events that included alcohol and a group of people who could all understand each other.  You did your best to keep him in the loop and participate in the conversation in your own way, only stopping to eat and drink and take a break or two to get some fresh air.  

When you were outside taking a minute to let your brain rest, Tom followed, sidled up next to you and held your face carefully in his hands.

“You are such a rare woman.  Thank you for tonight and thank you for letting me kiss you before, and now.” You eagerly met him, only to be interrupted by the group waving and shouting to get your attention.

His smile was tired. “I guess we’re being paged?”  You decided you would go in, say your goodnights, and head back to the hotel, but you were sidetracked by the promise of dessert.  As you shared warm pie and ice cream with your date, Jason banged on the table to get everyone’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we are together to celebrate the fantastic performance of Romeo and Juliet.  Good friends, good food, and good times make me feel very lucky and, on a personal note, I want to welcome back my best friend and former roommate, who we’ve all missed so much.”

As everyone cheered, you toasted the table, and agreed how nice it was to share the time with them.  Jason wasn’t done yet, though.  He looked directly at you with nothing but love in his eyes.

“I want to tell you, my dear one, how happy we all are that you’ve brought Tom with you and that you are happy.  We all miss him, but I know your John is looking down and smiling at your happiness.”

Your words stopped coming for Tom’s benefit as you watched Jason be happy for you.  He looked at your face, devoid of color, and your chest, rising and falling more quickly than it had been.

“You ok?”

You shook your head with a tiny, quiet side-to-side nod as the rest of the table looked at you.  The lack of movement and voices and energy clued Tom in that something was wrong.  As he looked at you with concern, you assured him you were fine, scooted to the edge of the seat, and hurriedly excused yourself to the restroom.  You were gone from the table no more than one minute after Jason started his speech.

Tom looked at Jason and pointed to your path, asking what happened with only an expression.  Other hearing people at the table took over signing for him and voicing for the others.  Jason started where he left off.

“I’m not sure.”

“I don’t think so, she was fine, then you mentioned someone looking down at her, seeing how happy she is, and she just stopped translating.”  Jason took a deep breath in and out, trilling his lips and shutting his eyes for a minute.  He looked at Tom and nodded, before signing.

“Shit.  Yes, John.  Her husband.”

Now it was Tom’s turn to stop cold.  “I’m sorry, what? She’s married?” Thoughts rushed through his brain that didn’t add up.  Now a headache was upon him.  He shook his head and looked at Jason again, a table full of people following his every move with their eyes.

“She WAS married, yes.  John was another one of our roommates, my best friend.  A little while after they graduated and moved into their own place, he got sick.  He was gone too soon.”

Tom was reeling.  He had known you for all of a few days, you didn’t owe him your life’s story, but your reaction to Jason’s comment had him wondering how recent this loss was, how much you were still hurting.  He stood, ready to check on you, when you walked up, coat and bag in hand.  Jason got to you first and no one translated.

“Oh my God love I am so so sorry, please believe me.  I never meant to upset you, to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t, J.  I’m surprised how hard it hit me.  I think I should go back to the hotel.”

“Let me go with you.” and he turned to grab his coat.  You banged your hand on the table to get his attention.

“No.  I want to be alone.”  He looked at you, hurt on his face.  You smiled weakly and assured him nothing was going to happen to you, that you just wanted to sit with your feelings for awhile, alone.

“Let me say goodnight to everyone.  Please stay and enjoy yourself.  For me.” You waved to everyone who understood what you had just said and turned to Tom, who was standing in wait with his coat over his arm.

“Let’s go, darling.  I’ll get you back to the hotel.” As kind as that was, you needed to be alone with your memories, sit with your feelings, and move on.  You couldn’t do that while trying to make other people feel comfortable with your sadness.  You asked him to walk you out, but then asked for what you needed - time alone.  You kissed his cheek and softly apologized for how the evening ended, slipping into the cab and closing your eyes as you drove away.

Tom watched you drive away, quickly thanked everyone, and made his exit.  He’d planned to take you to see the World War II Memorial, he’d been told it was a beautiful thing to see at night, but instead was  thinking about your face, how hurt and sad you were, and wondered how he could help, if you would let him help.

Tom: I hope you find your peace tonight, darling.

You: Thank you Tom.  I hope so, too.

Tom: Can I check in on you later?

You: Maybe tomorrow? I think I’ll go to bed early.

Tom: Of course.  I have your number ;)

A deep breath, a mindful mantra, and your feet were on the floor, ready to return to the present.  Before you reached the door handle to to get some fresh air (and a croissant, if truth be told), you spotted an envelope just inside your door and crossed your fingers.

              Darling, I didn’t want to bother you but I wanted you to know I                            hope you’re well.  I can’t assume to understand what you’re going                      through tonight, but if you want to talk about it, I’m here, anytime.                      I’m in room 1008 on the top floor and I’ve made sure anyone who                      needs to  know will let you up.  

              I also wanted to let you know that I’m leaving tomorrow night.                            I’m starting rehearsal for a new play in London and the producers                     called last  night to let me know the cast has to do early press day                     after next.  I don’t leave until 10pm, so if you were so inclined to see                 me tomorrow, I’d love to.   

             Again, don’t hesitate to be in touch if you need a shoulder, an ear,                     or any part  of me that could lend you comfort or support.  That                         sounded quite lecherous, but hopefully you know I don’t mean it that                 way.

             Best, Tom

Without thinking, you double-checked for your keys and phone and made your way to the 10th floor.  You had to request access but once you gave your name, you were waved through.  Your nerves flitted when you knocked, but quickly dissipated when Tom answered and pulled you in for a warm hug, which you eagerly absorbed.  You took a tiny step back and held his hands in yours.

“Thank you for the letter.”  His smile was soft and sweet, his eyes holding concern and care, silently saying the right things.  Your breath was normal as you stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.  “Would you like to have breakfast with me?”

His feet stayed where they were while he pulled you so subtly your bodies touched and you hadn’t recalled moving.  His forehead landed lightly against yours and you closed your eyes as he whispered.  

“I would love to, but I have another idea.  What would you think about staying in today?” You slowly opened your eyes to see his smile, inviting and beautiful, and had no doubts about agreeing.  He stepped back towards the living area, encouraged you to follow, and called for room service after asking for your favorites.

Among breakfast, movies, lunch, and packing you laughed and talked and kissed and laughed some more.  As the day ended, you laid your head on his shoulder and watched the sunset through the unending windows that encircled the suite’s front room, and breathed in and out in time with the rise and fall of his chest.  His peaceful silence felt like an invitation.

“He was my first real love - John.” Tom quickly assured you that you didn’t have to speak about it, but you assured right back that it didn’t hurt, it was more like a needle prick, to share this part of your life.

“There was happiness and fun and joy and love.  Experiencing wholehearted acceptance and desire was soul-changing.  He helped me feel worthy, sexy, smart, and perfect for him in almost every way.”  You laughed at the absurd memories of your fights, usually about dirty socks or forgotten to-do lists.

All of Tom’s attention was focused on you, and he seemed to think carefully before speaking.

“He was a smart man who also happened to be incredibly lucky.  I’m a bit envious, to be honest.”  You lifted your head up and placed your hand on his cheek and kissed him gently.

“I’m telling you because you don’t need to be.  After John died, I was adrift, disassociative, locked out of life and locked inside my hurt.  Thank God for my family and friends checking on me, supporting me, helping me stay as healthy as possible.  I did every passive thing I could to stop feeling.  I didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, didn’t take my medicine - if it hadn’t been for Jason, Tina, my parents and siblings and John’s family, too, I know I wouldn’t be here.”

His next kiss was intimate, slow, and felt different.  “I am grateful to them and to you for fighting to stay.  Sometimes it’s easier not to.” You both sighed at that truth, each with your own quiet examples that did not need to be spoken.

You were hesitant to think about the end of this perfect day, but it arrived nonetheless.  He pulled you to your feet and hugged you, filling you with warmth and comfort.

“Walk me to the lobby?” You nodded and stood back as he gathered up his bag and backpack, checked for his keys and phone, and closed the door.   The ride downstairs was silent, but not sad.  As you walked out into the lobby, your giggle made him stop, turn, and raise his eyebrows.  Your blush was as much from embarrassment as it was from the wine, the kissing, and the late hour.

“We were alone in the elevator, about to reach our destination where we part ways after an emotional experience.”  Laughter left your lips in waves, suddenly finding your own thought hilarious.  Again, wine + late hour + swoony kissing = tipsy in more ways than one.  Tom remained stymied.  It took him a minute, but he lit up when he got it.

“You’re talking about a stop-the-elevator-with-the-emergency-button-and-make out scene, aren’t you?”  You could barely pull in a breath, but you nodded vigorously.  

“I’ve filmed one of those.  Pretty hot, I’d say.”  You straightened up, wiped the laughing tears away, and kept walking to the front entrance.  He caught up with one step of those ridiculously long legs and pulled your arm so he could whisper to you.  “Next time.”  Shivers ran down your neck and back and you grinned at the idea.

Your goodbye hug was warm, but quick.  You weren’t great at lingering or awkward farewells and you’d had enough emotional upheaval to last awhile.  You wished him the best with the play and thanked him for the last week, and he reciprocated in kind.  Addresses were exchanged and inter-continental communication promised.  He slid smoothly into the backseat after giving you one last kiss, and off he went.  

You walked back to your room, soon falling asleep after a wonderful day you would not soon forget.  You woke up a bit sad, but eager to do your last bit of sightseeing and friend visits before returning to the real world.  As you confirmed your plans, you were startled by a knock at the door and the hotel employee who held an exquisite arrangement of your favorite flowers.  The card did not disappoint.

                   To thank you for being you, with me, for the last week.                                       To thank you for your laugh, your joy, your realness.                                           To thank you for enlightening me, showing me new things                                           that astounded.                                                                                             To thank you for making me miss you, as soon as I left you.                               To ask you not to forget, as I am unable to.         -Tom

One of the biggest sighs you ever heard made it past your lips.  A quick picture taken and you were texting away, though it was almost 9pm in London and you had no idea when you’d hear back.  Or if.

You: The flowers are gorgeous, thank you.  The card was a romantic’s dream. Tom: Would you consider yourself a romantic?                                              You:  Hey! I did not think I’d get you in real time.  Deep down, yes, I’m a romantic. How about you?                                                                            Tom: I’ll let the card answer that question. ;)                                                You: He he he.  How are you? You must be exhausted.                              Tom: We just finished the press junket for the day, and I’m about to sleep for 24 hours.  At least.  I came right off the plane to work.                                  You: I’m sorry to keep you from your pillow, but I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated your thoughtfulness and excellent taste - the flowers are perfect and the card - well, let’s just say my ancestors will swoon when they find it among my things. :)                                                                                        You: Goodnight, Tom.  

Before your heart could skip another beat, an unknown London number came up.  Since you knew exactly one person who was there, you took a chance and picked up.

“You’re most welcome.  I just wanted you to know I was thinking of you.”  A long, loud yawn punctuated the ensuing silence.

“Thank you, Tom.  As always, you’re a paragon of politeness.”  You giggled at your alliteration but quickly got a flood of warm prickles across your skin when he responded.

“I wasn’t going for polite.”  You had to keep up the volley with the only question you could think of, and his answer did not disappoint.

“I was going for honest.  I wanted to make sure you knew that every moment together last week was real for me, as I hope it was for you.”  You must have been quiet longer than he expected, as he checked to make sure you were still on the line.  You went with the first thing that came to mind.

“You hit every note, every day - warm, fun, and most definitely real.”

When there was more silence than talking, you said goodnight with wishes of sweet dreams and promises for tomorrow.    __________________________________

The return to work filled your days and early evenings, while rehearsals, press, and post-production work for films already shot filled his.  You texted or emailed in the mornings and afternoons, but thanks to the 4-hour time difference, had the most luck talking while you ate dinner and he was winding down from his day.  Your conversations recapped the day but ran deeper, into the dreams, hopes, aspirations, hurts, and passions you both experienced.  Each time you hung up you felt emptied of anything false and filled with a growing sense of calm excitement .  It was hard for you to trust that feeling, knowing that life’s strong hands can pull the snuggest rug out from under you without a lick of provocation, but the more you shared, the safer you felt. _________________________________

The work was brilliant.  Pinter was a genius playwright and this was Tom’s chance to go back to his home, the stage.  Zawe and Charlie and him were on stage for the entire play - no intermission and no hiding.  Everything was out there - raw, painful, still.  Rehearsals were paying off and looking really really well - it was just what he needed.  But.

After one week back at work, he was surprised how regularly he thought of you, someone he just met.  The days were a blur of car rides, rehearsals, ADR for his newest film, press, and trying to sneak in some time with his family given they were in the same country, for once.  It was exhausting, but he found himself wanting to know how you were, wanting to hear your laugh and do so right along with you, wanting to hug and hold and kiss all the soft and strong places he knew held equal shares within you.  He loved seeing your texts and more so, your responses when he hit just the right note - be it silly, serious, or sexy.  

Each night, around the same time, he’d call when he got home, usually getting you at dinner.  At first, you apologized for what you called “dull days” compared to his, but he would not hear that and it guided things towards deeper, more serious discussions about everything from world news, work, and family, to hopes, dreams, and fears.  The conversations nourished him, excited him, made him yearn for more.  More than he could have with an ocean between you.                                           ______________________________________

“I wish you were here, darling.” You hadn’t heard that level of frustration in his voice before.  

“Are you alright? You sound different.  Everything ok?”  His smile was soft as he laid in bed, listening to your kindness and missing being near enough to kiss you as thanks.

“I’m alright and not at the same time and in the interest of creating more confusion, I’m only partly sure why.”  Another long breath out and silence.

“I’m here if you want to talk about it, but if you don’t, I have a funny story from today that might help you feel better.”  You started talking about a student trying to hide something in his locker to surprise a teammate after school but accidentally left it in the bathroom and the principal was walking by when he spoke.

“I know why now.”  You could do nothing but wait.

“I want to be near you.  I want to hold that luscious, sexy body of yours and show you how much you’ve come to mean to me.  I want to feel and see your laugh, not just hear it.  I want to see you without your glasses and push those strands of errant hair out of the way so I can kiss you senseless.”

Nothing.  Crickets.  Sweat began to drip off his head while his heart hammered with the idea that he’d offended you, that he’d been too frank, that…..

“I want the same thing, Tom.”  He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until you spoke and a new one filled his lungs.  “But I don’t think it’s possible right now.  Maybe after the play closes?”

That wasn’t good enough.  Not nearly good enough, but Tom was ready to call in every favor if it meant seeing you.

“I can’t leave London, but why don’t you let me buy you a ticket? Maybe you could take a few days off?” Something felt wrong as soon as the words left his mouth.  Your tone of voice was new and not one he wanted to hear on a regular basis.

“No, I can’t accept that kind of gift. I appreciate your thoughtfulness and generosity, but if I can’t afford it on my own, I can’t go.  I’m sorry not to see you, but that’s how I feel.”  He sat up in bed, suddenly aware that a button had been pushed, and stammered out an apology that was quickly accepted but just-as-quickly followed by your goodnight.

________________________________

Did you overreact? You knew Tom offered so you could see each other - you both wanted that.  He could certainly afford it, and you couldn’t, and you would have done the same thing if the places had been reversed.  So why the meltdown?

You didn’t want to be indebted to anyone.  Yes, the ol’ trust issues reared their ugly head and made accepting a gift of this size impossible.  You knew Tom offered from a place of sincerity and caring, but what if? What if something changed while you were there and you were beholden to him to get home? What if the week you had together was a fluke, the chemistry misunderstood, the attraction based on circumstances rather than connection?  You needed help.

You and Tom met at the wedding of your good friends, Beth and Peter, aka, The Marrieds.  They were the only people that knew both of you, so you reached out to get an objective opinion.  Being lawyers, your long-time friends, and smug-as-hell show-offs because you and Tom had hit it off at their wedding, made them experts on the subject of you (in their minds).

FaceTiming with them was an event.  The two of them jockeying for position in front of the camera, interrupting each other, and finally listening when you threatened to hang up.  After your synopsis there was no loss for opinions or admonitions about how you were letting your pride get in the way of being happy.  You couldn’t really refute that, but dammit if you weren’t going to try.  

“Guys, I hear you, but I don’t think I’m wrong for wanting to pay for things myself.  I also don’t want Tom to think I’m taking advantage of his generosity - kind of a slippery slope, if you know what I mean?”

“Nope, we don’t.”  Apparently, Beth had been elected the spokesperson for both of them.  You laughed after asking them if marriage had fused their brains together and stony silence was their response.

“I mean, what if it’s a ticket now, then a stay at a hotel, then a Jaguar, then a house and then I’m a kept woman and I’ve turned into Rebecca from the       du Maurier novel.”  You bust a gut laughing at the absurdity of that statement, but returned to the reason you called after you calmed down.  

“I just feel wrong about it.  Whether it’s because I don’t want to rely on someone to buy things for me, or because it doesn’t feel right to accept such an extravagant gift, it doesn’t matter.  It does not reflect my feelings, just my need to be independent.”  There you go.  Once you said that, out loud, your tension and stress around the issue floated away, leaving you in peace.  Shortly after you wrapped up the call and made another one.

Looking at the time, he would most likely be at the theater, but you needed to tell him.  The voice message you were going to leave was practiced and ready.  As the phone kept ringing, you inhaled before leaving it but started coughing when a live voice answered.

“Darling wait, don’t hang up.  Give me a moment, please.”  Clunking muffled noises punctuated by “great rehearsal,” and “have a good evening” preceded Tom’s return.  

“Are you still at the theatre?  I was fully prepared to leave a message, I know you’re working.”  His reassurances were quick and sweet.  He spoke words that sounded like the start of an apology, but you interrupted.

“I’m sorry I ended our call so abruptly last night.  I was caught off guard and I did not react graciously, and for that, I’m sorry.”  You listened to his breathing, in and of itself a comfort.  “I overreacted and in my attempt to figure out why, I called Beth and Peter to get an objective opinion.”  His boisterous laugh surprised you.

“Were you successful in getting that unbiased perspective?”  You had to smile because he clearly knew it was a fool’s errand, which you confirmed, but you had one more thing to get off your chest.

“I called to tell you I appreciate your offer, but I cannot accept it, in good conscience.  I thank you, but I’m not at a place where I can feel comfortable about such an extravagant gift.  I hope you can understand.”  He sighed and you could have sworn you heard him say something but you didn’t quite catch it.  You said your piece in the way you wish you would have the night before, and he was still at work, so you readied your goodbye when he started talking.

“I didn't mean to offend, I hope you know.  The offer was born out of missing you and wanting to see you and not wanting to wait.  I am sorry if it was interpreted as a means of controlling you or making you indebted to me in some way.”  You couldn’t have asked for more.  You both acknowledged the other’s viewpoints, apologized, and you considered it resolved, which you expressed in exactly those words, and clicked off feeling good.  _______________________________

Now that was different.  A woman he was attracted to and wanted to spend more time with would not accept a gift from him.  He was pissed when she refused, worried when they didn’t talk, and understanding once they had.  Guess he’d have to employ one of his weakest skills - patience.  Something - instinct, gut feeling, mojo - told him she was worth waiting for. _________________________________

That night, instead of talking, you got to work on a personal project you’d been putting off.  A pile of pictures had laid in a box, under your bed, since you moved.  When you put them in sequence and tucked the last one into the now-finished album, you felt complete.  As you looked over the pictures of you and John with and without dear friends and family, you felt peaceful.  When you put the book away, grabbed your laptop and credit card and began to investigate flights and hotel prices, there was nothing but giddy excitement. 

Around the same time on the top floor of the hotel, Tom awoke to several messages from his team - his agent, manager, director of his next project - all wanting to check in with him and ask when he planned to return to work.  After letting them know he’d be in D.C. for a few days and that he was relatively unscathed, his thoughts turned to you.  Though it was your voice that grabbed him - honey and whiskey with a touch of bright sweetness - it was your easy smile and raucous, unrestrained joy that pulled him closer.  When you danced and he saw how comfortable you were in your life, in your circle of friends, in your body, his feelings shifted from interested to intrigued.

To be honest, he’d become quite accustomed to women throwing themselves at him, or, at the very least, not making it difficult to get to know them better.  You immediately stood out with your gentle stubbornness, obvious kindness and undeniable intelligence.  It was a potent combination that made him eager to learn more, though he surprised himself when he honestly could not say whether you were as interested as he was.  No time like the present to test the waters.

TWH: Good afternoon.  Sleep well?

Nothing.  No conversation bubble, no “read” receipt, no response.  

Nothing.  You were surprised Tom hadn’t been in touch after last night.  You had tried very hard in recent years to enjoy each moment as it came, to live in the present, rather than pissing it away by focusing on the future.  You were disappointed, no doubt, but figured it was a time and experience you’d always hold close to your heart.  It had been awhile since you’d felt a connection with anyone, and to think it was with someone as kind and gentlemanly as Tom? Well, that was icing on the cake.  (Not to mention that he was shockingly handsome, funny, and intense).

You showered with the intention of washing off the cobwebs and went out in search of dinner.  D.C. had many amazing restaurants, but you were only interested in one thing - pizza.  With your wallet and phone safely tucked away, you headed down to the lobby to find your idea of oooey, gooey, cheesy, heaven.  You confirmed the address with the concierge and were almost out the door when you saw Tom standing out on the sidewalk, talking and laughing with a stunning woman with black hair, a figure worthy of Vogue, and 6-inch heels.  You ignored your instinct to hang back, to avoid being seen, but there was no need.  He saw you and smiled, excused himself, and walked over, kissing your cheek.  His companion kept her focus on her phone, so you quickly filled him in on your current mission for pizza and started for the door.

“You don’t have to rush off, we’ve got a few minutes.” He glanced sideways at his date and reached out for your fingertips, playing with then as if they were piano keys. That started all kinds of unexpected conflicted feelings and you suddenly found something shiny to pick up on the ground, allowing you to step just out of his reach. He noticed.

“I tried texting you this morning, but when I didn’t hear back I wondered, again, if I’d done something that upset you.”  His arms were crossed across his chest and his upper body leaned forward.  It was casually done but felt intentional, powerful.  You felt important.  After assuring him he hadn’t and showing him that you hadn’t received any messages you quickly determined that he had transposed two numbers when he entered your info into his phone.  You laughed thinking about whomever received a message from him and if they had any clue of their unintentional brush with celebrity.  

His companion quietly made her way over, looping her arm through his and lazily laying her hand on his bicep.  She smiled and whispered, making a small smile appear as he patted her hand and bid you goodnight with a small bow.  You smiled and walked away, intent on yummy sustenance.  Little did you know Tom’s eyes followed you until he ducked into the waiting car.

You were in search of heaven and you found it.  The same pizza place you frequented in grad school was still in business and walking in was like stepping into a time warp.  You were hit with a wave of memories some bright and happy, others sadly nostalgic.  Pushing the past aside, you stepped forward and ordered.  As you waited, you took some pictures and posted them, tagging your grad school friends that you’d be seeing the next night.  You decided to Uber home (for the sake of the pizza) and you were soon ensconced in your room, pizza and new teenage rom-com queued up.  You glanced over when your text alert sounded, fully expecting responses to your Instagram posts.  Nope.

TWH: Was your quest successful, m’lady?

You: Yes, kind sir, thank you.  How’s dinner?

TWH: Delicious, but my mind’s elsewhere, to be honest.

You: Your poor date! She doesn’t deserve anything less than your full attention.  I’m disappointed. :(

TWH: My date?? You mean Laura? We’re not on a date.

You: Oh, ok.  Sorry to make an assumption, but you were standing next to a ravishingly beautiful woman, both dressed up, and you left together in the same car. Hmmmmm….wonder why I thought that? LOL

TWH: I can see why you did.  I’m sorry I didn’t disavow you of the idea, but Laura is the producer of an upcoming film and we were meeting the backers tonight.  It’s work, that’s all.  Money talk.

You: Well, at least you’re getting a nice night out with hopefully nice people.

TWH: Yes, that I am.  They want to go out to a bar for drinks, but I’m thinking of begging off.

You: You ok?

TWH: Yes, but as I said, my mind is elsewhere and I think I’ve successfully done what was asked of me.  I believe I’ll be able to exit gracefully without repercussion.

You: Ok, well, as long as you’re alright.  I’ll let you be so you can extricate yourself and enjoy the rest of the evening.

You smiled and pressed send.  Before you could start the movie, there was a text alert immediately followed by a knock at the door.  

TWH: I’m extricated and I hope to, thanks.

Your look through the peephole had you chuckling as you quickly opened the door and smiled.

Tom’s suit jacket was open, his hands clasped behind his back. “I told you my mind was elsewhere.”

“I didn’t think that meant here, but I’m happy it did.”  He smiled brilliantly at your response.

“Since you mentioned pizza and movies, I’ve been preoccupied with both.  I don’t mean to put you on the spot, but could I join you?  I come bearing gifts.”  He brought his hands from behind his back, one holding a very good bottle of wine and the other holding a tub of chocolate ice cream with caramel and chocolate.  You almost jumped him then and there.

After ushering him in, freezing the ice cream, pouring the wine, and offering him his choice of seat and slices, you started “To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before,” the new movie that transported you back to the days of Sixteen Candles and Jake Ryan, your first movie crush.

You had seen it a few times before (ok, 15.  Ok, ok maybe more than that when you fast forwarded to the smooshy parts), so you were glad to show off when you answered Tom’s questions.  The script was based on the best-selling YA novel of the same name, the lead actors were new-ish with crazy chemistry, and it had been such a success that Netflix had already ordered a second installment.  Tom’s laugh prompted you to turn to him with an “are you making fun of me?” look on your face, which started him roaring.

“You are adorable.  You are so invested in this story, it’s infectious.”  You pushed his shoulder as you turned red.

“I’m not making fun, darling, I guess I’m just jaded.  I’ve forgotten what it’s like to see a movie through the eyes of someone looking at the finished product rather than the million moving parts that go into making it.  It’s beautiful.”  

He grabbed your hand, both of you looking down as he intertwined his fingers with yours and spoke so quietly you wouldn’t have heard him if you weren’t side by side.  “You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you, Tom.”  His other hand had come round and was softly placed on your thigh.

“Is this ok?” was barely audible, but you nodded.  As you covered his other hand with yours, your laptop screen lit up, making you drop his hand, bounce off the couch, and shriek with happiness.  You ran over to accept the Video Relay Call from your one of your grad school roommates, Jason.

Tom was sure you wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss you, but instead, he was sitting alone, dumbfounded.  You were staring at the laptop, clearly engaged in a hilarious conversation with the person on the other end, in sign language.  He stood up and walked next to you, watching you use a variety of facial expressions, both obvious and subtle, that would make many actors jealous.  He wished he understood.

You were so engrossed in the conversation that you barely noticed Tom sitting near you, watching you, with zero clue of what you were talking about.  You didn’t feel right about that.

You: J, hold on a sec, I have someone over and he doesn’t sign.  Let me catch him up.  

Jason: “Someone?” Who is this someone? Do I know him? Go ahead, I’ll wait.

When you pulled yourself away from Jason, it was surreal to see Tom quietly staring, as if he was studying you.  

You were struck by the uniqueness of the moment and threw your head back with laughter.  “I’m sorry, Tom.  I remember what it was like when I first started signing - I would watch fluent users for hours but have no clue what they were talking about, but didn’t really care because it was so beautiful, so graceful.  This is Jason, he was one of my roommates in grad school at Gallaudet University, here in D.C.  We’re getting together tomorrow night to see a play on campus.”

Tom took a deep breath in and blew an equally long one out while he took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose.  “You were transformed….so expressive, so energetic.”  After looking at your face, he quickly added, “Not that you aren’t those things usually, but….”

You jumped in to save him from himself.  “You’re absolutely right.  When hearing people communicate, we rely on our tone of voice and the way we combine words, to convey the strength of our emotion.  In ASL, that responsibility is transferred to the body - facial expressions and body language are grammatical markers and necessary to communicate fluently.”  You turned your head back to the screen as your peripheral vision caught Jason waving for your attention.  

You: Sorry J, I was just going down the Intro to ASL road….I should introduce the two of you, you do it way better than me.

Jason: Hey, any friend of yours….why don’t you bring him to the show tomorrow night.  There are plenty of tickets and I need to do my male roommate duty of vetting potential suitors.

You: Who says he’s a potential suitor?

Jason: Your blushing, smiling face every time you even mention him.  What’s his name by the way?

“He’s asking about you and wondering if you want to come to the play tomorrow night.  I think he really just wants to embarass me.”  Because you were signing and speaking at the same time, Jason jumped up with a “YES” so loudly that it clearly took Tom by surprise, as it did most people.

“Do you want me to come? I don’t want to intrude on a night with your…..friend?” His eyebrows were raised expectantly, hoping the reality was something different.

“J says there will be voice interpreting, so you’ll wear a pair of headphones and hear everything the actors are signing.  I think you’d love it, if for no other reason than seeing a type of acting you’ve never experienced.  It’s unforgettable.  Please come.”  He nodded and you finished up the call after finalizing the details for meeting up the next night.

Non-stop yawning commenced as soon as you sat back on the couch, and Tom excused himself for the night.  As he kissed your cheek and slowly pulled back to look at you, you wished your body chose another time to yawn so big you felt like you dislocated your jaw.  You both chuckled and wished each other a good night, with promises to get in touch late morning.  

“I’ll call you with the details, if that’s alright?”

His smile made you think of the Cheshire Cat.  “Of course it’s alright.  You have my number.”