This Much Is True (26 page)

He’s fascinating in this weird way. I stare at him some more. He’s not all that impossible to figure out. He’s nice. Giving. Loyal. He’s a Golden Retriever in the human form. He smiles again—the Sawyer smirk—I dub it for good this time.

I find myself easily returning it, so unlike me, because he has this uncanny ability of making me feel light, airy, and even normal, completely outside of my usual dark, edgy self.
He makes me want to be Holly.

He still confounds me so I make an attempt to focus upon our surroundings—the Manhattan skyline at dawn. Lights still sparkle and dazzle from all directions. I feel weird, even light-headed. I try to remember the last time I ate something. Yesterday morning’s breakfast? Yogurt? A piece of toast? Was that yesterday or the day before? My stomach growls in protest, and I’m just noticing this for the first time. With undetectable indecision, I watch him as he easily slides in on the driver’s side, puts the car in drive, and pulls away from the curb.

“Rob?” I say after a few more minutes of contemplation. “I’m absolutely starving. There’s this diner a few blocks from here. Want to go?”

He laughs. “I was hoping you’d say that. Yeah, I love diners. Let’s go.”

“Thanks for the rescue. Driving, I mean.” I wave my arm about the small confines of his car. “Thanks for telling me the truth about Holly and being so understanding about all of this.” I encircle my stomach and feel the baby move at that exact moment.

“It’s a lot to take on. Having a baby. In Manhattan. By Yourself. I get it.”

“Not all of it,” I say quietly. I settle into the passenger seat and look away from him as he glances sideways at me with a curious look. “Later. I’ll tell you more later. Right now? I just want to go to that diner and eat something. It’s been a while.”

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Rob asks pointedly.

“A while. Breakfast? Yesterday, I think,” I whisper.

“Tally.” He shakes his head and gets this disapproving look. “You have to eat. We’ll go to this diner, and then you can tell me everything.”

He’s hard to disagree with.

He’s hard to dislike this time around.

“Okay,” I finally say.

* * *

We order six different items off the breakfast menu. Rob wants to try their waffles and their pancakes. He tells me eggs and bacon is standard fare for him. “I eat a lot. All the time,” he says after the waitress rushes away with our order.

Twenty minutes later, I am fascinated by the amount of food that arrives at our table, and I watch him tuck it all away and become completely enthralled and entertained. This guy can eat, and I enjoy watching him do it. There’s no
only-two-York-Patty-candy-treat-limits-a-week
for this guy. There’s recognizable consolation in knowing he’s not like Elvis in any way. He nudges my hand where it lies on the table between us. In the next moment, he hands me a fork and pushes a waffle toward me.

“Eat, Tally,” he says this so gently that it doesn’t quite sound like a command.

The way he’s said this reminds me of Linc and of course, it just about makes me cry but then Rob is looking at me and taking it all in and there’s that smirky smile of his again. For a few precious minutes, I don’t think about Lincoln Presley. Rob is amused at the New Yorkers’ activity taking place in the diner—the way the bell dings every time someone goes in or out. He points out how the smell of bacon clings to the air and deems it as a sign of wholesome, good food. I get this wide smile because I recognize that he’s been captivated by the place, just like Marla and I have been. I tell him we’ve come to love this place and think it’s the best thing about New York, we’ve discovered so far. I listen to him intently as he goes on about the place. He’s growing on me. I trust him. He’s sweet. He gives me a little joy when there shouldn’t be any. I smile again for what seems like the twentieth time already today.

“So what now?” I ask slowly.

I’m amazed at the amount of food he’s just consumed, including half of my eggs and most of my hash browns and toast and all the pancakes and waffles the waitress with the black spiky hair delivered to our table just a half-hour before.

“Are you eating enough?” Rob asks now.

His eyes roam over my body in this brazen way that doesn’t exactly make me feel uncomfortable. He reaches across the table and lightly fingers my stomach and then traces the hollowness of my cheekbone.

“You’re too thin, Tally.”

I lean into his hand with an unexpected need for his understanding and acceptance.
“I try to eat,” I say in a low voice. He nods. Apparently, he was informed of my eating disorder by Holly. “I’m better.”

He looks at me hard, and I blush under his scrutiny. “You have to
eat
. For the baby. For yourself. I know ballet is important to you, but you can’t destroy yourself over it.” For a second, he sounds almost like Holly had months before. I’m reminded of our argument just before she died about Rob, ballet, and New York—so many things.

“I’ll try harder,” I say. “Not much longer anyway.”

He takes my hand and entwines his fingers with mine. “I know you will.”

Being up most of the night begins to wreak dizzying havoc on my senses. He gets the intriguing Sawyer smirk once again as he helps me up from the diner’s booth, pays our tab, and talks me into walking back to his apartment by way of Central Park. He promises me that it is a sight to behold this early in the morning before everyone is up. He is some kind of rescuer. I can see that now.

“Friends,” he says at one point as if he’s giving a blessing.

“Friends,” I say back to him. I weave my arm through his, and he pulls me tighter to him. Being with Rob feels different. Safe, I guess is how I would describe. I can breathe freely again—something—I realize that I haven’t been doing for a long time. Rob reminds me of home. And, I miss home. He’s kind and worthy, and I know implicitly he won’t set out to hurt me. Somehow that seems like enough for now. It’s what I need right now.

“Want to stay at my place for a while? I mean, if you want to, until Marla gets back?” Rob asks.

“Yes,” I say with only a little hesitation.

Rob displays that Sawyer smirk for me once again.

We walk arm-in-arm back to his apartment. It’s true that he fascinates me in this inexplicable way. He’ll require further study before I can determine my final answer about what my darling, perfect sister really saw in this guy. Yes, this will require more than sharing a meal at Jo’s Diner, walking through Central Park or even exchanging ‘
we’re-just-friends
’ affirmations. I am sure of it.

This will require time and study and focus. I have all of these things right now. And surprisingly, I notice once again that I can breathe freely. It appears I’ve been holding my breath all fall and into winter for all these reasons.
Further study of Rob Thorn is required. Yes.

“Rob,” I say as we ascend in the elevator to his apartment. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Sure thing.”

He hesitates for a few seconds and looks down at me.

I wait.

“You can always count on me, Tally.”

And I believe him.

* * *

I wake up to the late-afternoon sun slanting through the window in an unfamiliar room. The clock says 1:07 PM, and I wonder how I got here. The last thing I remember is talking to Rob Thorn in the spacious living room of his apartment. We’d been sitting in opposing chairs and experiencing more of these jarring moments of awkwardness as the early morning dragged on between us. He was Holly’s
friend
, not mine. In the quest to fill up the ever-growing silences, I told him more about the summer at SAB and the internship with NYC Ballet. He’d been interested and asked all kinds of questions. That’s all I remember and now I’m in a bed waking up slowly and attempting to take it all in. I’m still dressed in what I threw on early this morning when he first picked me up. I sigh with untold relief as I conclude that nothing happened.
Why would it? I’m nine months pregnant.

I’m sure Rob has other more viable options than a girl, who is pregnant and resembles a small refrigerator; even if she happens to look identical to the girl he once loved and lost. I’m sure as soon as I opened my mouth and spoke to him that he was disappointed in so many ways by what I said and didn’t say; because it had to be painfully obvious, even to Rob, how unlike Holly, I really am.
Was.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.
Curiosity has me going past the bathroom, stopping briefly in the middle of the living room and making a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn and looking around with growing dismay for my host.
He isn’t here.
This crushing disappointment swells deep inside.

Alone again. Naturally.
The thought makes me almost cry. I stumble my way back down his hallway. I turn on the faucet and splash water on my face and let the tears flow. This crying thing has got to stop. I spend a few minutes making myself somewhat presentable. There’s not a lot I can do with the wrinkled, white man’s shirt and a pair of crumpled black maternity jeans, but I retrieve make-up from my over-sized bag and make the best of it. I console myself that in a few more weeks, I’ll have answers. I’ll make it through this pregnancy and figure out what’s next for me. Life will return to normal again in whatever way that it’s supposed to be. I’ll have answers. I’ll find them. I’ll make them.

I look at my face in the mirror and feel somewhat satisfied. I feel better. I can handle this. I
will
handle this.

Somehow.

Ten minutes later, I emerge from his bathroom, instantly confronted by the smell of cooking bacon. I proceed warily, running my fingers through ends of my hair and somewhat holding my breath as I come around the corner. Rob is busy at the stove cooking breakfast. He turns at my approach. “I thought I’d make you something to eat.”

“We just ate.”

“That was
hours
ago. I told you I like to eat all the time.”

“I can’t.”

He manages to hold up a book with his right hand that he’s apparently been reading while cooking with his left. He allows me a glimpse of the title:
What To Expect When You’re Expecting
. I’d started it half a dozen times and finally concluded that I didn’t want to know what to expect when I was expecting.

“I haven’t read it,” I say with a careless shrug.

“
Obviously
,” he deadpans. “You’re supposed to eat every five or six hours. Keep your strength up and stay healthy.”

“I don’t…I do what I can.” Nervous, I push past him and reach up for a coffee cup I spy in the open door of his cupboard.

“Here I made you some tea. It’s good for you. Herbal.”

I turn to him holding the empty coffee cup and attempt to control my temper. “Rob,” I say slowly. “I can handle all of this myself.” I sweep my arm around the kitchen and then rest it along my stomach for emphasis.

“You don’t have to.”

“I
want
to.”

“No, you don’t.” He hesitates but then he gets this obstinate look. “You called
me
, Tally.”

“I don’t know why I did that.” I pause in search of a convincing answer. “Oh yes. Only to ask if what Marla had told me about Holly was true.”

“You already knew it was.”

I don’t have an answer for that. I feel helpless and out of sorts.
He
makes me feel this way.
I don’t like it.
This fury for him—for so many things—starts to wend its way to the surface. I carefully set the cup down on the counter and curl my hands into fists—preparing for a fight or flight. I’m not really sure which one.

But then?

He smiles.

It’s that damn smirky smile again. Oh my God, it’s going to be my undoing. I want to hate him so much, but I can’t. I don’t.

“I want to help you. I
can
help you. I
will
help you, Tally.”

“I don’t…want…your help. I can’t…”

“I know.” He gets this empathetic look. “We’ll be friends then.”

I have nothing to say to that.

The pan is smoking away behind him. I’ve obviously become a distraction. I shake my head and finally say, “Your…bacon’s burning.” He spins around and rescues the pan by removing it from the flame.

Remarkably, he manages to salvage just about everything in it. Inside of five minutes flat, we’re eating his breakfast—scrambled eggs, crisp hash browns and bacon, and buttered toast—in this wondrous, companionable silence.

He encourages me to eat one bite of everything. I do two. Strangely, we’re both happier for it.

* * *

He convinces me that another walk through Central Park is in order. I haven’t run for last week, so I follow him out the door toward the infamous park. I covertly watch as he shoves his hands into his pockets, and we set upon the same pace toward the park’s entrance. He’s wearing one of those knit caps that have become all the rage with guys. Personally, I absolutely hate that look, but I find myself smiling at him and catch him gazing back at me. His eyes loom large in his face. They’re this stunning blue—a different color than Linc’s lighter, greyer than blue ones. Rob’s eyes are clear and true. I silently cajole myself to stop comparing him to Elvis at every turn.
Just stop.

We manage to walk the first mile in this acceptable silence, but then he nudges my arm with his. We’ve stopped near the top of a rudimentary stone bridge that overlooks a bubbling creek below. I’ve been staring over the edge at the gurgling water stream for some time while he’s apparently been staring at me.

“Tell me about more of it,” he says.

“
It
.” I glance over at him suddenly wary.

“Your life. SAB. Tremblay. Marla. The baby.
NYC Ballet. Starring as the Lilac Fairy in
Sleeping Beauty
. What an accomplishment.
Him.
Start somewhere.”

There’s a long silence and he just waits. He’s patient, accepting. I guess those are the two standout traits that seem to vibrate from him now.
Patient. Accepting.
Two things I could really use right now. From him. For me.

“SAB was hard. Harder than we thought it would be.” I grimace and start to smile. “Tremblay took the directorship,” I add belatedly. He nods. Somehow, it’s disconcerting to learn that he already knows this, but I decide to ignore this fact and go on. “She’s been a task-master, more than usual. All summer. Then Marla doesn’t get invited to Winter Term. She and Charlie break up. I get the apprenticeship at NYC Ballet. Things are going along okay. Marla gets the job at the Dahlia. NYC Ballet is a dream come true. And, Sasha Belmont, the director? She’s been amazing. I land the part of the Lilac Fairy in
Sleeping Beauty
. It’s an amazing offer. A privilege. Nobody gets a part like that just starting out. But this whole time, I’d been feeling off. Awful. Tired. Exhausted. I didn’t eat much all summer because I’d been doing the boxer’s diet, and I missed all the signs—”