Winter Hopes (Seasons of Love) (16 page)

Lydia was silent. Her cheeks looked like they were burning, and
her gaze slid down to the mattress. She slowly exhaled a deep
breath, and said nothing.

Sam winced. Her embarrassment was palpable. He immediately
regretted mentioning it.
A little too open
, he thought with remorse.
Too much, too fast, you fucking idiot.
He took a deep breath and
decided, since
he’d already put it out there, to press on gingerly and get it over with, and then never bring it up again. He leaned in to kiss her lips
with
exquisite tenderness, caressed her face, and murmured with a soft
smile, “Half the fun of getting naked with somebody is getting to see them naked, you know.”

She smirked in spite of her piercing awkwardness. “That’s true.”

He looked at her with what he hoped was obvious compassion and warmth. “I want to
see
you. All of you. I’m crazy about you, you don’t have to be shy with me.”

“Well, right now, I guess I
am
a little shy… I haven’t been naked in front of anyone other than Matt in over a decade,” Lydia whispered.

Sam nodded. “I get that. I understand, Lydia, I do.”

“No, actually, I don’t think you do. Because it’s not just shyness, or that I’m not as thin as I’d like to be. Which, as I’ve established, I’m definitely not.” Lydia swallowed hard and blurted out, “I had a baby, Sam. And that does… not so nice things to your body.”

The corner of his mouth turned up sadly. “Do you really think I’m that shallow?”

She shook her head and stated, “No. No, I don’t. But it doesn’t make it any less difficult for me. I mean, it’s not like I’ve known you
for months. You’re the first new bedmate I’ve had in a very long
time. Cut me some slack, will ya?”

Sam nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry you feel that way. But I’ve already told you: I think you’re beautiful, and have from the minute I met you. Hey—as soon as I met you, I couldn’t stay away from you. So why would you think your body is in any way repellent to me?”
He eyed the garbage pail a few feet away, aimed carefully, and
tossed his apple core. It sailed right in. “Aha!” he cried proudly.

“Two points.” She grinned.

He turned right back to her. “So what are you unhappy with?”
he asked, not letting her off the hook. “What’s so different now?
Which parts in particular are you talking about? Just tell me. What do you think I’m going to be repulsed by in the bright light?”

She couldn’t help but smile at his gentle coaxing. “Well, for instance, I used to have a
really
great rack.”

“You still do,” he said, his grin turning a little wicked. Without
his even being conscious of it, his eyes drifted down to her ample chest.

She chuckled wryly. “Well, you’re kind to say so, but I know the difference,” she said. “I know how the girls
used
to be, and they were
a
lot
perkier before. This may sound shallow, but sometimes, that makes
me a little sad. And, well… besides the extra pounds around my middle, some of which I don’t think will ever go away, and my
wider hips… fine, I’ll just say it." She cleared her throat and announced, "I have stretch marks. You had to see them, and you’re just being kind to not say anything. They’re a little faded, but not much. My stomach looks like a road map. I didn’t really care before; Matt was my husband, the father of the baby who ruined my body, and the only one who ever saw me naked anyway. So I didn’t care—it was okay for him to see me like that, and I kind of thought of the marks like a badge of honor, if you can understand that. But now…”

Okay. There it is. Damn.
Sam silenced her with a deep, tender kiss. “I don’t care,” he whispered emphatically. He held her face, kissed
her again, then gripped her shoulders gently and stared into her
eyes. “Are you hearing me? I don’t care.”

“But
I
do,” she whispered back. “It’s just really… unattractive.”

“It’s reality,” he said. “It’s your body, your story. It’s
you
. And I’m very attracted to you.
All
of you. Come on, who’s perfect by their
mid-thirties? Very few people, and I wouldn’t want to hang out with them, because they’re probably Botoxed to death. And poor conversationalists.”

Lydia laughed wryly and shook her head at him.

Sam smiled back at her, glad his jest had somewhat diffused the
intensity of the moment. “Lydia.” His eyes never left hers as he
traced
his long fingers slowly down her cheek, down her neck, down the entire length of her body, until his hand rested delicately on her
thigh. He
kissed her mouth, nipped at her chin, then murmured against her
lips, “Have you honestly not felt how much I’ve wanted you, every time I’m near you, from the very first night?” He grinned ruefully, almost sheepish. “I thought it was pathetically obvious. I haven’t
been a slave to my hormones like this since college. You have no idea.”

Lydia just looked at him, silent, motionless.

Sam sighed inwardly. Although she was still, he could see the battling emotions in her expressive eyes: doubt versus hope, with the discomfort and uncertainty still dominant. He pulled back and said softly, “I really didn’t mean to embarrass you, and if I did, I sincerely
apologize. I want you to feel comfortable with me. I hope I didn’t put you off, and if I did, again, I'm really sorry. I won’t bring it up again.”

She nodded, giving the tiniest hint of a smile. Her features
softened a bit as she said, “I’m fine. We’re good.”

Sam smiled back, obviously relieved, and stroked her bare shoulders with both hands. “Good. Okay.” He kissed her again before they both went back to the bowl, digging out pieces of fruit
with their fingers once more. He fed her a very juicy piece of pineapple; when she bit into it, the juice dripped sloppily down her chin.

“You chose that one on purpose,” she accused with a laugh,
swiping at the drops with her fingertips.

“You’re right, I did,” he smiled widely. He leaned in and kissed her wet, sticky mouth and chin, nibbling on her and licking her as he went. She giggled like a younger girl.

“So while you’re still laughing,” Sam said, “I’m totally gonna push my luck. I know I’m asking too many questions tonight, but I’ve got one more. It’s actually the one I originally intended to ask. You up for it?”

She finished wiping her chin with the napkin and shot him a sideways look. “Sheesh. Can I have a stiff drink first?” she quipped.

He laughed. “Sure, if you want. I realize I’m getting a little
intense
on you, I’m sorry. You want me to order up some wine or
something?”

She shook her head. “No, no. I’m finally not feeling any effects of everything I drank before. I don’t want to push
my
luck.” She
smirked and said good-naturedly, “Go on, let’s get it over with, Man of a Million Questions. That’s your new Native American tribal name, by the way. Consider yourself christened.”

He laughed at her jest and smiled broadly, appreciating her
spirit and her willingness to keep answering his probing queries. “You’re a good sport. See, you’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

“Mm hmm. Go on. What’s so freaking urgent, what do you want to know now?”

SAM HESITATED;
he knew that words mattered, that they had weight, and he always gave that notion its proper respect. So he
always tried to choose them carefully. “Well. I’m obviously missing a lot of
the pieces to the puzzle, and I know that truthfully, when it comes down to it, it’s none of my business. But… the more you tell me
about your marriage, the less I understand it.”

Lydia laughed dryly. “Join the club. That’s probably why I got
divorced, huh?”

Sam grinned. “We usually don’t talk about Matt, or your marriage, and that’s fine. But I want to now for a few minutes, if
that’s alright. Because… frankly, I just don’t get what you ever saw in him. Much less, enough for you to marry him. It sounds like you had very little in common. Like you were very,
very
different people. So I can’t figure that one out. Could you enlighten me?”

“Wow.” Lydia scrutinized him. “You’ve thought about this? Seriously?”

“Yeah," he admitted. "I’m really curious.”

She nodded and plucked some more grapes from their stems as she formulated a response. “You know, I’ve thought about that very
question many, many times over the past few years. So I actually do
have something of an answer for that one.” She chewed two grapes
and took a long swig from her bottle of water before continuing.
“When you and I were in the park before, telling each other about
past exes,
remember I mentioned my boyfriend before Matt—Tommy, the hotheaded guitar player?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. So I went out with Tommy for almost two years. And it was always filled with drama. I’m talking about
drama
.” Lydia rolled
her eyes. “Initially, when you’re young, the drama seems exciting,
but it
gets boring soon enough, you know? I quickly learned that drama
queens—or kings—can be a real pain in the ass.”

Sam laughed. “True.”

“Being with someone who’s very dramatic is emotionally and
physically draining. After a while, it was exhausting. So when
Tommy
eventually dumped me, I think I was secretly relieved. But at the
same time, it still hurt, you know?”

He nodded. “Sure.”

She sighed. “And then there I was, twenty-five and single, with a deflated ego, and a broken heart, and all my friends were starting to get engaged and married.” Her expression turned wistful. “I was…
lonely. I was depressed. I was starting to worry that I’d end up an old maid. And then I met Matt.” She reached into the bowl and plucked out a chunk of honeydew. “We met at a crummy little bar.” She took a nibble of the melon and cracked, “That alone should have sent up a
red flag. But he was nice. I was with my friends, he was with his
friends… he was good looking, kind of quiet, and he seemed very…
calm. Relaxed. Easygoing.”

“No drama,” Sam said, following where she was going.

“Exactly. Being with Tommy felt like hard work; in comparison, being with Matt was so easy.” Her smile turned rueful. “There was
never any drama. We barely even argued. I had a companion. The
sex
was pretty good. He didn’t ask a lot of me. He just wanted my
company. It was flattering. And the truth is…” She hesitated, and her eyes flicked away for a few seconds before she revealed, “I think I really
just wanted to get married. Took me a long time to admit that one to myself. Of course, by the time I did, I was already contemplating divorce.”

She grimaced. “I realized later, too late, that I mistook his being relaxed and calm for what was actually simple apathy, a passive nature. I mistook his not asking a lot of me for what in truth was indifference. He wasn't really interested in the details of my day-to-
day life. And after we were married, I realized that as much as having drama all the time sucked, being lackluster, lethargic, and apathetic
sucked just as much. But hey, there we were, married.” Her voice
trailed
off and she stared off. Sam waited silently, letting her be. “And he wasn’t a
bad
person… look, I’d made my choice, so I tried to make
the best of it. And I wanted children. I tried to make our family work. It didn’t. So… there it is. The ugly truth. At least, on my side. I have no
idea what Matt would say about our marriage overall, but I'd
imagine
nothing good.” She arched an eyebrow at Sam and said in a dry
tone, “Aren’t you glad you asked?”

“Hey. Don’t do that. I
am
glad I asked.” Sam’s voice was quiet,
soothing. He held her hands firmly in his. “It’s not ugly. It’s good, because it’s honest. You took a hard look at it all, figured out what
the
real deal was, why it didn’t work, and then you actually did
something
about it.” He squeezed her hands, which were already noticeably colder. “You called me brave? Again, I think you’re pretty brave
yourself, you just won’t own up to it.”

She shook her head and murmured, almost inaudibly, “If I was so brave, I would have stayed single and waited to meet the right guy, instead of settling just so I would be married.”

“I disagree,” Sam replied. “We all make mistakes. The brave
person
looks at them, recognizes them for what they are, and then does something to fix them. Most people don’t even admit when they’ve
made a mistake, much less take an action to right it. Like, say, your husband. Sounds
like he would’ve just stuck around no matter how unhappy you
were, how unhappy you
both
were.”

“You're right, he would have. But I was just so miserable by the
last two years,” she said. “Andy’s speech delay became such an
issue, and it affected everything else between us, big or small… we fought a lot, or didn’t speak at all. Matt was so…
angry
that Andy had a disability. It frustrated him, and I think he was a little ashamed too. That our son wasn’t perfect, or ‘normal’.” Bitterness shadowed her eyes. “He didn’t know how to deal with it. I hated how he chose to deal with it, which was basically to just ignore it, to wait for it to just
remedy itself or go away. And how he acted towards Andy
sometimes—the lack of patience, the sharp tone of voice—that just killed any love or kindness I’d felt towards him. How can you not have patience for a baby?
Your
baby?”