Guy and Reason

Chapter 22 (Guy): Focus On Dinner

Knowing Reason was thinking about whether she'd do another exploration, I decided on asking her for something that was even less threatening than going out for an exploration. Thought about it for a week before I finally texted her...because texting was low-threat, low pressure.

Would you like to come over to dinner? On Tuesday night because Tuesdays are terrible.

That was an old joke of ours, and I wasn't sure if I should have mentioned it. We both had always considered Tuesdays to be the worst day of the week. It wasn't the start of the week, it wasn't the end of the week, it wasn't even mid-week or the weekend. It was just...Tuesday. So Reason and I had always planned something fun, something to balance out the terribleness of Tuesdays.

This was a challenge right now. It was a hard line to balance, wanting us to see who we were now while so many of the old ties of the past still echoed in our present, new reality. If we were to have any chance, Eden had to decide if there was something between us that was worth a future. I knew my answer, but she was the one who would decide everything.

I just needed to find a way to get more glimpses inside of her so I could find all of the scars she carried because of what I'd done. There were the obvious ones, which I wanted to address so they could heal, but I knew there were other, less obvious scars that also needed to be handled with care. 

Even interacting with me was a major step. It was an incredible mental shift for her in a way it wasn't for me. I had nothing to forgive, and Reason had everything to forgive. In conjunction with that, she had to determine if she could ever trust me again. Now that she was here and she'd begun talking to me, I could work on trying to heal all of the hurts I'd inflicted on her. 

The first step had been getting myself right. I couldn't start to heal what I'd done if I was still the same person who could inflict that kind of pain and betrayal. For me, this had been a three-year solo endeavor up until the point that Reason had returned to town, and I'd begun trying to talk with her. 

I'd been staying on top of my depression, steering clear of alcohol and surrounding myself with good people who were trustworthy. I'd focused on building A Reason not only as a way to give myself a positive focus, to begin the work Eden and I had envisioned, but as a way to have a positive force in the world at large. I'd made sure that everything I did was in accord with all the plans we'd made, and if Reason was ever willing to talk with me again, she'd find someone who'd grown up, who'd faced his issues head on and had worked on the broken parts of himself.

Now it was time to shift the focus to Eden, to see if there was anything I could do to help her heal. The challenge -- or one of the many challenges -- was spending time with her. This was something that wouldn't be healed with flowers or gifts or grand gestures, but with taking the time to talk with each other and see what, if anything, could develop through the healing. 

Reason needed to see me as I was now so that last horrible time we saw each other wasn't the final word on us. The charity also needed to not be part of any healing that took place. It's why I was so adamant that when she and I were together, we leave A Reason out of the equation. In the end, depending on what Eden decided, it might be all we had -- a professional working relationship for an organization that we'd dreamed of -- but I was hoping there could be a personal side, too.

That personal side had prompted me to invite Reason to my mother's house for dinner, and I hoped that would be less pressure than going out in public. It could also be more pressure since we'd hung out here so often when we were together. I wondered if Reason might see the ghosts of our younger selves lurking in the shadows and corners of the house.

Is your mom cooking?

I laughed at that because I'd never once cooked when I'd been with Reason. I'd set the table before a meal, clear the table after we ate, wash every pot and pan that had been used to make the meal, put all the dishes in the dishwasher, clean the kitchen counters, but cooking was something I never had to do because my mom was an amazing cook and she had this thing about feeding people. And not just feeding people, but having twenty thousand food offerings on the table at once.

No. Mom won't be here. She has book club.

Is she leaving something to heat up?

You're hilarious.

I was serious. So take out?

No. I've learned to cook.

Nothing for five minutes.

Is this Guy?

I almost fumbled my phone in shock. Reason had teased me. She'd actually teased me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and responded.

Funny girl. I'll make you a lasagna that will melt in your mouth.

Was lasagna still a favorite of hers? Ten minutes went by before she answered.

OK. Lasagna to make Tuesday less terrible. Time?

Seven? Seven-thirty? Eight? Whatever works for you.

On Tuesday, she came over, and I was happy to see she'd listened to me when she'd asked if she could bring anything and I told her no. 

"So, cooking is a skill you now have?" she asked as I chopped veggies for the salad.

"Yeah. Once I signed the contract with the Minotaurs, I didn't like going out too much. Got tired of take out real fast, so I taught myself some basic dishes. Meatloaf, lasagna, spaghetti, pot roast, stew -- things like that."

"And your lasagna's that good?"

"It may not make you think a heavenly chorus of angels is in your mouth, but it's OK, I think. My mother likes it."

"Not sure she's the most impartial judge," she said.

"Probably not. She's started dating," I shared. "She doesn't think I've figured it out, but I know that she doesn't belong to five book clubs that keep her busy at least five nights a week."

"Good for Leslie," she said in approval. "I'm glad she's getting out there."

"I just want her to be happy," I said, then added, "and safe."

"You can't guarantee safe," she said, and I realized I'd unthinkingly walked right into that. But I wouldn't turn away from the truth of what she'd said. These hard admissions had to be faced.

"I didn't keep you safe back then, Eden."

"No, you didn't."

"I'm sorry," I said, and she winced.

But she wasn't backing down.

"Does apologizing one time or a hundred times or a thousand times make any difference when you've been hurt in the way I hurt you?" I asked.

"Not really," she said, and I appreciated her honesty. "No."

"I didn't think so. If I accidentally broke your arm and apologized for it, your arm would still be broken. And what I did wasn't an accident."

"No, it wasn't."

"So the words don't matter much, Eden, but I'm hoping that I can show you how sorry I am."

"And then what?"

"Right along with that I work on building your faith back up in me."

"That's like climbing a vertical wall with a steep drop off into shark-infested waters," she warned.

"Putting in the hard work doesn't scare me, Eden. I'm prepared to do whatever I need to do, no matter how long it takes." I took a breath and put it out there. "What I'm afraid of is you deciding to walk away because the enormity of what I've done can't be forgotten or forgiven. I'm afraid the way I hurt you is too much to get past."

For just a few minutes, the walls had been down, but I saw when she raised them again.

"That got way deep way too fast," she said. "I came over for some lasagna, so let's focus on dinner and leave it at that for now."

Just that fast, I knew how I needed to approach my atonement with Eden.