He pulls me to him and holds me there as I shake with the fear of the last two years. It’s exhausting, and all I want to do is let it go.
“I don’t think I’ve ever in my life met a man who so clearly loves and respects a woman equally as much as he does you. He’s worthy of you.”
“God, don’t I know.”
“He doesn’t.”
“I know. I just…”
“I understand you completely. It’s a horrible situation, I hate the scrutiny, myself. Not just about the way I play, but my wife, my family. It’s no picnic, but we’ve learned to ignore it. It will be the same for you.”
He pulls up his phone and begins tapping on it, which sends me on high alert.
“Troy, please don’t tell him.”
He eyes me as he continues with his phone. “I’m not going to lie to him anymore, Harper. If you’re not going to put him out of his misery, I will.”
“I will, I just need to figure out how. I don’t even know if he’ll talk to me.”
“I wasn’t texting him anyway.”
“So, who are you texting, then?”
He turns to me, holding his cell phone in plain view. I study it closely and crack up laughing. “Is that you?”
“Yes. Google Drive. My mom was kind enough to scan and organize the family photos and saved this gem.”
“Okay, so you had one bad picture day.”
“And this is seventh grade.”
“Geesh. Is, oh hell, Troy, are those your teeth?”
“Yep. Single mom. She couldn’t afford braces. I was stuck with those fucking teeth until my freshman year of high school.”
“Yikes.”
“So. I may know a thing or two about feeling ugly.”
“Yeah, well, you got them fixed. I’m not about to Jennifer Grey myself and get a nose job. Screw all that. But I did consider it briefly.”
“Then don’t. He would hate it if you changed a single thing about your face. You know that. But all of us at one point of our lives are on an insecurity streak, and there’s always going to be some asshole quick to point out your flaws, even with a backhanded compliment. Then there are the people who see nothing but how they feel about you.” He glances at the photo and grins. “Mom loved this fugly ass kid. When she sees this picture, she sees the son she loves. And you saw—”
“Your teeth,” I admit, feeling guilty, “your flaws.”
“We’re all guilty, Harper. Most are programmed somehow to be assholes and notice the flaws first. Even a saint would gasp at these fucking teeth. You just have to ignore the assholes who speak up and say, ‘What the fuck is wrong with that boy’s teeth?’”
We both burst into laughter. He tips his beer and shakes his head. “See, we’re laughing, but if that boy wasn’t me?”
“I know.”
“He never saw your flaws, Harper.”
“I know. I screwed up so bad.
“No, see, I think you’re brave.”
“How? I let my insecurities get the best of me, and I ran away like a coward.”