She keeps me up though. Her sleep grows restless, and I watch her as she begins to tremble. I rub her back, wondering, yet again, what’s running through her head. She had a night like this just the other day, but I didn’t say anything to her about it when she woke up. My need to comfort her overwhelms me, and I want to take her out of the dream that’s haunting her.
I add pressure as I continue to rub her back, trying to wake her subtly, but she startles me when she springs out of her sleep, choking in a hard gasp as she abruptly sits up. I’m up next to her, holding on to her shoulders while her whole body shakes.
“Hey,” I whisper. “Are you okay?”
Nodding her head, she takes in a deep breath and holds it for a second before slowly releasing it.
“Come here,” I urge as I lay her back down with me, and she snuggles in close. Smoothing her hair back, I kiss her forehead. “Talk to me,” I say on a hush.
“I’m okay,” she tries to assure me.
“Babe . . .”
“I think I’m just stressed. That’s’ all.”
“About what?” I ask.
“School. Dance,” she says. Those seem to always be her go-to excuses for a lot of things, and I know she hides behind them. Uses them to distract her.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Not really,” she responds as she weaves her legs with mine.
Looking into her eyes, I encourage, “I want you to talk to me. I know something is bothering you, and I want you to talk to me about it.”
She doesn’t speak. I can tell that she’s trying to think of something to say, but nothing comes, so I give her an out and tell her, “I just want you to try.”
Nodding her head, she closes her eyes and after a while, she falls into another fit of sleep, keeping me up most of the night.
When I wake up, Candace is sound asleep, so I slip out of bed and let her rest since I know she didn’t get much sleep last night. Looking down at her, she finally looks peaceful. Everything about her is soft and relaxed.
I head downstairs to grab a cup of coffee as my phone begins to ring. It’s Sunday morning, so I know it’s my mom. We talk for a while until I hear Candace walking down the stairs.
“Hey, Mom. Candace just woke up, so I’m gonna let you go.”
“Let me say a quick hi,” she says, and I know she’s wanting to try to get to know her.
“Hold on,” I tell her and then look up at Candace as I hold the phone out to her, mouthing, ‘My mom.’
Probably feeling a little awkward, she takes the phone anyway, saying, “Hi, Donna.”
I listen to Candace talking with my mom while I make her a cup of coffee. She talks about the solo that she’s been piecing together for her audition next month. Walking over to her sitting on my couch, I hand her the coffee. She seems comfortable talking with my mom, and I like that she can have this with her, even if it is a random phone call. Both of these women are important to me, and to see Candace laughing at something my mom must have just said makes me feel like whatever it is that Candace and I are moving towards could be something special.
“What did she have to say?” I ask when she hangs up and hands me the phone.
“Just wanted to know what I had been up to,” she says and then takes a sip of her coffee. “She’s really nice.”
We sit back and get comfortable when she starts, “Ryan . . .”
“Yeah?” I say as I slide my arm around her.
“Nothing,” she mumbles, dismissing whatever was running through her head.
“Don’t say ‘nothing,’” I tell her, and when I do, she wraps her hand behind my neck and moves me in for a kiss before she nuzzles her head under my chin. Her instinct to avoid is strong, and I try not to question it because I’ve spent my whole life avoiding. I think about what my mom told me about not trying to break down her walls. Taking her advice, I don’t pry. I’m gonna be what I think she needs so that she’ll want to open up to me. I need her to want to do that for me.
Got out of class early. You home?
Yeah. Door is unlocked.
Classes at the university started back up this week, and I’m getting to see how busy Candace actually is with her dancing. She wasn’t kidding when she told me that she lives in the studio. With her busy schedule, I’ve been trying to get most of my work done while she’s in class so I can free up my time at night when she’s typically not busy, unless she’s working.
“Ryan?” I hear Candace call out when she gets here.
“Back in my office.”
She taps on the door before walking in.
“Hey, babe. Come here.”
She walks around my desk, and I reach out to pull her onto my lap. Brushing the hair off her shoulder, I ask, “How were your classes today?”
“Uneventful, but it’s only the first week,” she tells me. “Nothing but going over the syllabus for the most part.”
“I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you,” I say and then bring her head down so I can kiss her. She looks good in her jeans and fitted sweater. She’s always so pulled together, even when she wears her old college t-shirts. She always has a polished look about her that I find really attractive.
“So, don’t be mad, but . . .”
“Oh, God,” I interrupt because it sounds like she’s up to something that I would be mad at.
“Just listen,” she says as she pokes me in the ribs. “When I was on campus today I ran into Stacy Keets who works at the Henry Art Gallery. She was telling me that one of her pieces got picked up for a gallery show next month.”