Page 62 of Let’s Make a Scene

“Thanks, Mike,” I reply, before we say our goodbyes.

There’s a moment of taut silence.

“Cynthie,” I murmur. “What’s going on?”

She lifts her eyes to mine, smiles brightly. “Nothing! Congratulations! That’s wonderful news, just what you wanted.”

“It is what I wanted,” I agree. “Which you already knew. But the conversation upset you and I want to know why. Is it what Mike said about continuing our arrangement?”

She doesn’t say anything, but her fingers twist together in an anxious gesture that I recognize.

“You know,” I say, leaning back in my chair, “the first time we slept together we didn’t talk afterward.

I’ve had so much time to think about that night, to replay it in my head…

not just the good bits”—I smile, and her hands still, though her expression remains guarded—“but what happened afterward. I think that in that moment you needed me to be really clear about how I felt. I think you were scared and vulnerable, and that you didn’t have a clue if I liked you or hated you.

I think that’s why you told me it was a mistake, what happened between us. I think you said it before I could.”

“I couldn’t face the rejection,” Cynthie murmurs. “You’d made it clear so many times that I wasn’t good enough for you. I suppose I was used to people feeling like that about me.”

Even though it’s what I’d come to suspect, I still feel an awful, hollowing sensation in my stomach.

“Cynthie, I never felt that way, never. Not when we were working together, not when we were fighting and you made me want to tear my hair out. I thought you were a fucking firework. I could hardly take my eyes off you. When you told me it was a mistake, I believed that was what you thought and I was crushed; I was just too proud to show it.”

I watch her take in the words.

“You know me better than that now, Cyn,” I say quietly. “Maybe you can see why I made such a stupid mistake. And I know you now too. If we’d been able to be honest with each other then, things could have been different. I don’t want us to repeat the same mistakes again. Please. Talk to me.”

There’s a moment of silence, and I realize I’m holding my breath. It’s not often in life that you’re aware you’re inside one of those big moments, the ones where your entire world can shift, where the story can split into two different directions, but I know in my heart that this is one of them.

I need her to talk to me. This is our chance, and the thought of losing it—of losing her—threatens to break me in half.

“You’re right,” she says, finally. “I know I’m terrible at opening up.” She gives me a wobbly smile. “It’s not like you’re the first person to say it. I just find it… difficult.”

“I get it,” I say, and I lean across the table, taking her hand in mine. “But you can talk to me. You can tell me how you feel. I’ll listen.”

“When Mike said what he did about our arrangement…” she says tentatively, and I nod, “it made me think about the fact that there’s an ulterior motive for both of us to be here, a reason we agreed to pretend in the first place… It makes it hard for me to know what’s real between us.”

I want to leap in, to tell her—adamantly—that it’s all real, that what I feel for her is more than I ever imagined it was possible to feel for another person, but I know that if I want to be the man who deserves her, rather than the boy who let her down, then this has to be about what she needs. So I do what I said I would: I listen.

“It’s not that I think what happened last night was wrong or… or some sort of performance,” she carries on, anxiously.

“Well, that’s positive,” I say. “Because I think we can agree I’m not that good of an actor.”

It surprises a laugh out of her, has her shoulders coming down. “You’re wonderful at that,” she murmurs, “at helping people relax. You always make me feel easier.”

It’s such a simple compliment, but it hits hard. Perhaps because I know it means I’m giving her something she needs. Ease. Comfort. Safety. I’m starting to realize Cynthie hasn’t had a lot of that in her life.

“But the last few weeks,” she continues, and there’s some color back in her face, “acting for the cameras, for other people. I suppose that’s what a lot of my life is…

not just the job, but my whole life. Everything has been about appearances, presenting a certain narrative.

There’s an image of Cynthie Taylor that’s been crafted by committee, and that’s who I have to be.

You and I, we’ve never been in a relationship, but we’ve pretended to be in one twice .

We’ve pretended to be in love because it benefited us both professionally, so it’s all still tied into that Cynthie and her image. ”

“And the lines between what’s real and what’s for public consumption have blurred,” I suggest. “Again.”

“Exactly.” She nods, relieved that I understand.

“And it’s easy to pretend to be in love.

That’s just acting, but I know better than anyone that real-life relationships don’t always work out.

I’m finding it hard to trust… not you,” she says quickly, seeing something on my face before I can hide it, “but myself.” Her voice drops again.

“In a way, I think that’s worse. I think that’s why everything with Shawn hit me so hard…

Not because I was in love with him, or because he betrayed me, but because I felt so foolish, so easily manipulated.

I lost myself in him.” Her eyes are wide, and it’s obvious that she’s never said any of this before, that perhaps she hasn’t even thought it all through this way before.

“He wasn’t what he said he was. And I fell for it.

Because… because I was so desperate to be what someone wanted. ”

“Cynthie, I get why you would feel that way, but what happened isn’t on you.

That’s all on him.” Underneath the table, my hand is clenched so tightly into a fist that I can feel my fingernails digging into my palm.

Whatever else the future holds, I hope to god it includes the chance to knock a few of Shawn Hardy’s teeth out.

“I know that.” She smiles. “Intellectually, I know that. I’m just working on believing it.” She frowns. “Maybe you were right before, about me finding someone to talk to. I’ve always been resistant to the idea of therapy because I get so little privacy, but perhaps…”

She looks up at me again and exhales heavily. “I hate that I’m making this so complicated, so difficult. Honestly, Jack? I can’t imagine why you’d think I was worth the effort, all this work. I’m such a mess.”

“You’re—” I start, and then I stop myself, force my mouth to slow down, my mind to slow down. “I’m worried I’m going to get this wrong,” I admit.

“Just tell me the truth,” she says softly. “You’re right, that’s what we should have been doing from the start.”

“The truth?” I say wryly. I rub my jaw. “Okay, but remember you asked for it.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” She smiles, still jittery.

“The truth…” I take a breath. “I think I’ve been in love with you for thirteen years—from the moment you stormed into my life and I felt like I’d been struck by lightning.

I think when I was twenty-four and I met you, I was scared shitless of how you made me feel, and I behaved like an absolute asshole about it.

You’re smart and beautiful and funny and full of fire.

I love arguing with you, just as much as I love not arguing with you.

So yes, I think you’re worth the effort—whatever the fuck that means—because despite what you seem to think, it’s not hard to love you, Cynthie; it’s easy . It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Her lips are parted, her eyes wide. There’s a beat, and then another.

“Right,” Cynthie says. “Okay then.”

I clear my throat. “Do you have anything you’d like to say?”

She makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Truth?” I nod. “I want to kiss you very badly right now.”

“I have no problem with that.”

She holds up her hand to stop me from moving. “Whoa there. You’re not the only one who wants to get this right.”

She closes her eyes for a moment, settling herself.

“I love what you just said. I’d like it on a T-shirt.

I want you to record it on my phone so that I can make it my ringtone and listen to it all the time.

I don’t think you’ll ever understand what that meant to me.

” She pauses here and blinks. “I also think… I share a lot of your feelings. Maybe I haven’t felt this way as long as you say you have, because honestly, thirteen years ago I really did think you were a bit of a dickhead…

at least most of the time…” She drifts off, flustered, and I can’t help laughing.

“Shit.” She presses her lips together, her chin trembles. “It’s not fair, because you made this perfect, beautiful speech like you’ve been scripted by Richard Curtis, and I just called you a dickhead. I am messing it up.”

I can’t help it, can’t stand to see her working herself up, especially when her words make me feel like throwing a parade, and I get to my feet, tugging on her hand until she’s up too, then I sit back down and pull her into my lap. She snuggles against me.

“I think you’re doing a great job.” I smooth her hair away from her face, tuck her head under my chin. “Not enough emotional declarations feature calling the other person a dickhead if you ask me. Shakespeare has nothing on you.”

“Okay,” she mumbles into my shirt. “That’s good because I doubt it will be the last time I call you one.”

“Noted.”

She toys with a button on my shirt. “But I still think what I said is true. We’ve done everything badly and in the wrong order.

We hated each other, we slept together, we had to pretend to be in love, to break up; we didn’t see each other for thirteen years , pretended to be in love again, became friends, slept together again , and now, what?

We’re supposed to be in a real relationship? How can that possibly work?”

“Well, sure it sounds bad when you say it like that,” I agree mildly, and she pokes me in the chest. “Would it help if I told you that I have a suggestion?”

“I’m all ears.”

“I understand your worries, and I heard what you said about the place you’re in right now.”

“I have a lot of shit to work out,” she says, her voice small.

“Right,” I agree. “So what I suggest is that we don’t break up.”

“ Can you break up if you’re in a pretend relationship?”

“Fair enough,” I amend. “I think we should start again. For real.”

Her fingers stop fidgeting. “What exactly does that look like?”

“I have a few ideas.” I smile. “But essentially, I think we stop performing altogether. I think we should date. I think we should do what you do at the start of any relationship and get to know each other. I think we should talk. Constantly. About everything.”

She pulls back, her face clearing. “That sounds… nice,” she says.

“We’ll take it slowly. No pressure. And what that looks like in the immediate future is that you go and get dressed and we drive back down to Cornwall and real life. So I’m going to go and get your bag for you.”

Cynthie bites her lip, and then she nods. “Okay,” she agrees. “I think this is a good idea. Maybe. Hopefully. But there’s just one thing…” Her arms come up and wind around my neck. “Before we start from the beginning, can we pretend for just a few more seconds?”

“I don’t see how a few more seconds could hurt.”

And then, she kisses me softly, sweetly.

“Thank you for not giving up on me,” she whispers.

“Never.” It’s a promise I know I’ll keep. I just hope I can convince her of it.