The crowd cheered and roared as I took the stage at my coming home concert resolutely. I had decided quite determinedly that I wasn't going to let the pain invade my being, taking me away from what had become my life. Looking out over the faces of my fans as they smiled and waved, I noticed with a pang in my heart that this was what it was really all about. It was about the people that related to my songs—about the children and the adults who woke up in the morning to put one of my CDs into their players before either laughing or crying as they went through their day. I could relate to that because before I became the star, I was the fan first. And I was not about to disappoint them. They screamed my name as I lifted my guitar and began to sing, walking occasionally to the edge of the stage to touch their hands creating a connection with them as I did. Oh the power of music. I was on the final song when I looked up and saw him—both my bane and my reason for existence. He leaned casually against the frame of the door at the end of the theater, and I couldn't help it. When I saw him there looking as if his heart was sitting on his sleeve, I cried. Right in the middle of a song, I cried. The audience grew quiet as my voice broke and then stopped completely. He stood up straight then before walking into the middle of the room as the crowd parted around him like the Red Sea. I sat frozen in time, afraid to move, afraid to blink. And to my amusement, he just looked plain terrified as if he had never been in front of thousands of people before. Cocking his head to one side, he grinned at me sheepishly.
"I'm sorry, Jude." He said with a wilting look that could, without a shadow of a doubt, melt the entire friggin'north pole. I just shook my head as if I couldn't figure out if this was a dream or some really screwed up reality. Okay, he was sorry. So what? I just shrugged at him. He threw his arms up in desperation.
"I love you, Jude—love you. You wanted me to prove it to you right?" He asked as he produced a bouquet of sunflowers from behind his back and threw them at the stage. He knew they were my favorites. I could hear rustling from behind me as Spied cleared his throat, and I knew, without him having to speak, that it was his way to warn me about trusting too much.
"Jude…" he began, but I threw him a look over my shoulder that said 'shut up, Spied' before glancing back at Tom. Tom took in a deep breath as if he were having a difficult time breathing. I knew I was.
"You….God, Jude…I feel like this is some really bad rendition of 'Jerry McGuire' where Tom Cruise tells Renee Zellweger that she completes him." Tom said with a small nervous laugh as I just quirked a brow at him. Tom looked at the ground before glancing at the crowd and then back at me.
"Fine, Jude. You tap your foot when you're nervous to the beat of an old Beatles song, which by the way annoys the hell out of me. You take a shower when you're going through a writer's block because you say that the heat helps you to think and the cold, when the hot water runs out, helps you wake up, you drink your coffee with two sugars and one cream, you eat your steak medium well, you like root beer out of the glass bottles, you stand on your head when you get frustrated because somehow you think that's going to help you feel better, you count backwards when you're bored to see how long it takes you to get to number one, you make fun of exercise videos while eating donuts, you talk to yourself when you think nobody's there, you pinch yourself to keep yourself awake when you're bored, and you like reading old dime romance novels when you think no one's looking." He said with a hitch to his voice before taking a deep breath so that he could plunge into his montage again, but by now I was already crying so hard that my vision was completely blurred. Holding my hand up to make sure he kept quiet, I used my other hand to swipe pathetically at my tear stained cheeks.
"Stop, Tom." I said on a sob and a hiccup. "You had me at the cheesy Jerry McGuire quip." I said on a small laugh as he smiled widely while the crowd cheered uproariously. Putting my guitar down on the stage next to me, I waved a quick farewell to my fans as I walked down the front stairs towards Tommy. Coming to a stop in front of him, I let my gaze lock onto his as I rubbed once again at my eyes.
"Hey." He said softly before brushing my hair back away from my face.
"Hey back." I said just as quietly before gasping as he suddenly swung me up into his arms, cradling me as if I was a child.
"Alright, Mrs. Tom Quincy." He said as he walked toward the open entrance leisurely as the crowd cheered and cried around us.
"I should have walked you over the threshold a long time ago." He finished as he took a meaningful step through the waiting door. I just looked up at him and smiled as his lips met once and for all with mine as SME played a rendition of "Can't Help Falling in Love with you" behind us.
