Vol. 4 Entry 1: Love
Summary: Need I say more.
I love Tony. And I wasn't brave enough to tell him. The words were there, the opportunity was there, and I was too scared to tell him what I had only been able to admit to myself mere hours earlier. But somehow, I'm not sad, or anxious, or even regretful. I feel as though being honest with myself is enough for now. I didn't lose him to Frankie, and that's all that matters – he's not going anywhere.
I don't know whether to thank Dr. Bellows for pushing me to admit something I had worked so hard to deny, but when I uttered the words for the first time, both aloud and to myself, I was a bit surprised to find that it didn't hurt. I didn't panic. The truth came so easily to me, but unfortunately, honesty with Tony didn't. I just don't know what will happen if I tell him. Things are so great between us, and I just don't think I'm ready to lay my heart down for someone again. I was hurt once, and even though I know as soundly as I know my own name that Tony would never do anything to intentionally hurt me, I just can't take the chance that anything more than what we have would be too much for us to handle.
But I was willing to tell him if the alternative was losing him. I know I'm not always the most self-assured woman, particularly when it comes to Tony, but I really, truly don't think I would have stood by helplessly as some Italian stallionette seduced him away from me. I would have taken the chance, but I'm equally relieved I didn't have to.
This whole weekend brought forth so many feelings. From the moment I knocked over those cones at Frankie's booth, I felt a change, an awareness of a threat that I guess some would say was pure woman's intuition. Mother felt it too, which was why she pushed me to "win" Tony at the auction, and never in my adult life have I ever pined for someone the way I did him while he was gone for the weekend. I missed him in a way I've never missed anyone, and I know some of it was the knowledge that he was with another woman, a woman who posed a serious threat to everything I had taken for granted, primarily, that he would always be there. And the worst part was, I couldn't even hate her for it. As Tony would say, she was good people. Smart and driven, to be sure, but also genuine – and utterly gorgeous. She was as close to Tony's match in every way as any woman he's ever been attracted to.
And so I needed to talk to someone. For the first time, I couldn't work through what I was feeling, or why. I needed someone who was completely neutral and removed from the situation. Friends were out of the question since I've spent the better part of three years vehemently denying there is anything between Tony and me. And I know mother's opinion, which she made clear when Tony said he loved me before having his appendix out. So I went to Dr. Bellows, and as embarrassing and difficult as it was at times, she left me no choice but to admit my feelings – all of them.
It's been a long time since I've admitted to feeling inadequate, but that's the exact word that describes why I can't tell Tony that I love him. He could easily have any woman he wants, and has had everyone from a college professor to an international businesswoman throwing themselves at him. With women like that who share his physicality, his confidence, and his easy charm, why would he ever look twice at me as more than a friend? And even though there's a part of me that knows – or thinks – that his feelings for me are more than friendly, I just can't muster the confidence to risk finding out for sure. It's just not worth what I'd lose if I am wrong.
When Dr. Bellows asked if I loved Tony, my mind raced over the last three years, and so many memories resurfaced: our first meeting at the front door, our first kiss and the eruption of emotion that just the memory evoked, the intimacy of the night in the motel at camp, our Valentine's Day date, a near custody battle for my son, our first "family" vacation to Mexico, losing my job and opening my own business, the romance of two friends' wedding, a casual mention of pink roses soon followed by a plea not to remarry, and only a few months ago, a kiss in an old van that still makes my heart flutter. And those moments don't even take into account the family nights watching old movies, cold days building snowmen, dancing into oblivion in each others' arms, fighting and making up, eating leftovers at two in the morning, nursing sick children back to health, and sharing so many other moments reserved for only the most solid and loving families.
When the memories faded, I had nowhere to turn, no alternative path but to finally say out loud what had been lurking in my heart for quite a long time. I love Tony. I love the way he makes me feel, whether he's holding me as we dance or telling me I work too hard. I love that he worries about me and takes care of me. I love that he is the father my son needs and was denied by his own, and a father and mother to his daughter, willing to brave his way through boys and bras to keep his little girl close to him. I love that he makes my house a home and teaches me about life outside Connecticut. I love that he is there for whoever needs him, but never far away from those who need him most.
But try as I might, I can't pinpoint a moment when friendship turned to love. It seems like my feelings for him have been growing since the moment he walked into my life — every day and with every milestone taking me one step deeper into realms I couldn't even admit existed. And yet there I was today, saying with such assuredness that yes, I love Tony. How did that happen? Looking back, I have to ask, how could it not?
And I nearly told him, was ready to, but lost my nerve in a babble of teenage angst that Samantha so innocently carried with her through the door. And then the moment was gone, and I wouldn't even let the infinite romance of William Shakespeare revive it. A second later, Tony rendered my courage moot. He isn't marrying Frankie because he doesn't love her, "and love is important," he said. Was he sending me a kind of hidden message with those words, and the ones that followed. Why did he have to ask if I was sure it was love? Is my newly-acquired awareness of my own feelings causing me to hope for and see more than what is there? I want to believe he knew I had more to say, and I want to believe he was telling me he understands everything – my feelings, my fear, my hesitancy, my reasons. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but maybe it's not.
Will I ever tell Tony that I love him? Maybe. Hopefully. Dare I say probably? When? I don't know. I guess when the time is right, when there's no more fear or doubt, when he tells me he loves me. Until then, it's my secret. And unlike most secrets, this one isn't begging to come out. I'm not self-conscious when I look at him or touch him, and I'm not scared that he'll "find out." There's too much friendship between us, and I'm not going to let something as wonderful as love, unspoken though it may be, change any of what we already share.
