The Forest for the Trees
I know you all think I'm crazy. I mean, what kind of psychotic freak declares her love for the man of her dreams and then runs away like a moronic child? Way to prove my feelings, right? Would you believe that wasn't even the worst part? Oh, no, because the worst part is that I charged out of that room in a fit of humiliation and anger and confusion, and I felt good about myself. Like I made the right decision and took a stand. And then I got to the elevator and realized that I had absolutely nowhere to go.
Where do people go in situations like this? To a friend, right? Excellent, except I don't have any. Not really. I have colleagues, but you don't crash on a colleague's couch when you've had a fight with your boyfriend. The only people I do anything remotely friendly with in this place are John and Maria, and you know why I couldn't go there. Nobody. Not one single person that I could turn to.
It occurs to me that this is, in fact, a hotel. They have rooms here for people like me - the downtrodden and the confused and the . . . well, the hiding. Of course, this occurs to me now, at seven in the morning. It didn't last night, though. Not until I was already seated in the hotel restaurant for breakfast, after an agonizingly long night of trying to sleep in my car. So, yeah, not only am I swimming in grief and despair, I'm disheveled and rumpled and completely incoherent.
"James?"
If I wasn't so tired, I would whip my head around at the sound of John's voice. As it stands, I manage to raise my eyes in his direction and then lower them back to my cup of coffee as he sits across from me. "You look all wide-eyed and chipper," I grumble, more to myself than to him.
He thanks the waitress for the coffee that she brings him and then returns his focus to me. "Yeah, I'm feelin' pretty good lately."
I vaguely remember Randy telling me something about John deciding to lay off the alcohol a little since visiting Tatum in L.A. about a month ago. Isn't she just a fucking saint? "That's great, John. I hope things work out for you." I mean that - I do hope that things work out. Sorry I can't summon a little more enthusiasm about it, but I'm a little distracted right now, ya know?
"Are you okay, James?" he asks me, cradling his coffee cup as he leans back in his chair. "I don't mean this the wrong way, but you look kinda rough." I just nod, because I don't really feel like telling him about my evening in my car. But John jumps to his own conclusion. "What did he do?"
I just shake my head and take another drink. "He didn't do anything." I'm not sure he believes me, what with the way his eyebrow arches like that, so I just point to myself. "I did, John." Might as well own up to it. Randy'll just tell John about it anyway. They tell each other everything. Like bitchy little old ladies.
He groans and leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. "Not with Josh," he asks.
What? Oh, God, I think I just threw up in my mouth. "I didn't . . . ew," I shake my head to clear the mental image of myself EVER returning to my violent ex's bed. "I told him that I was crazy in love with him," I say, noting that even the sound of my own voice is a little shaky at the moment. Like I can't believe I'm saying it. Maybe I just still can't believe I did it. What was I thinking anyway? Just blurting it out like that? While standing on his bed? Who does that?
But John doesn't seem surprised. Now, lest you should think that I'm completely oblivious, I know that John hasn't exactly been buying my relationship with Randy to this point. He knows that we're friends, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't think that I'm really Randy's type. Not in the long run. "He didn't reciprocate?"
"Didn't really give him time to," I confess, wondering if he really even cares. I mean, should he? He's Randy's friend, not mine. In the end, everyone around me is gonna side up with whatever story Randy chooses to tell them. And he'll think of something, because I know Randy. And he has his pride. He'll say anything to keep people from thinking that he got ditched.
John sips at his coffee and looks around the room. Is he wondering if it's okay to just leave me here? If he'll look like a colossal bastard if he just walks away? Because, clearly, he thinks I'm crazy now. He should think so. I am. "Ya know," he starts when it finally seems he's had time to collect his thoughts, "Orton's a dick sometimes. Nobody knows that better than I do." At that, he chuckles. Like it's a joke or something. Maybe it is, but I haven't slept in awhile, so it doesn't seem all that funny. "But he's a good guy," John goes on. "At the core, he's a really good guy."
"I know." That's why I love him.
His massive shoulders shrug. "So what's the problem, James?" Where do I start? I'm terrified. I don't know how to do this. The last time I was in love, it wasn't exactly good for me. How do I tell John all of that? "What's there to be afraid of?" I don't even say anything and he still knows. I must be the most transparent person on the planet. "Loving him?"
Well, if he already knows what I'm thinking, what's it going to hurt to just tell him the truth? "Not just loving him," I confide, white knuckling the handle of my mug until it feels like it might break off in my hand. "Too much. Loving him way too much. I mean, that kind of love . . . this kind?" I can't help smiling. "It's insane, John."
"What's insane is being so fucking scared of it that you run in the other direction."
Now, I've known John for a minute. Like I said, I'm not sure we're friends, but I know him well enough to know that he's speaking from personal experience. From his recent predicament. I know what Randy's told me about the reasons that John's been drinking, and if this man is telling me that it's worse to run than it is to face the fear, maybe I should listen. Maybe. Of course, that doesn't answer the 'why' - he's never been the biggest advocate of the 'Jamie/Randy' happily-ever-after story. But maybe the way doesn't matter. Maybe it's the advice that I should be listening to.
He taps the table and looks around again, as if someone might be listening to our conversation. There are a couple of girls over his shoulder, but they're keeping their distance, so I don't think there's any point in worrying him. "Jamie, can I tell you something?" I nod. "The shit that scares you the most? That's the shit that fills you up. All the way to the top. Everything else is just," he shakes his head as he searches for the word. "It's just bull shit."
"But what if he doesn't want me?" I ask, my voice cracking. Ever notice how it's hardest to voice the things that the scare you the most? "What if he wants somebody else instead?"
"Tatum?" Again, I nod, but I can't answer him. I don't trust my own voice. "What if he doesn't, and you blow it anyway?"
If anyone knows Randy better than I do, it's John. Is he trying to tell me something? Or am I just wishfully thinking? I mean, I know what I've seen, don't I? But John's known him longer. He might know if there's something under the surface that I don't understand. Then again, maybe he's just trying to be nice. He's grinning like he's a nice guy, but I told you, I'm in a grouchy mood. So I just roll my eyes at him. "I liked you better when you were fuckin' drunk," I tell him and he laughs. Sounds genuine enough.
So I guess I need to talk to Randy, huh? But it's gonna have to wait because I need a shower, and then I have a meeting with creative. Oh, I love it when the rest of my life infringes on my love life. Don't you?