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“I was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it.” —Audrey Hepburn
Some people turn to family for questions like that, some turn to friends, and some turn to Magic 8 Balls. But I turn to the one person who never lets me down: Audrey Hepburn.
You know, the kind that asks how are you? and you say great! even if your life is falling apart. Definitely not the sort of friends you can text an SOS from the bathroom at a party, admitting you accidentally clogged the toilet and need a getaway car.
I miss the days when playing music and singing was what it was all about. These days, I’m nothing but a maxed-out credit card that everyone keeps swiping.
“Uh…hi…is…Tommy there?” I ask, glancing down at the paper to make sure I got the name right, even though I’ve read it roughly twenty times now and might be pregnant with its babies due to all the caressing.
Noah is the blanket fort you used to make and hide in as a kid. So warm and reassuring.
He’s a little grumpy, there’s an edge to him that says careful, I might bite, but then his eyes whisper but I’ll be gentle.
“Have you never loved something just for what it means to you?”
I’m not comfortable enough to answer. Because I’m pretty sure it would have something to do with the way I lingered in the bathroom over her bottle of body lotion like a freak. I told myself to leave it alone. Just leave it ALONE. But it was sitting there next to her hairbrush and makeup bag and it was too tempting not to pop the top to sniff it like the pathetic piece of shit that I am.
Something about Noah’s place feels homey. I glance around the room I’m staying in and realize it’s because everything in his house seems to have a purpose—a history—or a sentiment behind it.
She is all things grace, and precociousness. Beauty yet oddity.” I shake my head, bemused. “She’s…wonderful.”
It’s not infatuation. Not even lust. It’s the worst of all the feelings…care. Care is reckless because it doesn’t come with the seat belt that selfishness offers. Care has so much to lose, and almost always ends in heartbreak.
“And let me ask you something? When the hell did it become such a crime to be selfish now and again?” Mabel turns to face me, propping her hands on her hips. “I tell you what makes me madder than a hornet. When people tell other people how they should feel. Everyone’s getting too damn people-ly lately and I’ve had enough of it. Sometimes a woman is just worn out and needs a break, you know?” The lines on her forehead deepen. “That doesn’t prove that you’re weak or neglectful, it proves to all the women standing by and watching you pave the road to success that it’s okay to say no. It’s okay to
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“Well, of course you don’t, darlin’. No one loves anything they’re miserably chained to.”
She sings in the shower, and let me tell you, I’m not one to spout poetry, but the sound of her voice sliding through the door had me writing sonnets in my head. People pay hundreds of dollars to hear her perform and I got a free front-row seat of listening to her sing “Tearin’ Up My Heart” by NSYNC. Seems unfair.
What I really want to do is open that deodorant stick and sniff it until I pass out, but I don’t because I’m forcing myself to act like a civilized woman. Polite, polite, polite.
“Dammit,” he whispers and then looks at me one more time. “You look very pretty.” I feel a smile in my soul before it reaches my lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” “It is for me.”
We even made dinner together tonight. DINNER. Well, I guess I made dinner and Amelia helped by sprinkling salt and pepper into the soup when I asked her to.
Roman Holiday
“Bless it, child! He’s here for you! Now go ahead and ask the lady out, Noah, so we can all be finished with this barrel of awkwardness.”
It’s the kind of happy laughter that slows you down, makes you want to anchor your hands on your thighs just so you don’t fall to the ground.
“It’s a compilation CD. My grandma bought it for me a long time ago.” He chuckles and turns his eyes back to the road. “She bought it for me because I was listening to too much of that weird rock you talked about. Said I needed to know the classics if I had any hopes of growing into a good man.” Mission accomplished, I want to whisper loud enough for him to hear,
“Leave his soul alone, Harriet, and mind your own beeswax. I think you could stand to be tempted a little…maybe it’d make you less bitter all the time.”
It’s clear by the look on Phil’s face that this is not the information he was after, but he’s not disinterested. He lifts a bushy brow. “Oh? What’s it gonna be?” “It’ll have a honey base. I’ll call it Mind Your Own Damn Beeswax.”
No matter how many times I do this, I never fail to feel a swarm of butterflies, adrenaline, and downright fear in this moment. But in about thirty seconds, I’ll be standing dead center stage in front of fifty thousand people waiting to watch me perform, and absolute joy will take over.
