Pretending Ch. 02

"It seemed rather sudden, though," said Lydia. "I mean, you've shared the apartment for so long but nothing's happened before." She stopped and looked at her daughter, brushed blonde hair back from her face. "Has it?"

"What?" asked Connie, startled. "No, nothing before. We were just... I don't know. Just talking one night and we decided to take a chance on it." Okay, that's a half-truth, Connie comforted herself. We were talking. And I will take a chance on something.

"Ben's nice, don't you think?" Her mother changed the subject abruptly. "He's handled his injury so well."

"He seemed in good spirits about it," said Connie warily. Where was this going?

"I always thought you and Ben would make a good couple," her mother said. "Especially now."

"Why now?" asked Connie. She and Ben hadn't been close, but they'd been friends. She'd never had any interest in dating him, but he wasn't a bad guy.

"Well, you know," said Lydia, reaching for a tray. "His injury, your injury. You both must know what it's like to go through something difficult like that. That's not an experience everyone shares."

"Um, yeah," said Connie, unsure what to say to that. She had an ugly suspicion where the conversation was heading, and hoped she was wrong. She took some spoons out of the drawer, slowly, trying to concentrate.

"Simon is very handsome," her mother commented. What is it with the non sequiturs? Connie wondered in frustration.

Out loud she said, "Yes, he is. I've always thought so."

"Do you really think you'll have some pie?" her mom asked. "I mean, you must be watching your weight more than ever now."

"What do you mean?" Connie asked.

"Well, Simon, of course," said her mother, taking down dessert plates and laying them on the tray. "You want to look your best for him, don't you?"

"He likes me the way I am," Connie managed to sputter out.

"Of course, he does, dear," said Lydia. "But it never hurts to be in shape. Women do a lot to keep men happy, you know. I go to the gym every day to keep fit for your father. Clothes, too. We should go shopping while you're here." She poured cream from a carton into a pitcher and set it on the tray.

"Right," said Connie. The implications were making her feel ill. You're not pretty enough for Simon, her mother was saying. Better dress the part if you don't want to lose him.

"I think long dresses are back in style," Lydia went on. "And I've seen some lovely slacks and outfits in the stores. I know you don't go in for short styles, and I understand." Connie, near tears, said nothing.

She doesn't know, Connie thought desperately. She doesn't know how hurtful this sounds. It's twisted, but she's just saying these things because she thinks they'll help me. She clung to those thoughts while getting out dessert forks for the pie.

"Ben doesn't strike me as the type who cares about those things," said Lydia. "He seems very laid-back, very accepting of things. Of course, I'm sure being in a war zone gives you a perspective on things that the average person doesn't get."

"Knock it off, Mom, for God's sake!" Emily's voice startled both of them and they spun around.

"Emily!" said her mother in shock.

"Can't you see how much you're hurting Connie's feelings?" Emily demanded, walking into the kitchen. She tried to keep her voice level. "What is it with you, Mom? Simon cares about her, and she cares about him. There's no need for Connie to change or hide anything about herself." Emily had heard the better part of the conversation and gotten progressively angrier. As always, Connie had tried to roll with the punches, but for Emily, it had become too much.

"Emily," said her mother calmly, "I've been around longer. You two were always looking through rose-colored glasses. I've seen how things work. People with figures like Connie -- and me -- have a harder time than more slender people. People with visible disfigurements also have difficulties, let's not pretend they don't."

"Connie has a scar on her leg from an accident, Mom," snapped Emily. Her eyes, green like Connie's but lighter, were nearly sparking in anger. "She's hardly the elephant man. And while she may not be a size two, she's very pretty and Simon loves her for it. It's also insulting to Ben," Emily continued. "He may have lost an arm but he's got no less right to happiness than anyone else. Whether they have scars or not."

"I never said otherwise," Lydia pointed out, her voice level but heated. Her eyes were narrowed, but she was keeping calm. Still, it was obvious she and her older daughter were ready to keep going at it.

"Just let it go, Em," Connie finally spoke up. "It's all right. Let's just go eat. Please, the guys are waiting." The other two women stared at each other for a moment longer, then nodded wordlessly. Emily went to round up the men, and Connie and her mother arranged the food and dishes on trays to carry in.

"Connie," said Lydia, "you know --"

"Don't, Mom," said Connie softly. She sighed and then turned to look at her mother. "I know you probably don't realize it, Mom, but when you say things like that, it really hurts my feelings."

"I'm only --" Lydia tried to say, but Connie shook her head.

"I know," said Connie. "You're only trying to help. You're only saying these things because you care. I understand. The problem is, they don't help, and I don't know if you understand." Lydia stood silently.

"How do you think I felt," Connie asked, "knowing that you were trying to get Ben and me together, when Simon was sitting right there?" Her temper was rising but she held it in check. Angry words wouldn't help anything. "Knowing that you think I'm not good enough for Simon? That he'll drop me for a prettier girl?" Connie shook her head sadly. "How do you think it feels, Mom, to know that you think I'm just not good enough?"

"That's not what I think, sweetie," Lydia said quietly. "I'm just trying to protect you. Simon is a wonderful man, we've always liked him. But sometimes, things just don't work out."

Connie sighed again. This was useless. She loved her mother, but this was the last time she would have this discussion. "Please, I don't want to talk about it any more," she said. Lydia nodded and they took the food out.

x-x-x-x

Simon could tell something was up. Emily came out to announce dessert, and although she was friendly enough about it, she seemed disturbed by something. Connie and Lydia brought out the pie, coffee, tea and plates and laid them on the table. Neither said anything. Something's been slightly off all evening, he reflected.

Dinner had been delicious, and they'd all chatted and had a good time. Ben was a nice guy, and they had a mock serious argument on the merits of the Mets versus the Yankees, and then about the National and American Leagues in general. Simon had noticed, though, how Lydia had taken any opportunity to get Ben and Connie talking together. That had made him not a little jealous, although he didn't say anything. Still, he thought it was rude, to be encouraging someone's girlfriend to pay attention to another man when her boyfriend was right there.

Connie and Ben had noticed it, too. They rolled their eyes and chatted when directed, but would soon fall back to previous conversations, usually Ben with Connie's father, and Connie with Emily. Did Lydia not think he should be with Connie? he wondered. Had Ben and Connie ever been an item? He didn't think so; Connie never mentioned it, and he was sure she would have.

At one point, as they were relaxing and waiting for dessert, Emily extracted herself from John and went to the kitchen for some water. He'd heard some raised voices after that but couldn't make out words. Then Emily had gathered them up for dessert. As they sat at the table, there was a definite undercurrent of tension.

Connie sipped at her tea and picked at her piece of pie. Normally she loved pumpkin pie -- well, most any pie, really. But the conversation with her mother had killed her appetite. It seemed like every insecurity she ever had, and some she didn't know of, were eating her alive. Funny, she thought, how we grow up, but in some ways, we're still the little kid looking for approval.

She looked over at Simon, who gave her a smile and squeezed her hand. The little gesture made her feel better, and gave her a bit more courage. She was torn between believing Emily and believing her mother. She wanted to believe her sister. Out of habit, it seemed she was falling for what her mother said. Not fair, she thought. Not fair at all.

Then she forced herself out of her thoughts. It was a holiday, she was with family for the first time in a while, and Simon was there. Even if it was just pretending, it was good to be with him.

Edward made a remark about babies, and the talk turned to baby names, room colors and baby necessities. The tension seemed to dissipate a bit, if not entirely, and soon they were all yawning.

"Well, this baby is wearing me out already," said Emily. "I'm going to bed." She stood and John rose to join her. They said their good nights and went upstairs.

Connie saw that her parents looked beat. Her mom had been cooking a lot of the day, and her father had been running errands. "Why don't you two go up?" Connie said. "I'll take care of these dishes. I'm not quite tired yet."

Simon raised an eyebrow at that, not sure he believed her.

"Are you sure, hon?" asked her mother. "You could leave them until the morning. They aren't going anywhere, after all." Connie recognized the peace offering.

"No, it's okay, Mom, really," she said. "It'll be nicer for you to wake up to a clean kitchen. Besides, you did all the cooking. I can at least clean up."

"Well, thanks, sweetie," said Lydia. "I won't look a gift horse in the mouth." She came over and hugged her daughter. "I love you, Connie. I'm so glad you came home."

"Me, too," Connie said. Her dad kissed her on the cheek and they went to their room.

"So, looks like it's just you and me," Simon said.

"Great," said Connie, "you can help with the dishes." She smiled and started piling plates on the trays. Simon helped and they took them into the kitchen. Connie loaded what she could into the dishwasher, but washed the china plates by hand.

"You know, we really need to talk," said Simon when they were finished. He caught her hand in his. "I've been wanting to talk all day, but we've been busy."

"I know," said Connie. "I've wanted to talk to you, too. Let's go upstairs, okay? I want a quick shower first."

"Okay," said Simon. He stared at her for a moment, and Connie was sure he would kiss her. Then he stepped back and said, "Go on, I'll come up when you're done." Connie nodded, then started up the steps. She put her fingers over her mouth, imagining the kiss she hadn't received.

x-x-x-x

Connie let the water run down on her from the shower head after she'd finished. The hot water felt wonderful after such a long day. She turned off the water, then wrapped her hair in one towel and grabbed another for her body. While she'd been in there, she'd gone back over what Emily had said. Her sister was right. She needed to tell him, and tell him now. She tucked in the corner of the towel and stepped quietly into the hallway, then tiptoed down the hall to her room.

Connie nearly shrieked when she found Simon in the room. She hadn't thrown on a robe because she assumed he'd still be downstairs, listening for the shower and then giving her time to dry and dress. For a moment, she couldn't say anything. She watched him watching her, then saw his eyes move downward. Suddenly she was mortified; although the towel covered her completely, her scar was visible. And Simon was looking at it.

Simon studied the scar she'd unintentionally revealed. It wasn't so bad, he thought. It ran from just above her ankle all the way up her leg, the top part on her thigh hidden under her towel. It reminded him slightly of a rope, but otherwise it just looked like a thick line. It had faded some, he figured, because it was almost a shiny pink as opposed to a red or dark pink. He remembered getting his appendix out and the way the scar had first looked. Years later, it was smaller and had turned to the same light shade as hers.

Connie made a strangled sound in her throat and Simon yanked his eyes back up to her face. He felt terrible when he saw her blush with embarrassment. There was no reason for it.

"Connie," he said, taking a step towards her. She shook her head and tried to press herself into the wall.

"Please," she said, her voice tight. "I need... I need to get dressed."

"Connie," he said, "you -- we -- can't keep running away like this. We have to talk." He kept his voice even and comforting as he stood before her.

"What's to talk about?" she asked, her shoulders slumping. Now that he'd seen it, he'd never be interested in her again, she was sure. It's good we're only pretending, she thought. If it had been for real and he told me he didn't want me, I don't know if I could take it.

"What happened last Friday, for one thing," he said.

"That was... an accident," she said, staring at the floor. "A nice accident, but we both know it didn't mean anything... more than that. You were trying to comfort me, and I appreciated it. I still do."

Simon was silent, watching her. She didn't really think that, he was sure. She was... well, he didn't know what she was doing. Staving off embarrassment? Letting him down easy? Avoiding her feelings?

"How do we know that?" he asked quietly, taking another step closer. "You haven't asked me. I haven't asked you. So how do we know?"

Connie stood silently. She had no idea what to say. She was battling two competing impulses. One urged her to be honest with Simon, the other called for more caution. But was there anything left to be cautious about? Was there any going back to their former friendship after what had happened? Suddenly she realized that Simon had not agreed with her "accident" statement. Instead, he had questioned it. The glimmer of hope she'd had in the shower resurfaced.

As she stood there, Simon remained quiet, wanting to put his arms around her but fearing it was the wrong thing to do. An accident? Did she really think that? If it was an accident, he thought dryly, it was a mutual accident.

"What happened in the kitchen?" he asked, trying to break the tension. "What did your mom say?"

"Oh." Connie was startled at the change in subject. "She, um..." She took a deep breath and gave him a shaky smile. "She pointed out some of my flaws, and I think was trying to prepare me for the idea that I'm not good enough for you." She tried to joke, but her smile was gone when she finished speaking.

"What?!" Simon gripped her shoulders. His voice was quiet but inwardly he was seething. How could Lydia think that, let alone say it?

"She invited Ben here because she thought since I had my scar and he'd lost his arm, we'd have something in common," Connie said. She couldn't keep the anger out of her voice entirely. "Imperfect people, perfect for each other, I guess."

Simon was quiet again, pacing the floor a little. Connie clutched at her towel but didn't move. When he stopped and faced her again, she was struck by the intensity in his eyes.

"Connie, I don't want to pretend any more," he said. "It's not working."

Connie nodded. Of course. Emily had been wrong. "All right," she said, surprised she could speak. "I'll just throw some clothes on and go downstairs. I can sleep on the couch and get up before Mom does. She'll never know."

"Why would you do that?" Simon asked, nonplussed.

"It's easier," she said. She glanced at him but looked away quickly. "But, um, I think maybe we should keep things up for the next couple of days, at least during the day, okay? I just couldn't take explaining things."

"No, Connie," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. "You misunderstood me."

"You said you didn't want to keep pretending," she said, puzzled. His hands felt warm and slightly rough on her bare shoulders. She tried to focus on the words instead.

"That's right," he confirmed. She still looked confused. He smiled gently. "I want to do this for real, Connie. I want to be your boyfriend for real."

"You do?" she asked in a whisper.

He nodded. "I should have said it a long, long time ago. I especially should have said something after last weekend. I was afraid you would think I was only saying it out of obligation, so I held off. I'm sorry." He raised his hand to her face, and gently stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I love you, Connie. Very much."

"I love you, too," she said. "I wanted to say it, but I was afraid of messing up what we had."

"I had the same feeling," Simon said, laughing softly. "God, we're a couple of idiots, aren't we?"

Connie nodded, "I guess so." Then she got nervous again. "You're not... bothered?" she asked, gesturing at her leg. "By this?"

"Lord, no," he said. He leaned in and kissed her. He meant it to be gentle and reassuring, but suddenly he was holding her tightly, kissing her deeply. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead on hers. "I was so scared that night. I thought you would die. I had nightmares about it for years. The only thing that says to me is that you're alive and I should never take you for granted."

Connie was silent as she stood with her arms around him. She was trembling with relief and happiness. Simon loved her, just as she'd always hoped.

"I think we should finish what we started, don't you?" Simon asked. His eyes were nearly black with desire, and Connie loved how he looked at her. She nodded.

"I'll lock the door and get the light," she said. Simon heard the click of the lock, and watched her turn out the overhead light. One small reading lamp on a nightstand provided soft lighting.

"Come here," Simon said before she could turn that one off. She did, and he could tell she was nervous. He took her hands and turned her so that she faced him with her back against the wall. "I love you, Connie," he said, and found her lips with his.

Connie felt herself melting into his arms. She was emotionally exhausted and was content to let him hold her up. It felt good to be held, to be wanted. She parted her lips and sighed as his tongue dove past them. She moved one hand to his face, gently tracing his jaw and feeling the slight stubble that meant he needed to shave.

She hadn't realized at first that he was no longer standing in front of her. He had left her lips to kiss her neck, her shoulder, and then her chest above the towel. Now he was kneeling in front of her. She felt his hand on her leg and instinctively jerked away, but he put his hands on her hips and held her in place.

"Hush," he soothed. "It's all right." He stared into her green eyes, which were wide with surprise, and slowly ran his hand up her leg, over the scar. She watched him, mesmerized. She could only feel it in certain spots; there were a lot of dead nerves. Still, she couldn't believe he was touching her there.

When he lowered his head and kissed her leg, starting at the knee and slowly moving up her thigh, tracing the outline of the scar, she gasped and closed her eyes.

"I told you," he said, raising his hands so he could remove the towel. She opened her eyes and met his, unnerved by the desire she saw. "It doesn't bother me." The towel fell and he kissed her stomach, moving down until he could slip his tongue between her legs. He moaned softly as he tasted her. So sweet, he thought. He pulled back and looked up at her. "You're so lovely." Then he went back to using his tongue to tease her, feeling her body heat up the more he did.

Connie closed her eyes and lowered a trembling hand to his head. No one had ever done this for her, certainly not so well. When he brought his hand up to touch her as well, she couldn't help but gasp. She lost track of everything, caught up in the sensations he was wringing from her body. His tongue and fingers worked in perfect concert and she whispered his name as she came. He held her up as her legs trembled.