Page 26 of Brain Damage

Believe it or not, I’m still dating Clark.

It’s been four months. And between you and me, it’s been a really good four months. I’m still not convinced that this man will be the father of my children, but it’s not totally out of the question. Stranger things have happened—a man walked on the moon, after all.

Even Kitty has grudgingly accepted him. Sort of. The first month or so, they kept their distance from one another, but now she seems to be treating him like one of the family—constantly following him around and begging for treats as part of her quest to be The Fattest Cat in the Entire Universe. Although Clark doesn’t see it that way.

“Your cat doesn’t trust me,” he said to me. “She’s always spying on me.”

I laughed. “Spying on you?”

“Yeah,” Clark insisted. He was smiling, but I think he was at least partially serious. “She’s making sure I’m not up to no good.”

“Oh, come on!” I said. “She adores you. That’s why she likes to sleep next to your head.”

“Right, because she’s trying to kill me!” he said. “Charlotte, she sleeps on my face.”

“That’s a sign of affection.”

“Right, well,” Clark muttered. “You’re going to feel awfully foolish when you wake up to find me smothered by your cat’s fat ass.”

So, yes. Clark and I have had sleepovers. It’s hard to maintain celibacy in a relationship, even if that’s what I wanted. And I don’t want that. I mean, if you’ve been in a desert for a year, and you finally come across a stream of water, do you say, “No, I’m going to wait six months before I have any?” No way. You’d take a drink!

They say that dating a beautiful woman is expensive for a man. Well, I’m here to tell you that dating a handsome man is expensive for a woman, especially a woman like me, who is not used to putting much effort into my appearance. It sickens me how much I’ve dropped recently on clothes and shoes. I don’t want to tell you what I spent at the hairdresser last weekend, but I now own every single hair product known to man and my hair is as golden and shiny as the sun. If I can’t be as gorgeous as my boyfriend, at least I’ll have pretty hair.

Also, I have been waxed as hairless as a newborn baby. Well, not completely. I drank a glass of wine to work up the courage for my bikini wax. Dating a handsome man is not only expensive, it’s painful too. My Jimmy Choo heels are another perfect testament to that.

I’m not sure if I’m doing it for Clark or for everyone else. I need to become the kind of woman that a man like Clark would date. I’m sick of getting funny looks whenever I go out with him. I know what everyone is thinking: what does he see in her? I’d like to pretend I don’t care, but I obviously do.

Sometimes I worry that the Charly who just wanted to be myself, screw everyone else, is getting lost.

As I lie in bed next to Clark, sweaty from the activities of the last hour, I try not to think about all that. I allow Clark to draw me closer to him, and I snuggle up against his broad shoulder. Clark’s body is always so warm and comforting against mine.

“This is nice,” he says.

“Yes,” I murmur. And it is. It really is.

I feel his stubble brush against my forehead, and then I hear him whisper the words in my ear, “I love you, Charlotte.”

I freeze up. It’s the first time he’s said that to me. I know I’m supposed to tell him I love him back or something like that, but all I can think to blurt out is, “Why?”

I probably shouldn’t have said that. But truly, I’m baffled.

Clark pulls away and stares at me in amazement. “Why? How could you ask me that?”

I feel my cheeks turning pink. Yes, I definitely should not have said that. But now it’s out there, and I have to explain it. “I just… I mean, the thing is, I’m not very…”

He frowns at me, shaking his head.

“I’m not pretty,” I finish.

Wow. I can’t believe I just said that. But you know what? I’m not sorry. It needed to be said. It was the elephant in the room the whole time we’ve been dating.

“Charlotte,” Clark says. He squeezes me against him. “You are amazing in so many ways. Not only are you really pretty, but you’re smart and funny and sweet.”

Well, I’m smart—I’ll give him that. My board scores attest to that fact. I don’t think I’m particularly funny though. I don’t know if I’m sweet either, but I’m not mean or anything. I let that Stan Leroy guy down easy.

“I wish you could see what I see,” Clark says softly.

He strokes the side of my face. Clark thinks that I am pretty and smart and funny and sweet. I don’t think I’m at least three of those things, but whatever. I don’t even care anymore. I’m sure this thing will come crashing down on me at some point, but I’m going to stop questioning it. I’m just going to enjoy the ride.