Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I DREAM MY WAY BACK
PRESENT
I shouldn’t have given in and called Abraham. And now, I’m paying dearly for it.
As in, now he’s getting on my fucking nerves about continuing our conversation. Our conversation that happened nearly a month ago.
I’m good at dodging people I don’t feel like interacting with. But Abraham is even better at pestering me to the point of complete animosity.
We need to talk, Sabrina
The idea that he can storm into my life and upend it on a whim infuriates me. But this is Abraham. He is a force, and he expects the world to bend to his will the same way his actors and actresses do. The same way his students did in college.
The same way I used to…in every way.
I’m not read y
It’s all I can tell him; it’s all I can muster to get him off my back.
Divorce is messy without adding him popping back up into the mix. Parenthood is tough enough without the past trying to storm back in and take all of my focus.
“You still there?” Peter asks through the speakerphone on my work desk. We’re in the middle of comparing our schedules so the girls are accounted for. And while our hours haven’t changed much, it’s finagling two different homes and the full weight of being single parents without having someone else to lean on that makes these things tough.
“Yeah,” I mutter, tempted to tell him what’s going on. For so many years, Peter had been my ear, my shoulder, my best friend. I sigh as I lean back in my chair, running my hands through my hair.
“You okay?” he asks and it’s a kindness I don’t deserve.
I’m so tempted to tell him that I’m not, and that Abraham has come back into my life. But I can’t. I can’t tell the only person who knows even an inkling about that man and I.
Sharing that would kill any amicability between us; it would send this calm separating of lives into a fucking spiral that neither of us would be prepared to handle.
I ignore my phone when it vibrates, no doubt with a response from Abraham, and clear my throat.
“I’m fine. Is that everything?” I ask, ready to sit in silence as I finish the day’s work. The girls will be with Peter tonight, and I relish the thought of indulging in a bottle of wine and trashy TV shows. Anything to make me feel like maybe my life isn’t the mess it very clearly is.
“Should be. I’ll make sure they call you before bed,” he tells me before we say goodbye. I drop my head into my hands, too tired to stare at my laptop for another minute. Maybe I should shirk responsibility and take my worthless ass home.
My dreams have been far too vivid as of late and, if I’m being honest, they’re more memories than anything else. Restless sleep is all I’m getting now, waking up with a longing in my chest that makes me stare at the ceiling for hours, replaying the years over and over in my mind.
Memories of a life I once lived that was far more vibrant than the drabness of my days now.
All of my yesterdays shine brighter than this moment, and I do everything I can to relive them.
Whether it’s cautiously falling in love with Peter as an experienced woman or losing myself in love with Abraham as a freshly minted young lady.
My yesterdays beckon me, and I dream my way back to them every night.
Present-day Abraham’s text message is still waiting for me, and I pick up my phone, prepared to be annoyed or frustrated, or feel cornered.
Okay. I’m here if you need me. I’m not going anywhere.
Words that I needed in so many instances throughout the years. Words that hurt to read, that make me sad, even as he tries to reassure me.
Words that seep through the cracks in the wall I’ve created specifically to keep him out. All of these emotions swirl inside of me and there is no one else in the world who would understand any of it.
No one except Abraham.
I make the mistake of calling him again.
Before he can say anything, I’m spouting out angry words about his nerve and the audacity he has to even show his face. About how angry I am with him and how it’s a wonder he can sleep at night.
He remains silent all through my spiel, and when I’ve tired out, tears running down my face, he finally speaks .
“I know I was wrong. I know I can’t change any of it. But I am here now, Stellina. ”
It’s a nickname I’ve heard many times. Times when he aimed to soothe, to please, to push, to pull. It’s a name I can’t handle hearing right now.
“Please,” I whisper, wiping at my face, not knowing what I’m asking of him.
“Tell me what to do,” he insists, his voice not much louder than my own.
I sniff, shutting my laptop and grabbing my things.
“Meet me at the park across the street from my office.”