Chapter 46
HARLOW
Ikeep waiting for the guilt to come, but thus far it hasn’t, and I don’t think I want to know what that says about me. I’m sure, though, that it’ll come at some point.
Spencer insists on cooking me dinner, which surprises me since he didn’t cook much when we were together. Not that he wouldn’t have, but he was busy working, so I usually handled the meals.
He glances over his shoulder at me like he wants to make sure I’m still sitting there on the barstool and not a figment of his imagination.
“This smells incredible,” I comment on the alfredo sauce he has going in a pot.
“It’s a simple recipe,” he says. “Once I started making it, I wondered why anyone ever orders it from a restaurant.”
He adds some spinach into the sauce and checks on the shell-shaped pasta he has boiling.
“Do you cook a lot?” I ask, sipping the glass of wine he poured for me.
I’ve already been here several hours. After we showered, we came downstairs, and he put a movie on while we laid together on the couch. I kept waiting to feel jumpy, like I needed to get out of here as fast as possible, but the feeling hasn’t come.
“Yeah,” he answers with his back to me. “Unless I’m on set late or traveling. But I uh … I needed something to keep me busy, and cooking has been a big part of that. I read a lot too.”
I look around and my throat feels heavy as I think about how lonely he must be.
I imploded our shared life all because I didn’t want to handle his quickly booming Hollywood career.
I was terrified of all the things that would come with it, I still am, but those things are starting to not feel not quite as scary as they once did.
Everything was so magnified back then with my postpartum depression.
“I’m sorry,” I confess, wrapping my fingers around the stem of the wineglass. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that, but I am sorry for hurting you.”
He turns his back on the stove and faces me.
He slides his arms across his chest, and I try not to stare at the way his muscles move with fluid grace.
His body might be different than the teenage boy I fell in love with, but there are still pieces of him there.
A scar on his hip he told me he got as a kid learning to ride his bike.
Another scar on his shoulder from surfing.
The freckles on his nose—some familiar, some new.
“You broke my heart.”
He doesn’t say it accusatory. It’s just a statement.
“I know.”
“I was trying to be a good father, a good boyfriend.” He rests his hands on the counter. “I wanted to make you happy, but all I did was ruin us.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
And it wasn’t. Not really. It was me that was the problem. I was too young, too scared, and frankly too depressed. No one can prepare you for how hard motherhood is.
“It feels like it was,” he whispers, not quite meeting my eyes.
He glows with a warm, yellow hue beneath the pendant lights above his island.
“I’ve went over that time of our lives repeatedly and wondered what I could’ve done differently.
I thought once we got past your postpartum depression it would be smooth sailing, but then… ” he trails off, shaking his head.
“I couldn’t handle your career,” I finish for him.
“Yeah,” he sighs, turning to give the sauce and pasta a stir before facing me again. “I know it was unexpected, but I love this,” he admits. “The modeling and acting, but especially the acting.”
“I know.” I saw it then, how much joy it brought him, and it’s why I couldn’t let him give it up for me.
“But I love you and Roe more.” It doesn’t escape my notice that he uses present tense. “I would’ve walked away from it. I would’ve gotten a job at fucking McDonald’s if I thought it would make you happy.”
Tears burn my eyes. “I know.”
There’s no doubt in my mind that Spencer Shaw would’ve done whatever he could to make me happy.
“I thought I was doing the right thing. I wanted to protect Monroe from this life.”
“There are a lot harsher laws against photographing celebrities’ children now.” He turns and shuts the burners off. “And I would never let anyone get close to our daughter. Have you seen photos popping up of her anywhere over the years?”
“No,” I admit, and I hate that it’s never occurred to me. I know he takes her places, she tells me about it, so it’s not like they’re holed up and hiding away from the paparazzi.
“Exactly.”
“Are you saying I’ve been irrational?” I whisper the question, because holy shit, have I?
“No,” he answers, not an ounce of judgment in his tone or mocking. “You’ve been a mom.”
“We were so young,” I whisper, nearly choking on the words. “I was so scared. I didn’t want to fuck anything up.”
“I know.” He nods. “Frankly, we were too young, but life happens, and I wouldn’t trade Roe for anything.”
“I wouldn’t either.” Even though it’s been hard, and set my life on an entirely different path, I wouldn’t change it.
“Let’s eat and just leave the past where it belongs, okay?” I appreciate the fact that he’s giving me an out.
“Okay,” I agree.
We’ve hashed these things out many times before, and I suppose there really is no point in continuing to obsess over it. The past is the past and there’s no going back and changing it.
Spencer dishes me up a bowl of the pasta and grabs garlic bread out of the oven.
“Do you want to move to the dining room,” I ask him, ready to pick up my bowl and move.
“Nah.” He pulls out the stool beside mine. “This is fine. It’s cozier.” He winks. It’s true, though. It’s impossible for our arms not to brush with every small movement.
“Take a bite.” He points to my bowl. “Tell me what you think.”
I pick up fork and spear a bite even though my appetite appears to have fled thanks to our previous topic of conversation.
I chew and swallow down a bite, nodding in impressed surprise. “That’s delicious. Truly. You’re right that it’s better than restaurant alfredo.”
He grins, eyes twinkling with pleasure. “I’m glad you like it.”
When we’ve finished eating, he takes the dishes and rinses them before stacking them in the dishwasher.
My cellphone rings and my heart drops for a moment, but when I check it, it’s my mom calling so I know it’s Roe.
“Hello?” I answer, putting the phone on speaker.
“I’m going to bed, Mom, so grandma told me to call and say goodnight. So, goodnight!”
“Did you have fun today?” I ask her.
“Yeah, grandma and grandpa had a tea party with me with real tea. It tasted nasty, but it was fun.”
I laugh, unable to hide my smile. “That does sound fun.”
“We had cucumber sandwiches and treats.”
“That sounds like the best day ever.”
“Anyway, goodnight. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Sleep tight and be good for grandma in the morning, okay?”
“I’m always good in the mornings.”
We’ll agree to disagree on that one. “All right, I love you.”
“You already said that, Mom.”
I laugh. “Goodnight my little monster. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She hangs up the phone and I’m not surprised when Spencer’s phone rings immediately after. He answers and like me, puts it on speaker.
“Daddy!” she shrieks before he can answer.
He chuckles. “Hey, how’s my princess?”
“Good,” she sing-songs. “I had a tea party today with grandma and grandpa. I’m staying the night tonight.”
“Oh, that sounds fun.” He reaches across and grabs my hand, flipping it palm side up where he proceeds to trace over the lines there.
“It was. And we collected seashells.”
“I know that’s your favorite.”
“Yeah, can I add them to our collection?”
“Sure thing.” He grins. “Bring them with you next time.”
“Do you think mom would want to see my seashell collection?”
He chuckles, holding eye contact with me when he says, “I’m sure she would love that.”
“Cool. I’ll ask her.” She seems to set the phone down for a moment, talking to my mom. She comes back and says, “I’m going to bed. Will you read me a story?”
“I’ll always read you a story.” He pulls his hand away from mine and straightens, nodding for me to follow him upstairs. “Do you have a book in mind?”
“The ghost one.”
He chuckles, reaching back for my hand with his free one. “I should’ve known.”
We reach the top of the stairs, and he leads me straight into Monroe’s bedroom. I turn on the bedside light and he shoots me a grateful smile as he squats down at her bookshelf and pulls the requested book off the shelf.
We settle on top of her bed together and he says to her, “I have the book. Are you in bed and ready for the story?”
“Yep.” It sounds like she’s patting the bed covers. She stays in my old bedroom when she spends the night there and I smile picturing her there. “All ready.”
“And you brushed your teeth?”
She sighs heavily. “Grandma made me.”
He chuckles. “You have to brush your teeth, Roe. Oral health is important. We don’t want cavities.”
She sighs heavily. “Daddy, I didn’t call you for a lecture. I called you for my story time.”
“All right, all right,” he says, flashing me an amused smile.
He lays the phone on his chest and opens the book to the first page. I find myself smiling as he reads, making voices for the various characters. He’s awfully good at it and I foresee another career venture for him in voice acting.
When the story is finished, he closes the book and says, “Night, Roe. Daddy loves you.”
“Love you, too,” she replies in a sleepy voice. “Night, night.”
He hangs up the phone and sighs, angling his head toward me. “You look awfully cozy there,” he remarks about the way I’m curled up against him.
“What can I say? You have an excellent reading voice.”
He smiles down at me, but his eyes are serious. “You have no idea how much I’ve longed for this. You, here with me, in this house.”
“It hurts thinking of you lonely.”
He sighs, and tosses an arm behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.
“I don’t want you think that I’ve walked the halls of my home in despair, depressed, and pining all the time.
My life is … good. It’s not as full as I want it to be, and fair enough it does get lonely at times.
Especially in Hollywood, when it’s hard to tell who’s genuinely your friend, and who’s using you.
But Sean has become a good friend. And Liam. ”
“Liam Wade?” I clarify. “Your surfing hero?”
He laughs. “Yeah, that’s the one.” His arm that’s around me rubs gently against my shoulder.
“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, or to shoulder the burden like you think you’re solely responsible for my happiness.
You’re not. I bought this house for us, but I could’ve sold it.
I could’ve had sex with other women if I wanted. But I didn’t want to do those things.”
“I really can’t believe you haven’t been with anyone else.” I trace my finger along his bare chest. “That feels…” It’s hard to put into words exactly what it feels like. Knowing he cares that much about me that he hasn’t wanted to…
“I figured I’d move on eventually, but it’s been years, and it’s never felt right.”
I have no right to the way my chest squeezes painfully over the idea of him moving on from me.
For the longest time that’s all I wanted.
I thought it would be easier once he finally found a person, but I’m realizing now that it might never have felt right.
I don’t voice that though, because I don’t want to give him false hope when I’m already so conflicted about things.
“Come on.” He sits up, pulling me alongside him.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“To my bed.” He gets up and comes around to the other side of the bed, easily hauling me into his arms. “I’m not done with you yet.”