Chapter Thirty-Four
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
SHE MADE ME A MAN
PRESENT
I t’s rare that Peter is able to surprise me. Even rarer that I’m unable to reach him.
So when he shows up on my doorstep this morning with two coffees in his hands, I wonder if he knows that Denise has the girls so I can run errands.
“They aren’t here,” I tell him. “I tried to call you and let you know but…” I shrug, trying not to rip his head off because what kind of parent goes missing in action?
“I know,” he says, having the decency to look contrite. “I’m here for you.”
I can’t help my anger. Peter left me to handle our children on my own. And while I was able to handle them, he signed up for this. He swore he was in this with me, whether we’re together or not.
Even if it was only for a week, he shirked his responsibility; reneged on his end of the deal.
I think about the promises we made each other at the altar all those years ago. I think about the promise I made to not tell Abraham .
I think of all the imperfections Peter has taken in stride, offering me the best of himself, even when I didn’t deserve it.
And I think about how it wasn’t enough for me.
I just want someone to love me big.
So big, I could float in the vastness of it.
I step aside to let him in, grabbing the coffee he holds out for me.
It’s a comfort, having someone who knows you well enough to know your coffee order. This is a learned thing, something I will miss.
But now it’s time for me to get my own fucking coffee.
“I’m sorry,” he tells me as we walk inside. He veers off to the living room and I follow him in, choosing to sit in the armchair while he settles on the couch. “It wasn’t my intention to leave you on your own, but I needed…time.”
I nod, setting the paper cup on the coffee table.
“Was your time able to give you what you needed?” I ask him, wondering where we now stand. If we’re going to maintain our peaceful separation and amicable co-parenting arrangement or if he fucking hates me.
“I think so,” he answers, tilting his head as he looks at me through thoughtful eyes. “I realized a lot.”
“Like?”
Like this was a mistake. Like I fucking hate you. Like I wish I never met you.
“Like I was willing to try to smother you with love just to keep you. I was willing to do things I didn’t like, things I never thought I could, just to make it work.” He tilts his head back to look at the ceiling and I pause, realizing how he feels so foreign in my home now. I never thought we’d get here.
“Isn’t that supposed to be love?” I think out loud.
“Ah, see, that’s where the lesson is. It’s only love if both parties are willing. Otherwise, it’s just…doom?” He offers a smile, but it isn’t his usual one.
I don’t know what to say to him. How to make this better. And maybe I’m not supposed to. Maybe this is what divorce is.
Things won’t ever be the same. We just work with whatever we have left.
And now it’s time for me to share my last secret.
I just hope he doesn’t take this as badly as the last one.
“He’s here because I told him about her,” I confess, my shoulders sagging although the brunt of my harbored secret leaves my body.
I watch as his shoulders match mine. He glances up at the ceiling again, as if the answers are there somehow before he looks at me. Another sad smile is all I get for a moment. I try not to focus on the way his eyes fill for a moment before he pinches the bridge of his nose.
These are his children. They’ve been his children since they were born. And that will never change.
But we need to have this uncomfortable conversation so we can finally move forward with no more secrets.
“Of course you did. That’s who you are,” he says with a nod, clearing his throat before speaking again. “I understand why you did.” Across from me, he wipes away a tear and I don’t quite know what to say.
Before I can attempt to fill the silence, he says, “I had no right to ask you to keep her from him. And my presence isn’t dependent on that. They’re my children.”
We sit there, our coffees getting cold, the air still between us. This feels like an end. Like a goodbye.
“He should meet her,” he starts, his eyes shining with more tears. “She made me a man. Maybe she’ll do the same for him.”
Without another word, he stands. I can’t look at him as he walks away.
And when the door closes behind him, I let out a sob.
I hurt a good man.
It’s something I don’t think I’ll ever get over .
I reach out for my phone, unable to see clearly through my tears. But somehow, I find Abraham’s name in my phone, and I call him.
He picks up on the third ring.
“We need to talk,” I tell him, trying to hide the tears in my voice.
“Where are you?” he asks me, the sound of voices around him fading as I assume he finds a quiet space to talk.
“Home.” I don’t have to tell him where “home” is, having received four checks from him over the years at this address.
“I’ll be there in a half-hour,” he tells me, and I hang up, unable to keep my tears in check.
I burned down my life. I ripped apart my family.
And even before then, I aimed to hurt Abraham just because he’d hurt me. Often, I wondered how he felt when he woke up and saw I was gone. I wondered how many times he called my name before he realized I was gone. I wondered if he debated on trying to call or text before deciding it was best to leave us in the past.
Had he lost himself in this the way I had? The way I continue to do so, even though we had such a short love affair.
I think we know when things are meant to be, even when they’re fleeting.
We let ourselves lose our minds in it a little.