Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
Now
Alex
The first clue should have been what she was wearing. The second clue was the look on her face. The nervousness she exuded. The slight tremble to her hand as she fed Eden. All of the hundreds of clues were there, though none of them more pervasive than that fucking gut feeling.
I didn’t know how to do it, though. I didn’t know how to throw myself at her and beg forgiveness because yes, I’m fucking angry at her. Still. And yes, I fucking took it out on her. But I wasn’t using her. Never. I didn’t know anything was wrong until she said something.
The fucking sound of her voice. And the tears in her eyes. I wanted to kick my own ass. But I was only ever thinking of her. I was thinking abou t how much I loved her in the deli, how much I loved her singing lullabies to Eden. I was thinking about how I love her so much, she shouldn’t be anyone else’s, let alone two other fuckers. Both of whom I know personally.
The fact that Damian had her first… I can barely stand the thought of it now. But then Tommy, too? It’s like she did it just to spite me. And I’m fucking pissed. As I should be because she robbed us of six fucking years. And when she was saying my name last night, I was creating a new fucking memory over the one of her muffled moan through a closed door at the hand of someone else. At the hand of my best friend. When it should have been me.
I would have fucked her that night. I would have fucked her publicly at the goddamn oyster bar and gladly gone to jail. That’s how fucking sure I was about her. And I lied to Damian to get him off my fucking scent, and it backfired. Yeah, I fucking know.
I throw down the kitchen towel once the last pancake is pulled off the griddle and head upstairs. I check her closet, but nothing looks amiss. I check the bathroom and nothing. No, her toothbrush is gone. I walk into Eden’s room and find that all the drawers have been emptied. The suitcase is missing from her closet, too.
She just wasn’t going to say goodbye?
I practically fly down the stairs, grabbing the Jeep keys and a baseball hat.
She just fucking left?
I’m doing 70 in a 40, definitely going to jail if I get caught .
She doesn’t fucking love you. Obviously.
I slam on the breaks when a raccoon scurries out in front of me. You’re supposed to be nocturnal! I want to scream at the little shit.
She’s just using you.
And then I’m driving way too fast again.
She’d never want you.
“Shut the fuck up!” I yell at myself. At the voice that makes me feel like I am the son of Ray, and that’s all I’ll ever be.
At The Grounds, her car is parked out front and I double park right behind her. Though it’s not like I’m really gonna stop her if she wants to leave. Which obviously, she does.
I throw open the door, and the cold wind whips around the cafe and shop, blowing napkins and scattering disposable utensils.
Three strides. .8 seconds. That’s all it takes for me to get to her. I feel like shit because she actually looks scared.
“You’re leaving?” I try to temper my voice, but it’s fucking impossible. It’s just raw fear gnawing at words. She fidgets as I hover over her, and it must be domineering because she has to straighten her spine in order to find her resolve.
“Yes.” White-hot rage races against my spine.
“And you weren't going to tell me?” Why does Jess walking away from me feel like the actual end of the world all over again?
“No!” she shouts back. “So you could pretend to feel some sort of way about it? Guess what, Alex? You’re the only one pretending! It’s real for me, all of it, and it’s fucking killing me.” She looks like she might fucking cry. “I’m not her . I’ll never be he r . And trust me, I’ll walk away and it won’t be like her leaving, because I’m. Not. Her. The end.”
So she just gets to fucking leave? No skin off her back?
“No you certainly aren’t her. She would never leave without saying goodbye. You know what? I’m sorry I tried to help.” Fucking rue the day I ever talked to Jess. Because she’s done nothing but put me through a special kind of hell.
Turning to my sister, I tell her, “It’s not real for her either. She wouldn’t know the truth if it smacked her in the face. She tell you yet?”
“Yes, now shut the fuck up before you ruin everything,” Brit says to me coldly, but she doesn’t fucking intimidate me.
“Well, just in case, let me fast forward the process for you. That best friend of yours,” I nods towards her .
“Alex, stop—” Screw you, Jess.
“Yeah, her. Well, she fucked your husband.” Brit and Jess both gasp in shock. The woman sitting at the table closest to them also gasps in shock. Sandy slams a tray of pastries on the counter and it jolts me to a reality I want no part in.
You could say it was then. You could say it was shortly thereafter, but I knew. I’d gone too far.
If it’s not real for me, then why can’t I stop being mad at you? Why can’t I stop wanting to make you hurt? When is enough enough!? I want to scream all these things at her. But then Eden actually starts screaming. This gut-wrenching, horrid scream. Like some sort of fucked up symbolism for what I just inflicted on her mom.
It’s also a fucking wake-up call. It’s official. I’ve officially lost the last thing I had to lose. I take a step away, and then another. And then I’m gone.
Jess
Eden is screaming.
Loudly.
So loudly.
“Honey, hand me the baby,” a sweet sounding voice with a southern twang says, then lifts my child out of my numb arms.
Everything is numb.
“Jess?” My best friend's voice finds me. (Ex best friend?) I blink. And blink. And all I can think is ouch . That hurts. What hurts? Everything . Where? All over . Why? Because he hates me.
“Jess?” Brit’s hand takes mine and she rubs it back and forth over and over.
“I’m sorry.” I say it blandly. Not because I don’t mean it, but because I’m pretty sure I’m in shock and I can’t focus. And I can barely bring my eyes to meet hers.
“I know,” Brit says back in a soft, understanding tone. “I know you’re sorry.” She says again, while continuing to rub my hand. “Sandy, let’s get her a coffee!” Britain yells over to her mother-in-law.
And then Sandy is yelling at Jim. “Jim! Get this woman a coffee and a goddamn pastry already.” She says it like obviously the combination of the two things will make all of this better.
Who knows? Maybe it will. Maybe life is just that simple if you let it be. If you cut off the feelings and just accept who you are. (What you are.) And you just live simply, maybe a coffee and a pastry really can make it all better. (That’s called delusion, and honestly, maybe that’s where I am right now.)
A gruff-looking, cowboy-esque figure sets a steamy cup of coffee down in front of me, and also a weird looking sticky bun. He sees me eyeing it and says, “It’s a Queen-Ah-Mahn, dear.” And then he’s walking away.
“Brit,” I look at the woman still holding my hand. “I’m really sorry.”
She gives me a sad smile and says, “I know, babe. Drink your coffee, eat some food.” So I do. While she holds my hand, I take a sip. And then a bite. She holds my hand like that’s what's holding me together.
I think it is.
Sip. Bite. Repeat.
“He’s gone gone now, isn’t he?” I ask Brit after I’ve finished the pastry. She gets a sort of strange look, her mouth shoved off to the side.
“I’m afraid it’s just who we are, Jess. We’re runners.” I know.
This moment is like splicing a film. I mentally cut myself off from the Jess of a second ago to the Jess of now. The Jess of now has no clue about Alex and the pain that brings because I’ve mentally cut my life in two. W.A. and W.O.A. (with Alex and without Alex). Those are the two time periods I’m operating in, and we are firmly in the W.O.A. now. I may have thought I was before, too, but I wasn’t. That much is obvious.
“I’m sorry, Brit.” I say again .
“Stop saying it. I’ve known.” WHAT?
I slowly turn to face her head on, my face as white as a sheet.
“I knew the moment you stepped in my office. I hated you, but I was also so fucking curious about you, too.” My stomach is just one jumbled pit of sour feelings and bad decisions.
“Why did you let me work for you?” I ask her because in my mind, no self-respecting woman would put herself through that kind of torment. I know she’s a masochist, but…
She shrugs. “Honestly, it was for a lot of reasons. None of them are that great...”
“I need to know.”
“Okay, fine. I wanted to meet the woman who turned my husband's head. Thought maybe I could learn a thing or two from you. And then more ashamedly, I thought maybe me being jealous would be good for our marriage because at that point I had assumed he was cheating on me, or sort of wished he was because our marriage was in utter shambles.
And also, I needed a friend. And, if you turned out to be a terrible person, I could make your life miserable.” She tilts her head to the side, really examining me.
“But you weren’t a terrible person. You were a great friend. You pushed me to be better, and stronger, and you never gave Damian the time of day, at least in my company. And I fell in love with you.”
“Britain.” I’m crying. She’s crying, too.
She goes on. “He came home that night and told me everything. For as many things as Damian is, he was never not honest with me. He told me everything when it happened. With you. And honestly, learning how to forgive someone for something I could have done myself isn’t as hard as it seems. It’s just one foot in front of the other until, eventually, one moment, one day doesn’t define us. Or them. It’s just a blip. A fragment in time.”
“A snapshot,” I say.
“Yes! Exactly. And we wouldn’t throw someone away because of one bad photo, now would we?” We wouldn’t.
“You’re the best person I know, Brit.” I ugly cry. I mean, really. I’m sweaty. Hair is matted. Tears are rolling down my face and I can practically hear the plop they make when they hit the checkered tile floor.
“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m the best…I’ve been petty recently. I didn’t ask you to come to my wedding, I didn’t greet you when you moved here. I have to admit I was mad at you.”
“I know, and it was deserved.”
“Well, I don’t know that it was. Because I honestly thought you were lying to me about something much worse than you were. I thought you were cheating on Alex with Damian, and I was more angry for Alex than I was if you were sleeping with Damian.” She sort of laughs. “So, like the fact that you’re just friends, and I honestly think that’s a really beautiful thing to be with someone, I really don’t have a leg to stand on. And if it weren’t for the fact that you were engaged to Alex, I don’t think I would have cared at all if you and Damian were a thing. So as it turns out, I’m the asshole here.”
“You are hardly the asshole,” I scold her.
“Can we just agree to not keep any secrets? At all. Period. Please?”
“Agreed. ”
“Great,” she says with a certain finality to it.
“Well, then, I am almost 100% positive that your brother is the love of my life. And well, you know how that just ended.”
“I do. She rubs at my hand before continuing, “But things can change, things can happen. Just give it time.”
I shake my head at her sadly. “I can’t invest any more time into someone who loves someone else more than me.” Brit rears back slightly at my comment.
“And who else would he love?” Her brows are furrowed with confusion.
“His wife, Amy.” Duh. (The duh is implied in my tone.)
“Alex never loved Amy,” Brit says sort of quietly, but with utter confidence while shaking her head.
“What?” I ask, stunned.
“Tally was an accident from a one-night stand, and he was just trying to do the right thing. But they were miserable. Both of them.”
“You’re sure?”
“The day she died, she was leaving him. She was moving out.”
My world tilts on its axis.
Here’s the thing about a snapshot, a photo: it’s one dimensional. My favorite photo of Alex has always said the obvious things to me. About who he is. About what he must have felt. I assumed it was all grief. Not guilt.
Re-examining the picture, I can see it’s more guilt than grief. I think back to all the moments where I’d super-imposed a filter of Alex loving Amy over our interactions. Moments where I would have gone further, I would have been braver, but I held back because I saw him as a one-dimensional widower who could never love again.
I never saw the man who maybe was in love with me, and if I look back, I think maybe he was.
I shrug anyway, though, because bygones are bygones. What’s done is done. And to think we could come back after all this would be ludicrous.
The front door to the cafe opens, and my weak little heart beats double time before flatlining.
James strides into the cafe and nods over at me. “I’m ready when you are,” he says.
Brit looks between the two of us, confused.
“Yeah, so I anticipated this morning going differently,” I begin to explain. “Eden and I are supposed to fly to Taipei City this evening. James was my ride to the airport.”
“James, I mean this in the nicest way, but please get lost. Well, get a coffee and something to eat on my tab, and then I’ll see you later,” Brit says to the teen.
“Yes ma’am,” he replies breezily, then gives a fake salute before heading over to the counter to order.
“You are not going to Taiwan. I forbid it.” Brit physically and metaphorically puts her foot down.
“Brit, I’m running out of options. I can either go live in my mother’s apartment and work some shitty jobs and roll the dice on custody. Or, I can go live with ‘the dads’ and suck it up and at least know I’ll never have to worry about losing custody.”
“Uh-uh. No,” she says vehemently. “I can’t accept that for either of you. So no. You’re going to stay and work for me and Liam. You’re going to stay in the garage apartment until you can afford-slash-find your own place. And I will help you find and pay fo r the best family court attorney. And Damian will help, too.”
“Okay?” I say feeling uncertain.
“Okay?” She echoes me back, an eyebrow cocked.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” she says, then leans over and gives me a hug.