Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Jess
“Brit, do you mind just checking on Eden real quick? She’s being too quiet.” I turn to her and ask.
“Okay, sure.” She gives me a look that says just yell and I’ll be right back.
The hand on my hip spins me as soon as Brit clears the room. Nooo . Face to face is bad for me and Alex. I lose willpower and my autonomy when he can see me and I can see him.
Before he gets a chance to say anything I blurt it all out. “You hurt me. You think I’m a liar and a bad person. You’ve never even asked me out on a date. You don’t love me. And you think you’re so much better than me. I have $500 in my checking account that has to last me till the end of the month. You don’t know me and I don’t know you. And I’m still married to another man. Plus, you really fucking hurt me in case that wasn’t clear at the start. ”
“Okay, what was all that?” he asks.
“It’s the things I should have said to you when you asked me to marry you for the first time. And nothing’s changed. So, it’s all the reasons why I won’t and can’t marry you now.” I try to turn back around to make coffee, but he won’t let me.
“Well, you’re fucking wrong,” he says. I try to turn away from him again, but this time he has both hands on my hips and he’s shoved me against the counter, his body pressing in against mine.
“About what part?” I ask too quietly, and too afraid to look him in the eyes.
“Come home and I’ll tell you,” he whispers.
“I don’t have a home,” I whisper back.
“Shut the fuck up, Jess,” he says, and then his mouth is on mine. His warmth bleeds into me, liquid heat running straight from my mouth to my groin. A hand leaves my hip and is up in my hair. And his tongue is diving and plundering my mouth and it’s like the kiss from July all over again.
With a sharp bite against the corner of my mouth, he pulls back barely a centimeter to whisper across my lips, “Did you know you’re the only woman I’ve ever kissed, Jess?” I can feel his heartbeat in his thumb as he holds my cheek.
It’s racing.
So is mine. But there’s the part of me, the logical part, that’s screaming at me like I’m an idiot. Nobody kisses like that when they’ve never kissed before. I don’t know how many women he’s been with, but when you look like him, I’m going with a lot.
And then there’s the sap in me that says, that fucking means something. This fucking means something to him .
“Don’t lie to me, Alex. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.” I say it sincerely.
“This is real. Me and you. Please come home.” I shake my head and he rests his forehead against mine in turn. “What do I need to do?” I shake my head again. There’s nothing he can do. I think maybe there is such a thing as too messy. I think maybe too much has happened, too many wrongs that we’ll never be right.
“Nothing. Just leave me alone.”
“Can’t,” is all he says.
“It’s what I need.”
“It’s not,” he replies.
“You don’t know me, Alex.”
“I know that your favorite colors are black and brown. I know your favorite movie is actually The Godfather , but you tell people it’s Casino because you don’t want to seem basic and at least with Casino you can say it’s because of Sharon Stone.
I know that you sing your daughter classic Beatles songs at bedtime because that’s what your Dad used to sing to you. I know Christmas is your favorite holiday because gift giving, not receiving, is how you show love.
I know that your favorite perfume is Flowerbomb because I couldn’t get the fucking scent out of my head and I actually went to the store and smelled hundreds until I found it and then bought it so I can smell you whenever I miss you.
And I know that you’re a pjs girl. But ironically, nine times out of ten you’re actually commando in broad daylight. Shall I check now?” No because I’m not wearing any underwear. I give a quick shake of my head.
“And I know that you go to Serendipity when you’re in New York at least once a week because you saw the movie and dreamed of having a real-life meet cute which is why I wanted to propose to you there. And I know that The Parent Trap is your comfort film because the parents get together in the end, and you always wanted that for your dad and mom even though, again, you claim it’s for aesthetics.”
“And you’re not a crier,” he wipes a tear off my cheek, “but I seem to make you cry quite a bit, don’t I?” I nod. Then sniffle. “Can I take you out for breakfast, please?”
“Umm, that depends,” I say, then sniffle again.
“On…?”
“Well, are you asking me out on a date?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, yes? Or okay and no?”
“Okay, yes.”
And then he’s kissing me again.
It’s just a date. A casual breakfast date.
I’m nervous, but also feel like I should be more nervous. Somehow this feels normal, though I have to admit I wish he would’ve changed first.
“I still have to work today,” I tell Alex who’s driving us to The Grounds.
“No problem, I have a bunch of stuff to do today anyways.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, “Like breaking up with your girlfriend?”
“What?” He gives me a wild look .
I motion up and down his body. “You’re telling me you put this look together?” He’s still wearing the black pants that are cut Italian-style with a (most likely cashmere) long-sleeved polo.
“Believe it or not, these clothes are actually old. And I picked them out myself.”
“I don’t believe you.” I don’t.
“I don’t like this look, but it’s how Europeans dress, and we just flew in yesterday, and I haven’t had a chance to change…” Oh .
“Oh, well, you clean up nice.” I try to say it without instinctively looking down at whatever the fuck it is you’d call what I’m wearing. It basically equates to a trash bag, though.
“I missed you.” He just says it. He just puts it out there and I feel myself blush uncontrollably. And my stomach drops in excitement.
I missed him, too, but I also think it’s hard to miss something you’re not really sure you’ve ever had. I did miss the tender moments. The way he touched me, when he did. But it was so short, I’m not sure there was enough worth missing.
I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. (That’s weird.) “What did you miss?” I’m not fishing. I’m curious.
He reaches across the car taking my hand in his and says, “I missed sleeping next to you. And hanging out with you. And I missed the time we could have had together, but didn’t…I’m sorry.”
“For what?” This I need to hear.
“For hurting you. And blowing up. And for the things I said to you and Brit.”
“Why did you do it then?” He drops my hand at the question and the saliva in my mouth sours .
“Because I was mad at you.” That’s a stupid answer. And a basic one, too.
“Why were you mad at me?” I ask, because this is it. We’re going to get to the bottom of it.
“Because you shouldn’t have fucked my best friend!” There it is. And just like he does, he reverts. He retreats. He turns icy and it’s like all the warmth gets sucked right out of the room. (Well, the cab of the car.)
Testing the waters, I reach out my hand towards his and he moves out of my reach. Just like I knew he would. Silly me had dared to hope anyway.
“Okay, please take me back to Brit’s.” I say, not looking at him, just facing straight ahead.
“Jess, come on,” he pleads.
I shake my head. “You’re never going to get over it, and I don’t want to do this. You might know me better than anyone else. You might make me feel like I’m high as a fucking kite, but you also make me feel like a piece of shit. And I’m not. I’m not a shitty person.
I made a mistake and so did you, but the difference is that I don’t let it define me. And I won’t spend the rest of my life arguing my case just to be iced out over and over. I can’t be with someone who wants to hurt me just so they have an excuse to run. So please, turn around and take me back.”
He slows down and makes a quick U-turn, but he doesn’t say anything. That took a lot for me to fucking say, and does he say anything back? Nope . Not even “I don’t think you’re a shitty person.” So I guess that means he does, huh? I have to clasp my hands together in front of me to keep them from trembling.
It’s funny how just one moment can change everything. One wrong decision. One wrong word. It can change and shape the rest of your life. That one wrong thing could make you miserable for the rest of your fucking life. And it’s clear to me, Alex plans to hold on to that pain as tightly as he can for as long as he can, even if it means he’s miserable. In fact, I’d bet that’s where he thrives.
I hate to break it to you, friends, but love doesn’t always conquer all. In this case, (whether he loves me or not) he’ll never be able to forgive me. He can’t put one foot in front of the other and realize that night will never even round up to .001% of our lives. But it’s like he never learned how to forgive, and therefore he’ll be stuck in this vicious loop forever.
But I won’t, because I was raised to have at least a modicum of self respect. I know my worth. And I’m worth way more than an existence that would have me constantly circling the drain with Alex.
And just like I expected, he doesn’t say anything the rest of the drive.
When we pull back up to Brit’s, I garner all the strength I’ve been keeping in reserves. I call on my ancestors, I send up a little prayer to God (the gods, whoever it is) for strength. Without looking him in the eyes, I tell him what I’ve known, and thought, and felt for years, because no regrets. (Right?)
“I love you, Alex.” I watch for a reaction. I wait for a response.
When he doesn’t give me a single thing back, I get unbuckled. “Please don’t call me or text me or come see me. And please return Brit’s car.”
I slip out of the front seat, open the back door and unbuckle Eden who is just saying “Go, go?” on repeat .
“Not today, pumpkin,” is all I say, then I close the door and he drives away.
And that’s officially our end. (It’s not the ending you imagined now, is it?)
I walk into Brit’s house in a daze. I ask her to watch Eden for ten minutes, and I think she says yes because she takes her out of my arms.
I walk out the back deck and down the 25 stairs to where their dock juts out into the lake. I stand at the edge of it and embrace the cold wind coming at me off the water. In fact, I lean into it. And then I scream.
There’s so much pain and hurt and anger, and it’s all just sitting in and around my heart, crippling it. Crippling me . I am not this person.
So I scream because it hurts.
I scream because I can’t cry over him anymore.
I scream because I can’t get lost at the bottom of the bottle.
And I scream because it’s final.
I only stop screaming when my voice breaks. So I sit on the dock, knees into my chest, and rock back and forth until eventually Liam drapes a blanket across my shoulders. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t stay. But there’s a solidarity there. An understanding when you feel like you might have given it your all and still missed the mark.
I sit out on the dock looking at the gray morning sky. No sun (it’s fitting). And I promise myself, for myself and for my daughter, that the next time the sun comes out, I’ll be fine.
I won’t be over it. I won’t be better, but I’ll be fine.
It’s the Friday before Christmas and the sun has decided to grace us with its presence. So I shower, blow dry my hair, put on some concealer to hide the bags, and throw a merry-fucking-smile on my face. To top it all off, I’ve got on my ugly Christmas sweater, too.
With the dads arriving today, I take a deep breath in and out and repeat mentally: I will be fine. I am not good. I am not better, but I am fine. I will be fine.
Liam offered to pick them up from the airport, but I said I’d do it. It’ll give me a chance to tell them they’re actually staying at Brit’s and not, well, not…mine and Alex’s house. Alex . I don’t really let myself think about him. Not since the day at the dock, really. (The holidays are good for helping you stay busy like that.)
I’d asked May to come as an added buffer around the dads, but her and Ellen had already made plans to visit her kids. It stung, but I got over it because I’ve maybe been a shit daughter lately, and May deserves to be happy, too.
You deserve to be happy also. I do. I will. (Just get comfortable. It might be a couple years.)
I’m leaving Eden with Brit and the girls because the dad’s flight gets in right at naptime, and it just doesn’t make sense to rock that kind of boat today. So as soon as Eden wakes up, I’ll change her, make a bottle and head next door.
I throw a piece of sourdough in the toaster and wait. Jam or just butter? I open the fridge and get lost in what feels like the biggest question I’ll face today. Strawberry jam or blackberry jam? (Second biggest question I’ll face today.)
Shrill-sounding yelling has my stomach twisting with nervousness. It’s Brit .
I slam the fridge shut and run to the front door, pulling it open.
“How could you!?” she yells. Alex says something in return, but it’s too quiet and I can’t hear. I look at the driveway to see a Maybach idling. Huh, that’s not really his speed. And because I can’t help myself (and because I think I already know), I slowly step down the stairs. The whole time, I’m willing there to be a different outcome, but it’s like I already know.
When I get to the foot of the apartment stairs, I can see the whole car now and in the passenger seat, sitting like a princess, is some cute blonde. She sees me so I give her a polite wave. And she smiles and waves right back.
I turn back to look at my best friend and her brother because they’ve stopped arguing now and are both just staring at me. And I don’t know what my face must look like, but I’m going to go with horrified. At best. Terrified at a minimum. However I must look, it’s being reflected back at me by those two.
I loved you, flits through my mind lightning fast.
This is how the story goes, right? I always knew I wasn’t the princess in the tower. I guess I didn’t fully realize I was the wicked witch, or maybe the evil step sister. But as it turns out, I was just the supporting cast all along.
My mom senses kick in and I know I have to go. Eden’s probably up by now. So I try to moderate my steps back upstairs. Not too fast, not too slow. (Look at me, I’m normal. I’m fine!) As soon as I open the door, I hear Eden crying. Yup . I pick her up, hold her tight to my chest, and I rock her, soothing myself probably more than I’m soothing her.
“We’re okay. We are going to be just fine,” I tell her in the softest voice I can muster. And then I tell her again. And again.
A gentle knock at the front door sends my heart racing and my thoughts spiraling. It’s not him, is it? It’s Brit. That gentle knock belongs to Brit.
Eden and I walk to the door, and I’d be lying if I said my hand didn’t shake the whole way there. I open the door and my stomach rolls because it’s not Alex. It was supposed to be Alex. I know I told myself it was Brit, but that was me trying to temper my expectations. But it’s Brit with a completely shit look on her face.
I shake my head, begging her not to tell me.
“He got married.” Of course he did. “I’m so sorry, Jess.”
Still in an oversized robe (probably Liam’s), Brit ushers me away from the door, but I step around her to see the Mercedes that cost more than most people’s homes pull out of the driveway.
You knew it was over, Jess. You knew it was final. I guess I’m still somehow shocked that was true…
The cold stings my bare feet on the top stair, but I can’t bring myself to step away. To lose sight of his car.
“W-why did he get married?” I ask, again dazed. Thunderstruck . Ravaged .
“Said he was wasted in Vegas and decided to take the plunge.” That’s fucking stupid. Men are fucking stupid. And Alex would never do something that wasn’t calculated or strategic. No. I bet he wasn’t even drunk.
“I’m sure they’ll be wildly happy, won’t they?” I say. Not to Brit, just more so to the universe. The universe will confirm it for me. (I don’t doubt it because this is someone else’s fairytale, remember? )
“I’m sorry, Jess. I just wanted you to hear it from me.”
“Uh huh.” I walk back into my crappy apartment (it’s not actually crappy, but I’m feeling pretty sorry for myself right now) and I make a bottle for my daughter.
“When is it too much?” I lean against the counter, hoping it will help keep me standing.
“When is what too much?” Brit asks, worrying her hands together.
“When do you hit your threshold and you know you can’t take anything more and that the only next logical thing is death? Because I don’t think I can take anything more. I’m maxed out on life, Brit.” There’s no tears which is oddly reassuring, but then again it’s a knife deep in the kidneys knowing that it was really, officially, and forever done for him and me.
“Okay, give me Eden.” She takes the bottle and the baby from me. “It only feels like the end right now. It will get better. You have us.”
“You have your own family, Brit. I have to find my own.” Do villains get their happy endings?
“No, you don’t. You are our family. Not him, don’t count him.”
I shake my head at her. “Don’t say that, he’s your brother.”
“After today...” she trails off.
“He is. And he wanted this. Clearly. We would have been miserable together anyways.” Brit rests her head on my shoulder as I stare out into the abyss, wearing my thrifted ugly Christmas sweater and that same pair of $6 leggings.