50. TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SIX
EDEN
“Mom, look! It looks just like home!” Macon bounces at the other end of the hallway, bags and shoes discarded by the front door in his haste to see Alex.
After I picked Macon up from school, I took him down to the Museum of Pop Culture to check out their new gaming exhibition, followed by dinner and a walk by the waterfront.
It’s at least an hour past Macon’s bedtime now, but the truth is, after all the shit that has happened over the past couple of months, I just needed some time with my favorite person in the world…
to find my footing again and remind myself what I’m doing this all for.
Of course, it had absolutely nothing to do with avoiding Alex. A mature woman who can handle the awkwardness of rejection, I am not—regardless of the fact that he clearly wants something more with me yet won’t allow himself to have it. Rejection is rejection, and it burns like a blade in the gut.
Thankfully, I’ve managed to hide my inner turmoil from my son. So well, in fact, that he spent most of the evening asking when we could go back to the apartment so he could play video games with the guy who just splintered my heart.
“Mom. Come on!”
I put his things away then follow apprehensively behind him, curious as to what has got him so excited. And then I freeze.
Because the bleakness of the old monochromatic decor has been transformed into soft pinks and creams. My bewildered gaze studies every soft furnishing, all of it brand new yet familiar enough in its style that I find something easing in my soul, like it’s releasing a sigh of relief to be surrounded by the feeling of home when it’s been feeling so lost recently.
Alex is standing behind the island, his hands resting on the countertop as he watches me take in the new space with his lip caught between his teeth. There’s what looks like a half empty bottle of lager in front of him and sleepless shadows under his eyes.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him since our conversation last night.
“What is this?”
Just last night, he was telling me that we could never be together, and now he’s redecorated his entire apartment to make it feel more like home for me. What have I missed? How did we get from that to this?
Sweatpants hang low from his hips as he moves around the island, pausing to greet Macon and ruffle his hair.
Then he steps up to me. There’s something so sad in his expression that I can’t stand to look at it, so I drop my gaze to the rosy vintage rug beneath my feet.
Warm fingers meet my chin, tipping it up until I’m forced to meet his eyes, and my wretched heart catches wings and takes flight.
“Do you like it?”
He’s so serious. There’s no hint of his usual playfulness, no flirtatious smile, not a wink of a dimple in sight.
“I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t want you feeling so alone.” He releases me from his heartrending stare to study his shoes.
“I know it’s not actually your stuff, but it would have felt weird to go into your apartment and bring it all here without you knowing.
I just… I thought, maybe, that it would help if you had a taste of home here while we finish…
you know, this thing we’re doing. And that it might be good for Macon too, to be surrounded by something familiar. ”
This thing we’re doing.
Faking feelings for each other that, evidently, aren’t all that fake at all—at least on my end.
But after what he told me last night, maybe on his end too.
It’s the cruelest form of torture, knowing that the only reason we can’t explore this thing between us for real is because he won’t allow us to.
“I hadn’t thought about what it must be like for you to be here—not really, not until you said what you did last night. And I know that I’ve drawn a line that I won’t let us cross, but that doesn’t mean that I want you to be uncomfortable while you’re here.”
I’ll just wait here, alone, in an apartment that isn’t mine, without any of my own stuff, while my son asks where you are.
That’s what I’d said last night. And while I’d meant every word, I didn’t expect him to do anything about it. Not like this.
But I should know Alex well enough by now to realize that he needs to take care of those around him. It’s instinct for him, as if his entire being has been crocheted out of yarns of kindness and protection, leaving him no choice but to constantly put himself out for the betterment of others.
Whether it’s buying the house next to his sister’s so he can be sure she’s safe, or cleaning blood off his bed sheets because I leaked during the night, or redecorating his entire apartment to make it feel more like home for me and my son.
He wouldn’t be Alex if he wasn’t doing something for somebody.
“So, do you like it? You can redo whatever you want. I’ll pay for it all, of course. Ah, who am I kidding? You probably hate it. Aspen said you’d appreciate the effort, but I knew you’d rather do it yourself. God, I—”
“Alex?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He sags like I’ve just removed an eight-hundred-pound weight from his shoulders. And finally, a glimpse of a smile peeks out from the corners of his lips. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until now. No matter how much I might be hurting, Alex doesn’t look right without his smile.
He raises an arm to scratch the back of his head, a small blush staining his cheeks. That’s new. He didn’t even blush when he came in his pants.
“So, I don’t need to retile?”
“No, you don’t need to retile.”
In my periphery, Macon bounds onto the couch and flops into the mauve throw cushions. “Alex, can we play Minecraft now?”
My head snaps toward him. “Buddy, it’s ten p.m. You gotta go to bed.”
“But I’m not even”—he pauses to release an enormous yawn, jaw stretching as wide as a hippopotamus—“tired.”
Alex snorts, lowering himself beside him. “Come on, kiddo. I’ll play with you tomorrow, yeah?”
My son blinks tired eyes up at him. “Promise?”
“Yep.”
“And you won’t break it?”
“Have I broken a promise to you yet?”
Macon shakes his head, gazing up at Alex like he hung the damn moon. “Can you put me to bed tonight?”
Pain and longing singes along my synapses, but there’s also gratitude. That, even temporarily, my son has experienced the type of warmth and dependability that he should have been shown by his own father.
“That’s up to your mom, big guy.”
I give a small nod of my head. “Get your pajamas on first and brush your teeth. You can come and get Alex when you’re done.”
Macon launches himself off the sofa with a squeal and trips over his own feet.
When I hear his door bang shut, I sink onto the ottoman in front of the couch and bury my head in my hands.
I can’t look at Alex. Not yet. Now that we’ve been left alone, the air is too heavy with all the words we shared last night and the ones I still wish I could say but can’t find the courage to.
Are you really not going to let us be anything because you’re scared of what might happen down the line?
What happened to make you so scared of love?
We could be so beautiful.
My son loves you.
I…
I stop myself before I can put that thought out into the universe.
“Eden?”
I hum in response but don’t look at him.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
I wish he was asking about more than taking Macon to bed. I wish he was asking if I’m okay with us keeping things the way they are, and I wish he’d change his mind if I told him the truth.
“I’ll keep the door open.”
How many other men would understand why leaving the door open is necessary and wouldn’t take it as a personal attack against their own character? Hell, how many other men would offer it themselves?
But that’s the best and worst thing about Alex.
There are approximately four billion, six hundred and seventy million men in this world, and not one of them is like him.