Chapter 7
Lily
““What exactly do you want from me, John?” I ask as I step into my office. I drop my bag on the desk and look at him as he strolls in behind me, his eyes shining with playful excitement.
“Come on, Lily, all I want is a date.”
“I am not interested. Like, I really do not want you in my life right now.” I let out a soft sigh and take a seat, half expecting him to get the memo and leave. But then, when has John ever not gotten his way?
He smiles, his gaze moving over me. “I want you in my life, baby.”
Before the word can even fully settle in the air, the door is pulled open.
Noah stands in the threshold, wearing a crisp white shirt.
He is holding a fresh bouquet of flowers, and tucked between the stems is the same white envelope from before.
He isn't looking at me. His gaze is locked on John, and John is staring right back at him.
“Hey,” Noah says, nodding once.
John looks from Noah’s face down to the flowers. “Hey, flower boy.”
I immediately swat John’s arm, but it is a mistake. I see Noah’s eyes drop to the exact spot where my fingers touched John's sleeve. When he looks back up at me, he tries to smile, but the expression is a visible strain on his face.
“Hey,” he says softly, his eyes softening a fraction as he looks at me. “I got you flowers.” He takes a single step forward. “Uh, yeah.”
His gaze falls back to my hand, which is still lingering near John’s shoulder. I pull my arm back instantly, dropping it to my side.
“Leave them there,” I tell him, pointing toward the cushions of the couch close to the door.
Noah nods. He makes a move to turn toward the hallway, and I catch the sight of his knuckles folded tightly into fists. He is angry; the tension is written clearly in his rigid stance. He pauses, turning back to face John.
“If you could excuse my wife and me,” Noah says slowly, his voice flat. “I have a few words to tell her about our kids.”
He tucks his hands into his pockets and stands his ground, staring John down. In the quiet of the room, there is no doubt about who holds the authority here. It is my husband. Part of me realizes I want him to be the one who wins.
“Leave us, John,” I say.
John finally tears his gaze away from Noah and turns back to me. “I could get you more flowers if you want, news princess.”
I look at Noah. The anger is radiating off him now, his jaw stony and hard, but I know him well enough to trust he won't lash out in the middle of the workplace.
“John,” I warn, my voice dropping.
John lets out a quiet grunt, turns on his heel, and walks out of the office.
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving the two of us in a sudden, thick silence. “So, you said you had something to say about the kids.” My voice disappoints me; the words come out almost breathless.
Noah steps closer, his gaze locked on mine. “We both know that is a lie, baby.”
A quiet sound catches in my throat. I look straight into his eyes, knowing exactly what he is doing. He said the word the way he always did when we were tangled in the sheets at night... a low, private murmur. I told him time and time again over the years how much I loved the sound of it.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
The brief smirk retreats from his face, replaced by something much older and more tired. “I am sorry,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “For not reaching out sooner. For not being there when you needed me to be. I am sorry.”
He shuts his eyes for a long second, his shoulders dropping. “I am sorry for not remembering your birthday. I am sorry for being absent, Lily. I know I have a lot to make up for.”
My throat feels completely dry. “Uh... God, I don't know what to say.”
Noah stares at me. The silence stretches between us, heavy and full of things we haven't said in over a year. He looks at me with tired eyes, the dark circles under them showing just how little he's slept since I left.
"I've missed you, Lily," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper that barely carries across the desk.
He shifts his weight, looking down at his shoes before finding my gaze again with a deep, crushing sadness.
"I've missed you at home. I know it's my fault you left.
I wish I could turn back the hands of time...
but I can't. I don't know what else to say. "
The pain behind his words hits my chest, but the anger follows right behind it. “You didn't chase after me,” I say, the accusation spilling out before I can stop it. “A year and four months, and you stayed back doing what?”
“I didn't know what to do,” he says, his posture tight with frustration. He turns toward the door as if he might walk out, then immediately wheels back around to face my desk. “I didn't know where to start. I was scared, Lily. I didn't want to mess up anything more than it was already.”
“The divorce papers, Noah,” I say, watching his expression shift the moment the word leaves my lips.
“No,” he says with absolute finality. “Oh, heaven knows I will never willingly sign that.”
“What if I want you to...”
The words hang in the air between us. I watch the anger drain from his face, replaced first by confusion, then by a deep, hollow sadness. The reality seems to dawn on him right there on the office rug... the actual possibility that we might never be husband and wife again.
He looks at me for one last, quiet moment. “I'll see you later, baby.” He turns and walks out.
I stare at the empty doorway, shaking my head. “Coward,” I say out loud to the room.
I stand up from my chair and walk over to the glass doors, looking out into the busy corridor to see if his white shirt is still visible in the crowd.
He is already gone. I turn back around, my eyes falling on the bouquet resting on the couch.
I walk over, lift the green wrapping paper, and pull the white envelope from between the stems.
Hurriedly, I return to my desk, slide into my chair, and unfold the paper. His handwriting covers the page.
***
Dear Baby,
Maybe we have forgotten, or maybe it's been a while since I said this to you... oh, it has been a while since I said this to you. 'Forever is a time I don't want to live in if you're not in it.' Cliche, I know, but that is exactly what I feel.
Uh, I lack words in this part. I am trying to conjure up reasons why I could forget your birthdays for as long as I did and move on like nothing ever happened. I feel like I don't even deserve your forgiveness. I feel as though... God, Lily, I am the worst, aren't I?
While you waited up for me, made a meal for me, gave a gift for me, got me so satisfied I went to bed at night... the least I could do was at least show up. But I didn't...
I pause, lifting the back of my hand to wipe away a stray tear before it can drop onto the ink. I blink against the moisture and continue down the page.
You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, aside from salvation.
A short laugh breaks through my tight throat. I know that line; it's a quote I used to tease him with during our first years together.
Baby, I know it's more about actions than words, but believe me when I say that I'm sorry. There's no excuse for my negligence or my absence. I have failed you on more counts than one, and you've been patient, until I caused you to exhaust that patience.
God, I miss you so much, darling. I don't know what came over me then, but I am disgusted with whatever that was.
I am seeing a counselor... a therapist. I don't know what to call him at this point because his ways are pretty unconventional.
But he has been helpful, and he made me remember a time...
a time when Dad died. I left you because I was afraid.
His death reminded me of a time when we didn't have anything, and I wanted so hard to never get back to that place.
So I accepted more media roles. More podcast invitations.
More data analysis work. I threw my head into investments, and then I think that was when I started getting used to the idea of success.
I started getting used to the knowledge of you being present, and not the actual reality of you being present.
I decided to minus an important role of yours in my life, which was the role of a friend, a confidante.
Simply because I was ashamed you would see me as incompetent.
And then I started confiding in another person, and without knowing it, it brought us closer because we shared information I was supposed to share with you first...
I wipe my eyes faster this time, the dampness sticking to my fingers. “Oh God,” I mutter to the walls. “He's ruined my mascara.”
Baby, I am sorry for this one. You stepping out of my life right now made me realize everything, and I will say with everything I have in me that I am sorry. And that I love you. I miss you. I still want you more than ever, baby.
Gosh, did I tell you that yesterday, even though you tossed the flowers in the bin, you looked so hot as you did that? Never mind that swine that dared to lay his filthy hands on you. But then, better his hand than the floor.
Take your time, baby. I love you.
PS: From here on, read this alone. Hopefully, you read the others alone, too.
Last night I lay awake thinking of your lips. I wish I could suckle on them... talking about things to suckle on...
***
The text ends right there, a sudden break in the paragraph where he clearly caught himself.
I shake my head, a genuine laugh escaping my lips despite everything. “Noah,” I mutter, leaning back into the leather of my chair and closing my eyes. I don't need to look in a mirror to know that his letter has made me smile again.
***
I sit on the kitchen counter, my knees tucked to my chest as I watch the television screen. It is a digital replay of the morning news broadcast, and my eyes are glued to the cadence of his mouth.
"You're watching him?"
I jump out of my skin, my heart hitting my ribs. My dad steps out from the hallway, his cardigan loosely buttoned.