Spring Romance: NINE Happily Ever Afters

by Tessa Bailey

  Execution, too. Rejection sounds so impersonal spoken in a second language, as if it’s just another lesson you need to learn. It’s almost pretty.

  “We were young. You—you became obsessed with the children. You stopped paying attention to me, Nick. You were just a roommate suddenly. Up all night with the babies, arguing with me that they couldn’t be left to cry themselves to sleep, telling me that we didn’t need to go out, that the babies needed us more.”

  “Because they did!”

  “And meanwhile, my womanhood withered on the vine. You looked at me like a mother. Not as a desirable woman. Not as a romantic partner.”

  “Because you were a mother! My God, Simone, you gave me the three greatest gifts of my entire life. You gave me my life’s purpose! I loved you even more for that.”

  “I wanted to be your life’s purpose. Can’t you see? I gave you children and you cast me aside as if you were done.” Her eyes flash with indignity, as if my words are weapons designed to hurt, rather than explain.

  She never gave me a chance fifteen years ago.

  This time, I’m taking that chance.

  “No. No, Simone. You can’t re-write history. That is not what happened. I wanted to find deeper love with you by raising those beautiful children. Our children. With you. We were supposed to find even more love by creating them. Not less. You don’t get less from me because they get my love, too. The only way to make that happen is to leave. And you did. You took your love away from me. From them. You don’t get to make me the bad guy here. I didn’t cast you aside. You cast me aside.”

  “Nick, I—”

  “You chose Rolf.”

  “Oh, please, this tired argument? It was a fling, and then—”

  “But long before you chose Rolf, you chose yourself. You showed your true self to me, and I loved it. Loved you. But once you weren’t the center of my world—the only center—you couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t share, could you? You’ll never, ever know what it’s like to have that deeper sense of love, the purity and divine that comes from giving more than you know you can give.”

  The air crackles as if I’d slapped her.

  “How dare you. The children love me.”

  “They do. They love you more than you’ll ever know. They miss you, too, Simone. Miss you deeply. I’m the one who had to make excuses for you for years. Why Maman didn’t visit more. Why she didn’t call. All the didn’ts. Why didn’t Maman this. Why didn’t Maman that….”

  “We talk! I have a good relationship with my children!”

  “Of course you do, because they still crave the love they never got! But you might as well be Aunt Simone. You have a surface level relationship with them, and you’re damn lucky for that. They extend you a courtesy. You chose Rolf over them.”

  Over me.

  “Va te faire voire!”

  “You always shouted that whenever I spoke the truth, Simone.” A bone-weary tiredness begins to replace rage. She’s diminishing before my eyes, all surface, no depth. All shell, no interior. Instead of making herself vulnerable, trying to find a more authentic truth in the past we share, she needs to win.

  “We can’t all be saints like you, Nick.”

  And there it is.

  “Never pretended to be one, Simone. All I am is one man.”

  “All you are is a father.” Her lips curl up in a snarl. A smear of burgundy lipstick mars one cuspid.

  “Is that supposed to be an insult?”

  “It means you’ve chosen not to be whole.”

  “Said by the woman whose sense of self is created by the man she’s with.”

  “Then we’re two of a kind, Nick, because your sense of self comes from being a father.”

  “No. Fatherhood connected me. But it didn’t define me. I define me. No one else can do that.”

  Real fear flickers in her eyes. She drops her hand from her ear, lips tight, nose wide with fury as she snatches her purse off the table by the door.

  “You can explain to the children. Explain to them why I cannot be there today.”

  “Won’t be the first time. I’m a pro at it.”

  Her shocked look quickly turns to utter fury. “You asshole.”

  I deserve that. Doesn’t make my statement untrue.

  “I’ll have them text you. They’re adults. I won’t be your go-between any longer.”

  “You’re really going to ruin this?”

  “This… what?”

  “This chance. I came here to try to re-ignite the spark between us.”

  “I thought you came to support Amelie at her concert.”

  She laughs through her nose, the sound irritatingly painful, like a paper cut. “You are so singular. I can accomplish both with one task.”

  “Task?”

  “Don’t do this, Nick. Don’t analyze my words and give them more meaning than they have.”

  “I’m a task? Your daughter is a task?”

  “I won’t let you do this, Nick.”

  “Do what?”

  “Make me feel less.”

  “Maybe we have more in common than I thought.”

  She blinks, hard, hope filling her face. “Yes?”

  “Because I won’t let you make me feel like less of person either, Simone.”

  And with that, I leave her alone in my townhouse, walking away, abandoning her.

  Because I know exactly where to find more.

  * * *

  Chloe

  “It’s not what you think,” he said.

  That’s what they all say.

  I shouldn’t turn around and look, but I do.

  He’s gone.

  The heavy pain in my chest has radiated out to every cell and nerve in my body. My fingernails hurt. My eyelashes ache. I keep moving forward, because what else can I do?

  That’s what they all say. But I thought he was different.

  As we approach the turnstile at the T entrance, I automatically reach in my pocket for the card case where I keep my Charlie card.

  Nothing. The pocket is empty. In fact, my hand goes right through the cloth.

  Shit.

  That ripping sound on the doorstep.

  Now what?

  Oh no no no. Please no. Not a walk of shame all the way back to Nick’s. Not hunting around the front of the house in full view of anyone who might be looking.

  NOT—please NOT—having to knock and borrow cab fare if the card case is not there.

  If it were just me, I could suck it up and walk all the way home. But I can’t do that with Holly. And it’s not just my T pass that’s missing, it’s my driver’s license, my debit card, my O access card. I have to try to find them.

  I turn around. I have no choice.

  The streets are not as crowded, now that lunchtime is over. We make better time. And Holly, my good girl, stays sound asleep. I don’t care if she’s up till midnight, just let her stay asleep now. Has anyone considered nominating the inventor of the binky for a Nobel Peace Prize?

  At the foot of Nick’s street, I pause and pull the hood of my jacket over my head. I’m already wearing sunglasses. This subterfuge will certainly prevent me from being noticed. A panting and disheveled woman hauling an orange Italian baby stroller up a somnolent and otherwise dignified Beacon Hill street is practically invisible, right?

  I take a deep breath. Once more unto the breach, dear friends. Once more.

  Summiting the peak, I set the stroller’s brakes and commence my search. Nothing on the steps or the sidewalk. I inspect the ground closer to the house.

  One of the windows above my head is cracked open, just an inch or two. Classic New England style, gotta have fresh air, even in autumn weather. I hear voices inside, but very faintly. That’s good—if they’re in the back of the house, they won’t see me skulking around here. No card case in sight. I’m about to move to the other side of the steps when the voices rapidly get louder.

  I freeze.

  Nick’s voice is cold. “They’re adu
lts. I won’t be your go-between any longer.”

  Then a woman’s voice that can only belong to Simone. “You’re really going to ruin this?”

  I’ve got to get away from here.

  They must be standing right by the window. If I move, I’ll draw their attention.

  If I move, I won’t hear what they’re saying.

  “This… what?”

  “This chance. I came here to re-ignite the spark between us.”

  My stomach turns over.

  “I thought you came to support Amelie at her concert.”

  She laughs. “You are so singular. I can accomplish both with one task.”

  “Task?”

  “Don’t do this, Nick. Don’t analyze my words and give them more meaning than they have.”

  “I’m a task? Your daughter is a task?”

  “I won’t let you do this, Nick.”

  “Do what?”

  “Make me feel less.”

  “Maybe we have more in common than I thought.”

  “Yes?”

  “Because I won’t let you make me feel like less of person either, Simone.”

  I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t. But my heart surges in Nick’s favor, as if it’s cheering for him. His voice is tight, full of anger and regret, emotions he’s never shown me, and a tiny piece of me is jealous.

  Jealous that his ex can elicit that kind of reaction from him.

  Why do I want men I can’t have?

  Suddenly the wind rustles a small pile of dead leaves in the corner, and I see a silvery sheen underneath the brown. My card case! I bend down, and just as my fingers close on it, the front door opens fast and slams shut. I look up to see Nick come shooting out the door and down the steps, but he isn’t expecting a baby stroller to be parked directly in his path, and he runs right into it.

  Nick trips, and regains his balance. But the force of his stumbling into the stroller jolted Holly awake. She bellows as he rights the carriage, reflexes kicking in with military precision, the baby never in danger.

  He looks around and sees me. He is completely vulnerable, a thousand emotions flashing through his strong face, a rawness to his movements and expressions I’ve never seen before.

  I hold my breath from the intensity.

  I was wrong.

  I guess I can elicit that kind of reaction in him.

  “Come on,” he says, and takes off down the hill, pushing my daughter with him, holding on to the carriage like it’s a lifeline.

  What else can I do?

  I follow.

  * * *

  Nick

  Holly stares up at me from her stroller with eyes that trust the world.

  Chloe looks at me with eyes devoid of trust.

  Half-blind with rage, shaking like I’m primed for battle, I navigate the sidewalks, moving the carriage around trash bins and recycling containers, until we’re on our way to a park down the street. I need air. Space. Land.

  “Nick!” Chloe gasps from behind. “Slow down!”

  I’m half a block ahead of her, the baby beneath me in the stroller, her little fists settling on top of her blanket, eyes closed.

  I stop and close my eyes. I see my pulse, like a visual bass drum, the colors behind my eyelids a symphony in blood.

  “Here.” She peels my fingers off the handle, taking my place, one hand on the stroller, the other slipping Holly’s exposed hands under the thick blankets. Chloe rights the baby’s pacifier and moves forward, eyes straight ahead, not looking at me.

  “Can we talk?” I ask, realizing I haven’t extended that basic respect to her. The image of Simone’s self-satisfied smirk won’t leave me.

  “What’s there to talk about?” she asks, facing me dead on, eyes accusing.

  Everything.

  “Plenty.”

  She nods, slowly, blinking hard as if fighting tears. Her cheeks go pink in the cold, or maybe that’s from anger. It’s hard to tell.

  “Yes. But let’s be civilized and do it with caffeine and carbs in front of us.”

  Chloe steers the carriage toward a little coffee shop with a doorway just wide enough to fit the stroller. One step up and we’re in. I order two lattes and can’t get Chloe’s attention, as she soothes a fussing baby. Biscotti and coffee will have to do.

  The savagery inside me diminishes as these civilized transactions take place. Pleasantries, directions, the exchange of money and food, and the walk to the table carrying a tray all require parts of my brain that aren’t warrior mind to function.

  As I sit, my leg taps with nervous energy. Haven’t done that since I was a teen. The coffee scalds my throat but the pain feels good. Focused.

  And I’m the Focus Man, right?

  Chloe’s slipping away from me. I feel it, a physical tug, like someone’s cutting a rope that ties us to each other. Not Simone, not Joe – some other force, intangible and unnamed. If you can name a demon, you can vanquish it.

  Let it remain without definition and it thrives on chaos.

  I struggle to say the right words. The right line. The magic phrase that clears up the mist of confusion that clouds Chloe’s face.

  Instead, I torture my throat with more scalding coffee and tap my leg like an idiot.

  Holly cries.

  Chloe fumbles.

  And we drift further.

  I reach for the baby, to offer some help, but Chloe shakes her head, blinking hard, this time to hold back tears that won’t stop.

  My tapping stops.

  “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  She looks up sharply. “Are you so sure?”

  I jolt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Your ex still wants you.”

  “I had no idea. None.”

  “Please.” Her look cuts me to the bone. “You’re a smart guy. You had to know.”

  I stay silent. Finally, I open up. I have to. It’s only fair.

  “Simone’s been here for two days.”

  Chloe looks up sharply. “Two days?”

  “She came for Amelie’s senior concert.”

  I watch the calculations in Chloe’s eyes. I can almost see timelines that look like a stock ticker, numbers shooting past. “The other night, when you came over. She was here?”

  I nod.

  “Your booty call—”

  “Don’t call it that,” I snap. “It was anything but.”

  “You were escaping her?”

  One end of my mouth curls up. “I needed to see you.”

  “It’s meet the ex-wife day,” she says with a long sigh. Holly’s crying, the sound piercing, and Chloe bounces her on one knee, grabbing her coffee with a desperate hand. “Two in one day. I’m not sure what I did in a prior life to deserve this, but it must have been bad.”

  “Two ex-wives?” The cloud of confusion just thickened.

  “Long story,” she says, her mouth twisted in pain. Her coffee must be as hot as mine.

  Holly’s screaming goes up a notch.

  I start tapping my leg again.

  This is too much.

  “I want to hear it.”

  Chloe’s attention is split between me, the baby, her coffee, and the unsuccessful attempt to stop tears from flowing down her cheeks. Ten minutes ago, I was yelling at my past.

  Now I’m listening to my present scream.

  What sound does the future make?

  “I—”

  Holly won’t stop crying. Chloe’s eye dart to mine, then close, twin tears rolling down her face. Like someone is slowly rolling my gut inside out, I tighten, curling inward, turning to granite.

  Inaction is unacceptable.

  “Let me hold her,” I insist.

  Chloe clings to the baby. “No.” She stands, upsetting the plate of biscotti, one sliding to the ground and cracking in half. “I need to go. Holly needs to be home.”

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  The look she gives me breaks my heart.

  “Please. No. Nick – this
day. This—” She looks everywhere but at me. “This is too much.”

  I want to beg her. I want to make her stay. I want to take the baby and calm her down. I want to kiss Chloe’s tears away.

  I made her cry.

  I can’t undo that.

  But I can respect her wishes. I can give her what she needs.

  I nod, standing, helping maneuver the carriage outside. The cold slap of air makes Holly whoop, the look on her face precious. Even Chloe laughs through her tears.

  “Let me walk with you part of the way?”

  Chloe shakes her head. “It’s been one hell of a day. Let me – let this all sink in.”

  “Chloe.” I hold her elbow, my heart in my throat, my mind ragged around the edges, unraveling. Think, Nick. Say the right words. Find the core element here that fixes this.

  Make this whole again.

  “Nothing Simone said is true.”

  “I know.”

  “I would never lie to you.”

  Her eyes narrow, the look deepening between us. “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  She gives me a sad smile. “Yes.”

  I tip her chin up, “Then why does this feel like we’re falling apart?”

  Chloe grabs the stroller and begins walking. I keep up.

  “Nick, I can’t. I just can’t right now. I went to work today and met Joe’s ex-wife. I came here to talk and be with you and instead I get a second dose of ex-wife karma. It’s too much.”

  “Joe’s ex?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Because it is.”

  “Tell me. Tell me the story.” A part of me knows that if she walks away, this is over. There’s no reason to think that. None.

  But it feels true.

  “Let me go home. Settle Holly down. Think.”

  “Sure.” Her eyes have a hunted look, like I’m right on the brink of pushing her over the edge. Focus Man kicks in.

  My focus needs to be on doing the right thing.

  Not on winning.

  “Text or call any time.”

  “When I’m ready.” She says the words with such sadness.

  “I’ll be there. What we have, Chloe – I don’t want to lose you. I feel like I’ve been looking for you for most of my life. When you’re ready, I’ll be here. This is worth waiting for. We’re so close.”