by Flynn, Avery
She gives me an arch look, like I’m part of the problem. Which…whatever. I’ve already had Nick dump all over me today about my emotional unavailability. My mother might as well climb on board, too.
Then again, it’s not like she’s got much room to talk.
As my divorce from Karl and my fling—or whatever it is we had—with Nick has taught me, it usually takes two people to ruin a relationship. And while my relationship with my mother hasn’t been great for a lot of years, it’s not all my fault. She has more than played a role.
Speaking of which, I don’t get it. “How could you possibly take him back, Mom? He cheated on you and lied to you for twenty-seven years. I don’t get how you could ever forgive that.”
“I can forgive it because”—she makes air quotes with her fingers—“‘we were on a break.’ Was I angry that your father went right out and slept with someone else the second we decided to separate? Absolutely. Do I understand that he was as hurt and broken as I was by the state of our marriage and that men—especially of your father’s generation—tend to deal with their emotions differently than women? Also absolutely.
“I never blamed him for cheating on me—” She breaks off with a sigh. “That’s a lie. I totally blamed him for cheating, but I never said it out loud to him. I kept it buried inside me, thinking if I talked to him about how angry and hurt and violated I felt, it would ruin any second chance we had to make things right.”
She sighs. “But what I didn’t realize was that not talking about it was doing just as good a job at ruining us as talking would have—probably an even better job. Your dad didn’t bring up that time because he didn’t want to hurt me, and because he was afraid I would leave him if he rocked the boat too much.”
“Which is why he never told you about Sarah?” I ask, brows lifted incredulously. “Because he didn’t want to hurt you?” I can’t keep the skepticism out of my tone.
My mother’s eyes narrow in warning. “You don’t have to believe your father, but you don’t get to bad-mouth him to me.”
“Yeah, well, I’m happy to tell him to his face.”
“You know, Mallory, if you could ever stop casting blame, you’d probably get a lot further in life.” My mom glances in the direction of Nick’s house. “And probably a lot further in relationships as well.”
“Don’t, Mom.” I get up and storm into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine. “Don’t get on the same old tired loop about how Karl and my marriage breaking up was all my fault. That if I’d worn lipstick more or worn prettier dresses, he wouldn’t have screwed his twenty-three-year-old paralegal. Because that is bullshit and I am sick to death of you putting it on me.” I take a big sip of wine for courage and then say what I should have said a long time ago. “It’s not fair and it hurts. A lot.”
My mother puts her lemonade down on the coffee table and then crosses to me. “You’re right, Mallory. It’s not fair for me to have done that, and I’m sorry.”
“Are you kidding me?” I ask. “That’s it? You harangue me for months about how Karl’s cheating was my fault and now you say you’re sorry and I’m just supposed to forget it ever happened?”
“Not forget,” she tells me. “But I hope you can understand. I told you those things because they are what I’ve been telling myself for the past twenty-seven years. That if I had just been prettier or better put together or made better meals or never argued with your father, then he wouldn’t have cheated on me.”
Her voice breaks on the last word, and I hate that it makes me feel sorry for her. And I hate even more that it makes me forgive her. “Mom, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do.” She puts a hand on my cheek. “I appreciate that you’re trying to spare me this, my dear, beautiful girl, but I do have to do this. I do owe you an apology of epic proportions. And I do need to talk about it with you because I need you to understand.”
Again, she glances over toward Nick’s house. “I don’t want you to make the same mistakes with Nick that you made with Karl and I made with your father.”
“Karl cheated on me, Mother. When we most definitely were not on a break.”
“I know. And he is scum of the first order. I won’t even try to tell you otherwise anymore. He deserves whatever he gets and more.” She tries to pull me into a hug, but I’m still too raw to accept the embrace. “But you stopped being honest with yourself a long time ago, Mallory. Long before you found out he was cheating on you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask her.
“You were unhappy for years,” she answers, her gaze steady on mine. “But you had a terrible role model in me of what a real marriage should look like, and for that, I’m sorry. I should have shown you how to stand up for yourself, how to ask for what you need”—her voice breaks—“how to love yourself enough to not be afraid to rock the boat. And how to know when to leave.”
Tears slide unchecked down my cheeks. She’s right in that my marriage just repeated the mistakes of hers. I did what I thought I was supposed to do. But it’s not entirely our fault, and I can’t let her take the blame for everything. “You were great, Mom. In the end, I married a selfish prick. I didn’t want to quit law school. He made me feel guilty if I didn’t. I didn’t want to just build his practice, but he made me feel like it was how we were a team. And I sure as hell didn’t want to work for beans and have to ask every time I spent his money. But he was a master at making me feel that my wants and needs were just me being selfish. I can take the blame that I let him treat me like a doormat and should have fought for myself, and I probably would have acted that way even if he’d been a great guy. Sacrificing for your man was my role model.” I give her a shaky smile. “But at the end of the day, sometimes you just married an asshole.”
“This guy sounds like a tool beyond measure,” Sarah adds. Then she winks at me. “Do you want me to tell his girlfriend he gave me herpes?”
I chuckle. She’s totally kidding, obviously, but I love what her words really mean. My chest tightens. I have family in my corner. I have a sister.
“Thanks, sis, but I say good riddance. Hell, his girlfriend will someday wish his worst trait was herpes.”
We all chuckle for a minute, but then my mom is zeroing back in on me again. “So what are you going to do about Nick?”
I shrug. “There’s nothing to do. I broke up with him this afternoon, told him I’d work until he found a replacement for me at the office.”
Sarah’s eyes go wide. “Now, why on earth did you do that?”
“Really, Mallory.” My mom shakes her head. “Are you ever going to learn?”
Well, what the fuck? I thought we’d just had this beautiful moment and now she’s back to telling me I don’t know what’s best for me. I square my shoulders. “Yes, Mother. I’m quite capable of learning. I’ve learned that I too easily give up my power to men, let them take control of my life. And what I need right now is a little alone time to figure myself out and then a nice, healthy relationship with a man who listens to me.”
“Oh, I had no idea Nick was such a controlling man.” She makes tsking noises.
I can’t let that stand, though. To be fair to Nick. “He isn’t a controlling person. Not really. I mean, yes, he did sometimes just take charge, but only to help me and never in a way I would object to. He also pretty much always gave me time to say no to his help, too.”
“Well, then he shouldn’t have made you feel weak, dear. That’s never good in a partner.”
And again, I feel myself rising to Nick’s defense. “He didn’t make me feel weak at all. In fact, if anything, he made me stand up for myself and gave me the power to do it myself.” And he did. From letting me try to mow that devil lawn by myself before answering my literal SOS in the grass to letting me interview Gina before deciding to work with her. He gave me options but ultimately, everything was my decision. How did I not see that before
?
“Then I don’t get it,” Sarah says. “What’s so bad about Nick?”
“He said he needed me.” I swallow. Hard. Then admit, “And I said I needed him back.”
My mom’s face lights up with a smile. “That’s wonderful, Mallory! It’s good to need someone and be needed in return.”
“Umm, no, it’s not. After Karl, I never want to need another man again.” Fact.
“Honey, then you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life.”
Her words are like a kick to the stomach, stealing my breath. “Wh-what do you mean?”
She leans over and squeezes my hand. “Because, dear, everyone needs love. With someone who loves them back just as much.”
“What does love have to do with needing someone? I don’t want to be with another man who needs me to do things for him, Mom. Like, seriously, ever again.”
“What has Nick asked you to do for him? That man actually seems pretty self-sufficient, if you ask me.”
I open my mouth to list all the things—but nothing comes to mind. In fact, the only thing I can think of that Nick needs from me is the same thing I needed from him…his company. I just liked spending time with him. Cooking dinner. Watching movies (well, almost watching). Talking about Aunt Maggie. Even working together is something we want to do, not need to do.
Something he said in his office comes back to me… Someone who makes you realize that—before her—you weren’t really living. That you’ve just been existing in a world without color since your wife died.
That’s what he does for me, too. My world was gray before I met Nick. And I’m afraid of what I would give up of myself to stay with him, to never go back to that gray existence. That’s the real power he has over me—and it’s so much more than I ever gave Karl. If that doesn’t just scare the bejesus out of me, I don’t know what would.
“It’s okay to take your time, Mallory. You deserve that. But don’t give up on love. You deserve that, too.”
I swipe at the tears on my face but don’t even try to speak again. I can’t. My throat is choking with sadness and fear and regret and what feels an awful lot like hope, too.
This time, when my mom goes to hug me, I let her. At which point Sarah jumps in on the hug and squeezes us both so tightly that it makes me laugh. More, for the first time in a really long time, it makes me grateful to be part of this specific family, with these specific women. Because there’s nothing in the world quite like finding a couple of women to like, or love, who understand you better than you understand yourself.
Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to watch Mom and Sarah leave a few minutes later. I carry their bags to their cars for them—it’s not like I’m going to let my pregnant sister or my sixty-some-year-old mom carry their own bags if I can help it. And then I stand on the driveway and wave as they drive away.
I really hope my mom is right. And I really, really hope she knows what she is doing for her and for Sarah’s sake. Once their cars are out of sight and I have no reasonable excuse for being out here anymore, I turn to go—determined not to look over at Nick’s house at all.
Of course, I lose that battle with myself. I stand there staring at his place, willing him to come into view for just a second—or better yet, to walk out of his house and across the street to my driveway so we can have a second chance at our discussion from earlier.
But he doesn’t come outside and I never get that glimpse. Eventually, I head toward the backyard again, determined to do something to take my mind off the mess that is my life…and the punches I keep throwing at myself.
Chapter Fifty-Five
A month later, it’s just me, myself, and the few remaining stacks of Aunt Maggie’s hoarding. Work still hasn’t replaced me, but soon my job will be gone. My mom is gone. My sister is gone. Nick is gone—or at least he hasn’t come by to help clean, not that I can blame him. Oh, he’s in the neighborhood, all right. The lights are on at his house. I even spot him walking past the windows watering his plants once or twice.
Not that I’m watching.
What do I care if he waters the same one four times?
I’m just making a natural observation as I stand at my own front window, staring at my neighbor’s house like a stone-cold stalker because of reasons.
I spend a whole ten minutes watching people pull into their driveways after a long day at work, only to be greeted by bounding dogs and happy families when they park and get out of their cars. Then I can’t take it anymore and go back to handling the last stack of Aunt Maggie’s things.
At the bottom of the stack of nineties Elle magazines is a small wooden jewelry box. I pick it up and open the lid, then stare at the contents. Plastic rings. Not just any plastic rings but a bright red one and a bright green one that are overly large and gaudy as fuck. We won them when we went to the fair when I was twelve. We giggled and joked about each of the Prince Charmings who must have given us the ring, telling stories about what they were like and how they loved us so completely. Aunt Maggie had kept our fairy-tale wedding rings.
I think back to that day, to my description of the Prince Charming who was going to sweep me off my feet… He was brave and kind and smart and loved animals (especially dogs because I wanted one badly and my parents had told me no) and loved Aunt Maggie and most importantly, he loved me just the way I was. That last one was very important because even then I was annoyed by how often my father pointed out everything I could do better. But my Prince Charming, he was going to love me just the way I was. I ran my finger along the smooth edges of the plastic ring, my eyes misting. Nick is literally my damn childhood dream hero, and I threw him away. But what can I do about it now?
My mom’s words play over and over and over again in my mind. I deserve love, too.
And suddenly I’m done letting my reactions—the fear, the panic, the insecurity—control me. If I deserve love, then surely I have the strength to fight for it.
Of course, that means I have to go apologize—something no one in the world likes to do. But Nick is worth that and so much more.
I get to my feet and shove the ring in my jeans pocket, grab my favorite cherry-red Rothy’s, and take off, making a beeline for Nick’s house. Ignoring all the neighbors working out in their yards or hanging out on their front porches who are watching me as if I’m the evening’s entertainment, I walk up to Nick’s front door and knock.
He opens the door, his expression wary. “Hey.”
I clasp my sweaty palms behind my back and try to take a relaxing, mindful yoga breath without being obvious. “Can I come in?”
He doesn’t say anything, just steps back and lets the door swing open so I can walk inside. His house is spotless. His shoes are lined up by the door. His keys and wallet are in a small wooden bowl on the coffee table. There isn’t a speck of dust, stray takeout menu, or crumpled receipt to be found. How in the world can someone so together ever want to be with someone who is as big of a mess as I am?
Nick stands a few feet away from me, his arms crossed, looking way too good for my heart.
“Why are you here, Mallory?” he asks, sounding as tired as I feel.
I let out a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and lay out my plan. “To say I’m sorry and to see if there’s a way that we can work something out. Maybe a friends-with-benefits type of thing again.”
There. It’s all out there. So why hasn’t that prickly nugget of misery disappeared from my belly?
He lets out a low chuckle that sounds anything but amused and shakes his head in disbelief.
“Let me get this straight,” he says, stalking toward me. “You came over here to offer up a quote friends-with-benefits situation unquote, and you think that is not only a solution but also an apology?”
I hold up my hands palms-first and he halts his approach. Okay, when he puts it that way, it doesn’t sound so great.
“I don’t want to lose you, but I just want to take things super slow,” I say, grasping for some way to be able to explain my idea without it sounding so cold and impersonal. “I’m still learning how to live this new life, and I can’t afford to get into another situation where all I’m doing is trying to please another person no matter what it costs me.”
“All of that seems fair,” he says, the muscle in his jaw throbbing. “But how does that get to us not being able to be more than a neighborly booty call?”
My chest tightens and it’s everything I can do to get the answer out past the emotion clogging my throat. “I can’t afford to fall for another Karl.”
Nick’s entire body goes slack, his shoulders drop, his gaze loses its intensity. The Nick I know, the one who cracks jokes and fusses about HOA violations, who has carried me up those stairs two at a time, has been replaced by a stranger.
“That’s what you still think of me?” He stares at me as if he’s looking at someone he wrongly thought he knew, too. “Really?”
“Nick. You know I don’t. Not really. But I can’t afford to be wrong—”
“Yeah?” He cuts me off with one harsh syllable. “I can’t, either, Mallory. I can’t afford to get involved with someone who is only willing to see the worst in me. I can’t afford to be in a relationship with someone who can’t see past her own baggage. I can’t afford to fall for someone who is never going to be able to trust anyone again—especially not herself.”
I stumble back, his words hitting me harder than a Mack truck and my whole body aching.
“That’s not me,” I croak out.
“How long are you going to lie to yourself about that?” he scoffs, walking to his front door. “Look, I was all in. I was more than ready to take a relationship—not a fuck buddy—slow, to get to know each other, to really give the idea of us a chance. But you aren’t there. You aren’t ready. I don’t know if you ever will be. So I’m going to do what you can’t.” He opens his door wide and stands to the side, leaving me no illusions about what he wants me to do next. “I’m gonna have the courage to watch you walk away because you don’t.”