Hate Notes

by Vi Keeland

  I had to be careful. We’d crossed a very big line when we had sex.

  Incredible, mind-blowing, raw sex that I would never forget for as long as I lived.

  I’d told her it would only be one night, and I had the opportunity to stick to my word and not fuck everything up for good.

  Unless I was going to be with Charlotte long-term, it was imperative that I never have sex with her again. Once we broke the one-time rule . . . that would be it. It would be extremely difficult to go back from that. Not to mention, she would become even more attached to me.

  But I want her attached to me, don’t I?

  That was the fucked-up thing. I was so incredibly torn between the selfish desire to give in to my need for Charlotte and the smart choice of letting her go.

  I hated to say it. I really hated to say it, but I needed my brother. Max’s head was in the clouds half the time. He was self-absorbed and not necessarily in the loop with my life. That was partly my choice for not opening up to him when it came to Charlotte. But when the shit really hit the fan, he was always the one I turned to for advice at the eleventh hour.

  Since Charlotte was taking some time off, it was the perfect opportunity to ask Max to meet me at the office for an impromptu meeting to catch up. Even though it wasn’t the usual day of the week that he normally decided to grace us with his presence, Max made a special trip in to see me after I left him an urgent voice mail.

  He sauntered into my office with a box of doughnuts and two coffees, because urgent matters apparently warranted doughnuts. Max was the only person I knew who could consume endless amounts of crap and still maintain a toned, rock-hard body.

  He took a bite of his cruller and spoke with his mouth full. “Dude . . . you dying or something? I can’t remember the last time you called me in just to talk.”

  I could remember. It had been after I’d found out I had MS. That was literally the last time I’d asked Max to meet me for an emergency powwow.

  “Sit down, brother,” I said.

  “What is this about?”

  “It’s about Charlotte.”

  “You got it bad for her. Grandmother told me you helped her find her birth mother out in Texas, that the mother died. That’s crazy. How’s Charlotte doing?”

  “She’s with her parents upstate, taking some time off. The Texas trip sort of did me in, too, in more ways than one.”

  He squinted. “You fucked her, didn’t you?” My lack of denial was enough for him to add, “You lucky bastard.”

  Letting out a long breath, I said, “I need you to figure this out for me, Max.”

  “What’s there to figure out?”

  “You know what. I never wanted to get involved with her, never wanted to take things this far, because of my diagnosis. I fucked up royally.”

  “You fucked her royally. I don’t see the problem with that at all.” He picked up another doughnut and waved it at me. “You want me to tell you how to get rid of the best thing that’s ever happened to you and not have it hurt like hell? You think I’m some kind of fucking magician? There is no easy answer to this because you’re in love with the girl, am I right?”

  Taking a deep breath in and out, I conceded, “Ass over head in love with her.”

  “Then be with her. She knows everything about you. She’s accepted it. Be with her, Reed.”

  “What if I can’t? What if the guilt is too much? How do I leave her? Tell me how to leave her.”

  “There’s no happy medium. Either you be with her, or you stop. You just stop cold turkey. You don’t lead her on anymore, and you don’t try to be her friend, or be her fucking hero, because we both know that’s a bunch of bullshit. You’re beyond that point. And I hate to say it, but you really can’t work together if you decide to walk away from this. That shit won’t work. You’ll continue to slip, and you’ll end up in the same situation, and that’s not fair. So either shit or get off the pot. And you’d better find her a new job if you decide to walk away. She’ll be okay. Believe me, there are plenty of men who would love to lick her wounds.”

  I knew he added that last part to test me. He knew that would make me crazy. His words were harsh, but I knew they were the goddamn truth. There was no middle ground with Charlotte. Either I was all in or all out.

  “Max, you’re nothing if not a straight shooter. Thank you. I needed the slap in the face.”

  That night, alone in my apartment, I stared out at the skyline, no more certain of what I should do. The only thing I was certain of was that Charlotte and I really couldn’t ever just be friends. It would be too painful to watch her moving on with her life. There would never be a time when I didn’t want Charlotte Darling more than my next breath.

  When my cell phone rang past midnight, I’d almost ignored it until I saw it was her.

  I picked up. “What are you doing up so late?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  My body stirred at the mere sound of her voice, a testament to exactly how weak I was when it came to her. It was much easier to consider a hard break from Charlotte when I wasn’t looking at her or even hearing her voice. Even without her around, I was perpetually hard just thinking about our night together.

  “I’m sorry you’re having insomnia.”

  “Did I wake you?” she asked.

  “No. And it wouldn’t have mattered if you did. How are things at home?”

  “I’m feeling very lost, like I’m here but I’m not. I don’t really know how to explain it. So much of my life had been spent wondering where I came from. I feel this weird void now. But it’s more than that, more than my mother’s passing. I feel like I’m at a turning point in my life, but one where I don’t even know what my options are, only that something needs to change. Yet I don’t have the energy to think about any of it or figure it out. I haven’t even wanted to get out of bed most days.”

  “That’s depression, Charlotte. I know it well, because I went through a long bout of it, especially after I was diagnosed, when my mind would go to the worst-case scenario. You’ll be okay. I promise. You just have to ride it out.”

  “What would you specifically think about during that time?” she asked.

  Even though I didn’t want to turn this conversation onto me, I began to open up a little.

  “I’d just start to picture myself incapacitated, unable to move, stuff like that. And that would make the depression worse.”

  There was some silence before she said, “You know, if someone really loves you, they would rather have any time with you than none at all, right? When you love someone, even taking care of them when they can’t take care of themselves is an honor, not a burden.”

  The fucked-up thing was, I was starting to actually believe she felt that way. I just couldn’t imagine burdening someone I loved, regardless of how they saw the situation. My chest tightened. I needed to get off this subject.

  “Let’s get back to you. Is this the first time you’ve ever gone through anything like this?”

  “Yeah. This has never happened to me before.”

  “People will tell you to just get up and do something, take your mind off it, but you can’t even pinpoint what it is. It’s just a feeling of emptiness that follows you around. Sometimes, it just needs to pass on its own. It will pass. Your mind will clear, you’ll figure out what you want, and you’ll get your spark back.”

  “How are things at the office?”

  Fucking miserable without you.

  “Uneventful. You’re not missing out on anything. Don’t worry about that.”

  “You said you have the temp there for up to thirty days?”

  “Longer if need be. Just take all the time you need.”

  “I might in fact need more time. I’m thinking of doing some traveling.”

  My stomach dipped. “Where are you going?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Charlotte, if you need anything—money—anything for your trip, please let me know.”

  �
��No. No, I don’t need your money. You’ve done enough for me.” There was a pause, then she said, “Anyway, I’d better let you go to sleep.”

  “I can stay up all night if you need me to.”

  “It’s okay. I need to try to sleep myself.”

  “Call me again. Please, keep me updated.”

  “I will. Good night, Reed.”

  “Charlotte?”

  “Yes?”

  I didn’t even know why I’d called her name out, why I didn’t just let her go. It wasn’t like I could say the things I wished I could.

  It’s killing me that you’re hurting.

  Come home with me. Let me take care of you.

  I love you.

  I love you, Charlotte.

  “Take care of yourself,” I simply said.

  CHAPTER 35

  CHARLOTTE

  My email notification showed I’d just received an instant payment of five thousand dollars. That was definitely the most money I’d ever gotten in one lump sum. Allison’s designer feathered wedding gown had sold on eBay in less than a day.

  That hadn’t taken long at all. The dress was worth far more—at least twenty grand—but I needed the money soon to fund my trip to Europe. Well, I’d already bought the tickets, but I needed the cash to pay the hefty credit card bill that would be coming at the end of the month. The only way I could guarantee quick money was to undersell.

  I hadn’t told Reed I was back in the city. As far as he was concerned, I was still in Poughkeepsie with my parents. I would only be here long enough to ship the dress and pack my things before my flight this weekend anyway.

  I’d decided to fly into Paris and would spend a few days roaming the city before taking an overnight train to Rome. I’d booked a sleeper car. It wasn’t quite the scenario I’d hoped for on my Fuck-It List, but it was as close as I was going to get.

  After carefully clipping Reed’s blue note out of the dress, I held the paper in my hand and read the message a few times.

  To Allison—

  “She said, ‘Forgive me for being a dreamer,’ and he took her by the hand and replied, ‘Forgive me for not being here sooner to dream with you.’” ―J. Iron Word

  Thank you for making all of my dreams come true.

  Your love,

  Reed

  How I wished to be loved by him. But maybe he wasn’t capable of loving the way he had when he’d penned the note. He’d hardened. As much as I wished he would see things the way I did, I just couldn’t force him to. His resistance had worn me down. Couple that with my numbness as of late, and I just had no energy to fight anything, least of all Reed Eastwood.

  As I carefully packed the dress into a large, flat white box, I hoped that it would bring good luck to Lily Houle of Madison, Wisconsin. Lily would now be the recipient of its magic, which no longer seemed to be working for me.

  I thought about how this dress had changed my life. It had brought me Reed, and even if he and I never had anything more than what had already taken place, he’d changed my life. He’d made me feel things I never had before, and he’d given me the closure I needed when it came to my roots.

  Taking one last look at the fabric before I closed the box, I was ready to put the fairy tale to bed. Love wasn’t about a beautiful dress, a note, or even poignant words. It was about being with someone through thick and thin, about seeing them through not only the best moments of life but also the worst. It was about being there for someone like I would have been there for Reed if he’d let me. I thought of my birth mother. True love was also about forgiveness.

  It made me sad that I felt like I was giving up on Reed, especially after the night we’d had in Houston. But if that amazing sex couldn’t finally bring us together, what could? I missed his body, the way he felt inside of me, so much. The need kept me up at night lately. We’d become one physically, yet emotionally he was still so guarded, still so far away. How many times could I stand to get rejected by one man? I’d rather be alone than alongside an unattainable Reed, playing this cat-and-mouse game that never ended. I didn’t want to quit working at Eastwood, but I was probably going to have to. I had some big decisions to make, and I was hoping the overseas trip would bring clarity.

  First day in Paris consisted of bread and cheese, followed by bread and more cheese.

  Sitting in front of La Fromagerie, I wondered if I’d accomplish anything more than gaining an extra five pounds while on this trip. I wasn’t going to find my solutions in a baguette, that was for sure. Yet eating alone seemed to be what I wanted to do. And this trip was just as much about doing nothing as it was about finding something meaningful.

  I was surrounded by smoking Parisians sipping their coffees and speaking in a language that I really couldn’t understand despite my best efforts in trying to learn. Staying in my own world, I enjoyed the cheese-and-fruit platter I ordered.

  I’d decided I was going to visit as many cafés as I possibly could before I had to board the train to Italy.

  As alone as I was here, I didn’t feel lonely, mainly because of all the other people around me enjoying solitude. Take, for example, the artist sitting in the corner, sketching something. I was in good company in being alone. And that was comforting.

  The sight of the Eiffel Tower in the distance served as a spectacular reminder to look up from my plate once in a while and to not forget the splendor of where I was. Instead of a hotel, I’d opted to stay in an Airbnb in the Quartier Saint-Germain-des-Prés, a small but charming neighborhood not far from the tower. Tomorrow, I would take a break from my culinary tour to visit Notre Dame and the Louvre.

  My eyes wandered to a man who looked like he could be Reed from the back—dark hair, dressed in a suit, broad stature. My heart felt like it skipped a beat at the thought of how incredible it would be to have him here with me.

  The man was sitting alone, reading a newspaper. Suddenly, it hit me that you could travel across the Atlantic, seek out all the distractions in the world to suppress the pain in your heart . . . but one little reminder was all it took to unravel everything. A few moments later, the man was joined by a woman and two rosy-faced children. He stood up from his chair and bent down to embrace the two little cherubs. Still observing him from the back, the man was basically Reed to me. And the sight I was witnessing was Reed and his children—a life he might have had if it weren’t for his fears. A life I might have had if it weren’t for his fears.

  Tears started streaming down my face. I was a sight to behold between the crying and the chewing.

  Just as I was about to get up and head to my next culinary destination, the artist in the corner began to approach me. He said something in French that I couldn’t understand, then winked and handed me the portrait he’d been working on. He scooted away—literally—before I had a chance to say anything back.

  I looked down and gasped. It was the most hideous picture of myself. Hideous not because it was poorly drawn, but because it was very likely exactly what I looked like today. In the drawing, my mouth was open as I stuffed my face with a piece of bread. My eyes were bugged out, and they looked swollen from tears. Tomorrow, I would be going to see the calm and collected Mona Lisa. This hot mess in my hands was the polar opposite.

  As I continued to stare at the portrait of myself, though, it hit me that despite the fact that I felt my life was a mess, this stranger had found something artworthy in me. By simply being and enjoying the present moment, I had inspired him somehow. I stared at the picture some more. The longer I looked at it, the less I saw the lost girl eating bread and the more I saw the independent woman. One who’d just found and lost her mother, yet who persevered anyway—and despite being in love with a man she could never have. She survived anyway. Eating cheese. Maybe this was a lesson that I’m okay just as I am—alone and experiencing whatever life throws my way. Maybe I am enough.

  I am enough.

  In that moment, I realized that while it might take some time, I would really be okay no matter what happe
ned between Reed and me—because I would have myself. And I was strong—perfectly imperfect.

  Later that day, I happened to walk by a boutique on Rue du Commerce that sold vintage wedding dresses.

  I couldn’t help but stop to gaze at the gown that was on display in the storefront. It was stunning, not in the same way that Allison’s blush feathered dress was. This one was trumpet-style, white, and covered in sequins. It was a simple style but had a beautiful waistband that gave it character and tied the look together.

  I thought back to my last wedding dress–boutique experience all those months ago, how much had happened since, how much I’d changed. My tastes had matured along with a lot of things about my life.

  So much was left uncertain. Would I stay working at Eastwood, or would I go back to school? I had a lot to think about when I got back home. Despite the uncertainties, there were so many more things I had become certain about in terms of what I wanted out of life.

  I was certain I deserved the kind of man who would love me like Reed might have if he weren’t so scared. And I knew I shouldn’t give up hope about finding that. Even my mother had gone on to find love and live a happy—albeit short—life after all that she’d been through after giving me up.

  I took one last look at the dress in the window. It was the type of dress I might have chosen today—not as ostentatious as the feathered gown, but not plain, either. If the feathered dress represented a false ideal, this one represented . . . me.

  Simple yet elegant with lots of sparkle.

  CHAPTER 36

  REED

  It wasn’t easy, pretending not to be wondering where she was or what she was doing every moment of the day. I’d vowed to give Charlotte space and to not interfere with her trip. But I couldn’t help wondering if she was safe or whether she was still sad and depressed. All I knew was that she’d be visiting France and Italy and planned to be gone a couple of weeks. She’d left her return date up in the air, too. I wondered if she ever planned to come back to Eastwood at all.