by K. Street
“Not like this. Please…not like this.”
My heart is pounding, and his is, too. I want to tell him I love him, but until I can give him the mangled pieces of my heart and mean those words the way he does…I won’t.
He slides me down his body, and my hands fist the front of his shirt. Dante cups my cheeks, crashing his mouth to mine, and our tongues tangle. Stoking the flame until the heat of our kiss scorches my soul like the sun. When he drags his lips away, his palms remain on my face.
Raw pain shines in his eyes as he makes his plea, “Come back to me, Tessa.”
He puts his forehead to mine, and for several seconds, we breathe in each other’s air. Then, he cradles my head against his chest, and my arms glide around him.
“Promise you’ll come back to me,” he whispers harshly.
I can only nod in the tight hold of his embrace. It takes me a few minutes to gather the strength to let him go.
“Let me know when you land.”
“I will.”
“Bye, Tess.”
Not good-bye. “See you later, Dante.”
We turn away from each other, moving in opposite directions and both hoping, wherever the broken road leads, it will bring us back together.
forty-six
Tessa
I boarded the plane with a heavy heart, but with every mile that passes, it becomes easier to breathe. Thankfully, the seat beside me remains empty, so I open my bag to take out a journal and a pen.
I begin to write.
Dear Dante,
I don’t know if you’ll ever see this, and I’m uncertain if you’re meant to. It’s ridiculous to write Dear Diary, so I’m writing to you instead.
You broke my heart today, but it seems I’ve been repeatedly breaking yours. One day…I hope you’ll give me the chance to mend it. In this moment, it doesn’t seem plausible that two broken people can make a whole, and that’s one of the reasons I left. I must find it in myself to forgive Trevor; otherwise, he’ll always have some sort of power over me. Hatred is acidic, eating a person from the inside out until nothing remains, except a bitter shell. Forgiveness is a journey. I can’t just say the words and expect myself to feel forgiveness in my heart. It isn’t that simple.
The woman across the aisle from me is struggling with her baby. He’s inconsolable, and she looks flustered and desperate. I’m going to try to help.
Until next time,
Tess
The woman appears a little younger than me but not by much. Her rainbow hair is styled in a long, single braid, which hangs over her shoulder, and red splotches appear on her alabaster skin, making it obvious that either her nerves are shot or she’s embarrassed. I look at the nearby passengers who cast sidelong glances or glare at the frazzled mom. She’s trying to hold on to her screaming baby and make a bottle at the same time, which seems damn near impossible because the kid is hungry and pissed off.
What the hell happened to human decency?
“Hey,” I address her.
But she doesn’t lift her eyes.
Since the seat next to me is empty, I unbuckle my belt and swap places, and then I try again. “What can I do?”
She looks at me, and I see she’s holding back tears.
“I’m Tessa. Let me help you.”
I reach for the baby, and for a split second, she hesitates before handing him over. I put him on my shoulder and pat his bottom to quiet him. When that doesn’t work, I rub circles on his back and gently sway from side to side.
She peruses the diaper bag and gives me a pacifier for the screaming infant. “I’m Alex, and that’s Isaac. Thank you for your help.” Her voice shakes, but her hands are steady as she measures the powdered formula into an empty bottle before filling it to the desired level with water.
“You’re welcome.”
I pop the binky into Isaac’s mouth, and he begins to settle some.
Alex finishes assembling the bottle, puts everything back in the bag, and looks at me like she’s in pain. “I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but I have to pee in the worst way. Do you think you could feed him, so I could use the restroom? I’ll be right back.”
“Of course.” I take the bottle from her, cradle Isaac in my arms, and swap the pacifier for the bottle.
Isaac starts to fuss, but once he realizes there’s something coming out of the nipple, he quiets. When Alex is sure he’s fine, she scurries away.
I look down into his huge chocolate eyes. “Hey, little man.”
Isaac’s tiny lips suck in quick succession, devouring the contents.
“Slow down.” I smile at him and wipe the remnants of a tear from his honey-kissed brown skin.
Isaac drinks a little more, and then I take the bottle out of his mouth, sitting him upright before I start burping him.
Alex’s face is awash with relief as she resumes her seat. “I’m sorry about that. Thank you so much for helping me.”
She reaches for her son, and reluctantly, I pass him back.
“How many do you have?” she asks.
I glance away. “None actually.”
“Really? I’m sorry. You seem like a natural, so I just assumed…”
“No, it’s okay,” I assure her and change the subject. “How old is he?”
“Four months.” She kisses the top of Isaac’s head. “We’re on our way to visit my husband. He’s a pilot and managed to get a couple of days off before he flies out again, so we’re hitting the beach. What about you? Are you married?”
I want to slink back over to my window seat, take out my journal, and tell Dante how hard this conversation is. How small talk with a random stranger on a plane feels like a sucker-punch to the gut.
“No. Not anymore.”
“Girl, we need to get you a drink.” She laughs, and it’s apparent she assumes I’m divorced.
I smile. “Funny you should say that. I’m driving to Napa to take wine country by storm.”
“That’s the spirit. Good for you.”
We chat for a few more minutes, and I watch Isaac’s lids fall shut as he finishes the bottle. His long, dark lashes flutter against chubby cheeks. There’s something hypnotic about it, and I find myself becoming sleepy.
I point toward him and look at Alex. “He has the right idea. I’m going to take a catnap, but if you need anything, I’m happy to help.”
“Thank you so much. I appreciate it more than I can tell you.” Alex runs her fingers through his soft black curls.
“It was my pleasure,” I say. I switch back to the seat by the window, buckle in, lean my head against the padded cushion, and take in the earth below. Soon, I close my eyes and doze. I dream of motherhood and babies with my amber eyes but dark hair like their father’s.
I wake to the flight attendant’s voice over the speaker system. We’ll be landing in San Fran shortly, and after I pick up the rental car, I’ll be on my way to drinking a much-needed glass of wine.
forty-seven
Dante
I’d never felt more shattered in my life as I did when I walked away from Tessa at the airport. I understand, for her, this is necessary, but I’m not sure how long I’ll last before I go after her—and I will eventually go after her. A few weeks is one thing, but a few months…there’s no way in hell that’s going to happen.
She sent me a text yesterday when she landed in San Francisco and then another when she got to Napa.
I stand and stare out the window of my office and read the texts over again.
Tessa: Made it to SF.
I never replied.
Tessa: Just checked into the resort in Napa. It’s beautiful here.
I didn’t respond right away, and when I finally did, I typed a few versions of the same thing.
Be safe. Come home to me. We’ll start over somewhere else. Carry my babies. Be my wife. I love you…
Ultimately, I settled on…
Me: Be safe.
For the past few days, I’ve been throwing myself into w
ork, but it’s Friday, and instead of sitting at home tonight, drinking, I’m going to go to the local watering hole with Max.
By the time we leave the bar, Max has three women clinging to him. And, while I had the lion’s share of beautiful ladies throwing themselves at my feet, none of them were the one I wanted.
I go home alone, take a shower, and send Tessa a text.
Me: I miss you.
I pass out before she responds.
forty-eight
Tessa
Dante: I miss you.
It’s only been three days. I stare at the screen and consider my response.
I miss you. It’s too quiet here. Do you want kids?
Instead, I type…
Me: Miss you, too.
It’s so much easier to spill my heart across the pages. To be honest without fear of judgment because they’re just thoughts, feelings, and memories. The paper doesn’t respond; it just…is.
I reach for my journal and open it up to a clean page.
Dear Dante,
It’s gorgeous here, but it’s so quiet, and I can’t help but notice that even silence has its own way of being loud. I’m not sure what made me think of it, but do you remember that time I had the flu and Trevor was out of town, working?
I laugh so hard at the memory, the pen starts to go rogue, and I have to stop writing to catch my breath.
You went to the drugstore and showed up at my door, carrying all these bags. I’m pretty sure you cleared the place out. There was everything from antacid to ibuprofen and laxatives. I almost laughed and told you those were a waste of money, but I didn’t have the energy. You bought me saltines, ginger ale, and chicken-and-stars soup because you remembered a story about how it was my favorite when I was a kid. You even helped me walk to the bathroom and waited outside the door.
You loved me even then, and you remembered things Trevor never did. It seems like you locked all those little nuggets away. Why did I never see it before? I wonder if Trevor noticed. Did he care?
Do you ever think about having kids? My parents gave me the most amazing childhood, and I love being their only child, but sometimes, I wonder what it would’ve been like to grow up in a houseful of chaos. To fight with someone over the bathroom or clothes. At the end of this, Dante…if we come full circle…you need to know that, for me, having kids is nonnegotiable. I know that’s very much like drawing a line in the sand, but I need to be a mom, regardless of how it comes to fruition.
Tomorrow, I’m going to tour another vineyard. I’m thinking about maybe driving up the coast to whale watch. Or I could find the nearest airport and fly to Seattle. I thought I could handle all the quiet here, but I’ve been living in the city too long.
Until next time,
Tess
I shut the journal, pick up my phone, open the camera, and then take a selfie before sending it to Dante.
forty-nine
Dante
I miss Tessa, and instead of it getting easier with each new day, it’s been getting that much fucking harder.
After the first week, Tessa and I have settled into a pattern of sorts. We exchange texts often and the occasional photo. The pictures are a double-edged sword. Her beautiful face makes my heart ache, but at the same time, it’s a gift.
A case of wine arrived from Napa. When I opened the box, I busted out laughing. She’d placed sticky notes on the bottles. One read, Drink me, while all the others had, But not me, written on them. Her sense of humor is one of the things I love about her, and even though her absence hurts like hell, knowing this trip is helping her makes it a little easier. By nature, Tessa’s a rule-follower, so the fact that she broke the law makes me proud. Retailers can’t ship wine to Illinois, and wineries must have a license with the state, which means Tessa was sneaky.
I pick up my phone and type.
Me: I miss you.
Tessa: I miss you, too.
Me: I bet you feel like a badass.
Tessa: You got the wine?
Me: Yes.
Tessa: It’s so good.
Me: I’ll open a bottle tonight.
Tessa: Only the bottle that says, Drink me.
Me: Okay. ;)
Tessa: I mean it, Dante.
Me: I’m kidding.
Me: Come home.
Tessa: Soon.
fifty
Tessa
Dear Dante,
I love you. I knew that when I left, but this is different. It’s more. I don’t just love you, but I’m in love with you, and when I close my eyes, your face appears behind my lids. Somehow, you’ve filled the hollow places.
I want to make a life with you. I want to carry your babies and grow old with you. I don’t think I want to stay in Chicago or be married again. I mean, look at Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell. I just want you and a fresh start. I think I’m almost ready to come back.
Until next time,
Tess
I arrived in Seattle a few weeks ago after I spent some time driving up the coast. I caught a flight out of Eugene, Oregon, and flew into Sea-Tac. Found a short-term rental cottage, and I’ve been in Washington since then.
I’m sipping my coffee as I stroll through Pike Place Market when my phone rings.
My heart skips a beat as I swipe to answer. “Hello?”
“I miss you,” Dante says.
“Me, too.”
“Come home.”
Over the weeks, our text messages have gone from sporadic to a daily occurrence. The phone calls started after the second week and became part of the routine as well. Without fail, Dante begins every call and text message the same way—I miss you, and, Come home. I always respond, I miss you, too, and, Soon.
But this morning, when he tells me to come home, I hesitate. I’ve been gone for five weeks, and in that time, I’ve completed three journals. My heart is at peace, and the man who fills it is waiting for my response.
“Okay.”
“Tessa, I’m serious. Wait. What did you just say?”
“Okay,” I repeat, laughing.
“You’re coming home?”
I nod and remember he can’t see me. “Yes.”
“When?”
“It depends on when I can get a flight out. I haven’t even looked yet.”
“After you get it figured out, call me, so I can meet you at the airport.”
“Dante…before I come see you, there’s something I need to do.” I don’t want to tell him what it is. “It won’t take long, and I promise, if I can get a flight out, tomorrow night, I’ll be in your bed.”
He’s quiet for a beat, and I brace myself for a protest that never comes.
“All right. And, Tess?”
“Yes?”
“This is it. All this bullshit is behind us.”
“Promise.”
“I love you, baby.”
My eyes well with tears. It’s been weeks since he’s said those words to me, and I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear them.
“Dante…” The words catch in my throat. I can’t tell him. Not yet and not from more than two thousand miles away. “Tomorrow. I’ll let you know as soon as my flight is booked.”
“Talk to you soon.”
“Bye.”
I use my phone to reserve a flight. Then, I search the market for the perfect gift for Dante before going back to pack up my things in the little cottage I’ve been renting for the last few weeks.
fifty-one
Tessa
After my flight landed, I took a taxi home. I was there long enough to shower, grab something from my jewelry box, and repack my bag to go to Dante’s.
I need to take care of something before I go to him. When I tell him I’m in love with him, my heart needs to be completely free. That is why, when I drive out of the parking garage, I angle the wheels in the opposite direction of Dante’s place.
Leaves litter the ground and crunch beneath my feet as I walk between the grave markers. A crisp autumn breeze swirls through the ai
r, kicking up the foliage, and I swipe at the strands of hair that have blown across my face. The wind cuts through my sweater, and I pull it tighter, trying to insulate myself from the chill. Folded arms act as a protective barrier from more than just the weather.
My gaze shifts from the ground to the sugar maple tree on the hill, and as I draw nearer, I begin to make out the letters of his name. After a few more steps, I kneel on the ground in front of the granite, tracing the letters with my finger. After several minutes and a deep exhale, I begin my soliloquy.
“I bet you’re surprised to see me. Wait. I guess that’s stupid since you can’t exactly see me. Or can you? Hell…I don’t know.” I pluck a blade of grass to fidget with. “I really did love you, and somewhere deep down, perhaps a tiny shred of me always will. I’m not here to get answers because the truth is…I don’t need them. I’m here to give you something.” My fingers search in my pocket until they grasp it.
I clutch my wedding band. The diamonds dig into my palm. With my finger, I burrow into the earth right where the headstone meets the ground. The hole is only a few inches deep, but it doesn’t matter. I shove my ring into the dirt and then manipulate the divot, so no one will be the wiser.
My legs grow numb from being in the same position, so I slide them out from under me and move over to lean my back against the headstone.
The words get stuck in my mouth. A tacky spiderweb clinging to my tongue. I swallow the lump in my throat and force them past my lips. “I forgive you, Trevor.”
Tears prick my eyes, and I look skyward to keep them from falling. “That’s what I came to say. I forgive you—not because you deserve it, but because I do. I don’t think I’ll ever come back to see you, but wherever you are…I hope you’re okay. That you’re at peace.” I lose the battle against the tears, and they spill over my cheeks.
“Happy birthday, Trevor,” I whisper into the wind and drop my face into my palms and weep. Not because I’m sad or grief-stricken. I cry to cleanse my spirit of the past. One I no longer want to be tethered to.