by Celeste, B.
“Don’t you see?” His voice is dangerously low as he takes a step closer to me. I’m too angry to move, so I let him get in my space without so much as flinching. “That’s the fucking point, Stevie. I told you that I didn’t involve myself in my men’s lives. If they fucked up, that was on them. Did I know? Yeah, I knew. I knew that a lot of men were unfaithful to the people they had waiting for them at home. But it was never my responsibility to tell their significant others.”
“Well, you’re not fucking their significant others unless you’ve been lying about that too, so don’t you think this situation called for some common courtesy instead of keeping this hidden?”
My words make his facial features harden as he straightens to full height—his shoulders squaring and teeth grinding. “If I told you that Hunter had cheated on you, I would have delivered the final reason for you to hate him, to cut him loose, on a goddamn silver platter.”
Nostrils flaring and eye twitching, I let him keep talking because I don’t trust anything else that’s bound to come out of my mouth.
He reaches forward and tips my chin up, so I’m locking eyes with him. “If I told you what you wanted to hear that day, you would have hated his fucking guts and decided to move on because of that anger. You would have decided to move on for all the wrong reasons. Because you let your emotions take over. Because you wanted to get back at him. You didn’t need me to tell you anything, Stevie. You needed to decide on your own what it was you wanted. I sure as hell wasn’t going to do it for you. Not like that.”
Once the words are out, his hand drops, and he steps back. His head turns, his eyes going anywhere but me as he takes in a deep breath and shakes his head. I hear another cuss leave him before his hands clench into fists before loosening again at his sides.
When he looks back down at me, his eyes are distant, his voice hard, as he says, “You had to figure out whether you loved me because you didn’t have anyone else to love or because you actually meant it. I wasn’t going to influence that with what I knew. If Hunter was a real fucking man, he wouldn’t have lied to you in the first place. He should have told you a long time ago. So, don’t put that on me. Don’t force that baggage, the bullshit he put you through or said to you, on me. I don’t deserve it.”
The front door flies open, dragging both of our attention to the little boy who’s standing there with his hands over his ears. “No! No, no, no. You can’t fight! You have to stop or else it’ll be too late!”
Dominic’s voice breaks my heart as I step forward and force myself to stop. Who am I to comfort him? Based on the warning look I get from his father, I have no right to try calming him down.
Nicki looks at me with panic in his eyes, then at Fletcher. “You can’t fight, Dad! You’re supposed to be happy. We’re supposed to be a family. You can’t change that!”
His voice gets louder, loud enough that any of the neighbors home could probably hear him.
Fletcher walks over to his son, who’s stomping his feet. “Nicki, I need you to go back inside. We’re just talking, not fighting. Okay?”
Nicki’s face is turning red as his head moves back and forth. “I’m not stupid. You’re fighting. Bad things happen when people fight. They go away. I don’t want you to go away.” His eyes go to me as he delivers the last line, making my chest cave in with heavy emotion.
Oh, Nicki.
His eyes squeeze closed as he shakes his head wildly, moving away from his father’s touch. “No, no, no, no. No fighting! You said no fighting!”
Who said no fighting? “Nicki—”
“I think you should leave,” Fletcher tells me, looking over his shoulder with a blank expression coating his face. There’s no hostility, but no warmth either. “You’ve done enough.”
I’ve done…
I blink at him, frozen to the ground.
“I need to take care of my son,” he adds, standing and putting a hand on Dominic’s shoulder to turn him toward the foyer. “He’s my priority. He’s who I have to focus on. And you need to…” His head shakes, jaw ticks, before he sighs. “You need to focus on yourself. Think about what I said, Stevie. That’s all I have left to say to you right now.”
With that, he guides his frantic son inside the house and closes the door behind them without a single glance back. I can hear Nicki’s raised voice, but not whatever comfort Fletcher is sure to be giving him. He knows how to handle Dominic, so I have no reason to stay here and process what just happened.
Not knowing what else to do, I walk back home, feet dragging heavier than when I arrived.
For some reason, I can’t summon the tears that are desperate to fall as I sit on the couch with my knees drawn to my legs and stare at the blank TV.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Can I ask you something?” My fingers drop from the necklace and settle into my lap.
Mom turns to me from where she’s folding laundry. “Of course. What is it?”
I twist my fingers together, glance outside one more time, and listen to the chirping birds on the willow planted in the front lawn before turning back to my mother’s patient face. “How did you know ending things with dad was what was best? I know you never talk about it, but I want to know. Did you think about staying? Trying to help him more even though he refused it at first?”
The shirt in her hands is lowered back into the basket, clearly surprised by the question posed. We never talk about that. Ever. She’d told me before that she didn’t want to drag me into the relationship drama between her and my dad, and I could appreciate that, but now it was time. Long overdue, maybe. “I thought maybe the reason you were so quiet was because of that man. Fletcher, right?”
I don’t answer. Can’t.
She abandons the clothes yet to be folded and walks over to the love seat I’m sitting on, patting my knee before I draw it up and hug my knees to my chest. Sitting where my feet were, she lets out a long, heavy sigh before looking at me. “When you didn’t pick up some of your father’s and my calls, we wondered if you were okay. But you’ve always been the type to need your space, so we tried giving it to you. Worst few weeks of our lives, sweetheart. Knowing we couldn’t help you and whatever it was that was happening. It was like… Hunter all over again.”
I let out a choked laugh that makes Mom frown at me. “You could say that. But honestly, can you tell me what was going through your mind? What made you decide what you did?”
“You.”
Her instant answer makes me blink.
Her hand reaches out and cups mine, weaving our fingers together. “I saw how it was impacting you, and that’s how I made my choice. It didn’t matter how much your dad’s poor decisions were breaking my heart, but I refused to let it break yours. He may not have been a mean drunk, but he was a drunk, nonetheless. I knew he was a good man, is a good man, but I couldn’t keep him in our lives if it meant making you witness him unravel. That isn’t the influence you needed in your life. You needed stability.”
How could it be that easy? “I don’t remember you ever being that upset over it when he moved out…”
“Oh, honey.” Her smile is sad, and her eyes even sadder. “Every night after you went to bed, I’d sit in here and cry. Once, I thought you caught me when you snuck downstairs to get a snack. I never wanted you to see me like that and blame him for it. He was sick and he needed help. Only he could decide when to seek it. There was nothing me or you could have done beyond supporting him when he made that decision.”
We’re quiet for a while before I feel her fingers tighten around mine. “Stevie, what happened? You seemed so happy, so much happier than you had been in years. At first, I was worried. Like any mother would be. No parent wants to see their daughter hurt, especially not twice. But the way you beamed no matter what you did, the smile that went right to your eyes when it hadn’t in so, so long, it seemed like…” Her words fade as she makes a face and brushes off her hesitation. “You may not want to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyw
ay. It seemed like this Fletcher guy was giving you the kind of happiness, the pure love, that Hunter never could. I’d see you smile and laugh with Hunter when you talked about him too, but nothing like this man has done for you. He brought you back to life. He…he brought back my baby girl.”
Emotion crams itself into my windpipe, making it hard to say anything to that.
Her eyes get glassy. “I know how that must sound, but it’s true. Until the end, I had nothing against Hunter. I thought you were both too young to get married, but you made it work. You loved each other to some degree, but nothing like you clearly feel, or felt, with Fletcher. That must mean something. So, what happened? Did he do something? Hurt you? Because you know your father and me won’t let—”
“No,” I tell her, almost sad I cut her off before hearing what type of threat she was willing to make against my neighbor. She’d never even threatened to do anything bad to Hunter, and that says something. Dad, on the other hand… “I mean, yes, Fletcher hurt me. But the thing is, the more I have time to think about why he did what he did or didn’t do what he should have, I sort of understand.”
Mom looks lost.
“It’s hard to explain.” And frankly, I have no intention of telling her about Hunter’s infidelity. What’s done is done. I’ve accepted it over the past couple of weeks, went through the phases of grief, and realized there was nothing I could do. It left me thinking about why Fletcher kept quiet about it. Why he chose not to tell me. I don’t want to understand, to get it, but I do. “It doesn’t really matter what led up to this because there isn’t any way for me to change it. All I’ll say is that it involved Hunter and something Fletcher kept from me about him.”
Mom’s eyes narrow. “Why would Fletcher keep anything from you about your ex-husband?”
I hold my breath for a second before blowing it out. “Because Fletcher was Hunter’s commanding officer. I’ve met him before but never knew him well. So, moving in across the street from him was…a shock to say the least.”
When her jaw drops at the new information I’ve held back all this time, I decide to tell her everything. The hesitancy. The fear. The doubt. Every little thing that made me respect the man that, to this day, despite everything, I love.
I do.
I love Fletcher.
And that’s probably the most frustrating part of this because I feel like I shouldn’t. Like it’s wrong to.
“You still keep in contact with Dad, see him all the time. You cook for him and even sometimes go over and clean. Do you…” I meet her eyes, and it’s clear to me she knows what I’m going to ask before I say it. “Do you still love him? Even after all this time has passed?”
She folds my hand in between both of hers and smiles warmly at me. “No matter what your father has done, what he’s gone through, I remind myself that he did the work to get better. He put in the effort to prove to me he was worth loving. So, yes, Stevie. I love your father very, very much.”
Those words… I let out a tiny breath like I’ve been waiting for her to tell me that since the day they were officially divorced. “Are you guys back together?”
Her smile grows. “Yeah. We decided a while ago that it was time. Well past when it should have happened. Our love had to be put on pause until we got our bearings, but it never went away. In fact, I think it got stronger when we were separated because it put things into perspective.”
“What perspective was that?”
“That second chances don’t always work out for some people, but when they do, it’s even better than the first chance you were given because you learned from those mistakes.” My hand twitches in hers. “I won’t ask you to give me all the details, but from what you’ve told me, Fletcher loves you very much and didn’t want to force your hand at this relationship. He wanted you to be all in because you wanted to be. Because you love him too.”
I stare down at her hands and let a minute pass. Then another. A third. Mom gives me the time to think, process until I close my eyes and let my hair fall over my shoulders.
Loving Fletcher was never the question. It was wondering if loving him as much as I did in the amount of time I’ve known him was sane. It was worrying if the torn apart feeling of being away from him would go away like I desperately wanted to. Because if it did, if distance mended the hole in my chest left behind, then it wasn’t love at all.
I guess I knew better than that.
“If you think about it,” Mom adds quietly, “it’s very romantic what he did. He was willing to sacrifice you if you decided he wasn’t enough. He was trying to shield you from getting hurt again by the same man, and even if he ended up hurting you in the process by trying to protect you from it, he was willing. It sounds like the patience he has, the effort he’s given every single day to let you take your time, proves just how much this thing between you two is the real deal.”
My fingers wrap around the necklace again, absorbing each word carefully.
She says, “You never took it off.”
My grip tightens around the item she’s referring to. “No, I didn’t.”
Mom hums, extending her hand and examining the gold band on it. “I never took my wedding ring off either after all these years.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Vickie rubs my back and passes me her favorite lavender tea, telling me it’ll settle my stomach before she sits down on the other side of the couch. “Maybe we shouldn’t have finished off that second bottle of wine after all,” she says, her face still a little green from the hangover we both woke up with this morning.
After speaking with Mom, then having dinner with both my parents and smiling without force for the first time in what feels like a month, knowing they’re together again, Vickie and I spent the night in at my house watching trash TV and devouring a pizza and downing too much wine. I didn’t have any intention of doing either since I had plenty of food to eat in my fridge, but when she showed up holding the two bottles with a look of pure hatred on her face that she’s only gotten one or two other times in her life—both because of men—she’d told me our plans, said “fuck all dick wielding scum” and then turned on my television.
She’d guilted me into not letting her drink alone. At some point during the night, we’d drank straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth while I listened to her rant about some guy I didn’t even know she was seeing. Whoever he is, he’s no longer on her good side and at the very top of her shitlist. Maybe even above Hunter after I told her what had happened the day after I found out myself.
“When did wine affect us this much?” she groans, resting her forehead against the table. “I think this officially means we’re getting old, Stevie. I hate to say it.”
I can’t help but grin. “At least you didn’t spend all morning with your face in the toilet.” I was feeling extra queasy this morning, and as soon as my stomach emptied into the toilet bowl, I was extra glad I cleaned it the day before—anxious cleaning, Vickie had called it when she smelled the cleaning products in the air and saw all the sparkling surfaces. I do my best work when my mind is swirling with what-ifs.
It kept me busy when I wanted to go over to the house I hadn’t been at since I called out the man living there. I offered tight smiles whenever I saw the little boy and dog in the yard, but never more than that.
You’ve done enough.
It’s been quiet over there too. No poker nights. No visitors. Barely any lights on except late at night. Fletcher has done just as good a job at avoiding me as I have him, and that’s probably a good thing.
Until now.
It’s been an entire month since our fight and a week since my mother helped me decide what needed to be done. But I realized even after making my choice how chicken I was about doing anything about it. I found reasons not to walk across the street and tell Fletcher how I felt every day when I got home from work, and now that Vickie is here, my weekend has been full of drinking, bad food, even worse TV. The last thing I want to do is show
up looking like a mess and probably smelling ten times worse.
“That’s true,” my friend eventually agrees, her voice no better than before. “But I still think we’re old.”
I simply snicker and then sip my tea, standing up. “I’m going to try making some toast. Want some?”
Her groan tells me no, so I shrug and walk into the kitchen. While the bread is in the toaster, I walk into the half bath and cringe at my flushed cheeks and red eyes. My hair is a frizzy, tangled disaster that not even a messy bun can make look decent, and I’ve yet to change from the baggy clothes that I put on yesterday.
Turning on the faucet, I splash cold water on my face and take a few deep breaths at the nausea slamming into me. There’s nothing left in me to get rid of, so I hope to God the toast helps because at this rate, I’m going to need another day off from work to recover. I’ve felt off all week, but couldn’t pinpoint what was causing it besides stress, and the wine and greasy food didn’t exactly help.
It isn’t until I’m staring at myself in the mirror, examining my chapped lips, dark-circled eyes, and peaked face, when something clicks.
Something that makes me nearly stop breathing.
“Hey,” I call out to Vickie, voice muffled by thick realization. “I’m going upstairs for a few minutes. Can you get my toast out and butter it for me?”
She makes a face. “Are you going to get sick again?”
Maybe.
I offer a weak smile. “I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry I forced you to drink with me. I know you haven’t been feeling well with everything going on.” She sighs heavily and stands when the toaster pops. “I guess I thought we both could use a reason to drink away our manly woes.”