Love Me Like You Do: Books That Keep You In Bed

by Fields, MJ

  In reality, it was my brain’s way of giving me false hope. As soon as Elliot started talking about Helen, the anguish in her voice was like a sledgehammer to my gut, and I just knew.

  I knew everything was going to shift between us once she found out.

  Slipping out of my room after making sure not to disturb Elliot, I padded down the hallway and came to a stop in front of the stairs to the attic. Before I could talk myself out of it, I trekked into the attic and dug out a worn, leather-bound journal. I’d spent months carrying it around after Peyton was born, but it had been packed away with the last of my things David and Louise shipped to me a few months ago. I wasn’t even sure what I expected to find between its pages. Answers? Guidance? Reassurance?

  In the days after I found out about Peyton, 'overwhelmed' is a laughable understatement for how I'd felt. The hospital gave me a pamphlet on support groups for single parents and even for single parents of preemies. Though I’d only been to a few meetings during my stay in California, I kept in touch with the group leader.

  At first, I was skeptical of his insistence that journaling was therapeutic. Sometimes he gave the group a prompt or a question to work from, and sometimes we simply wrote whatever came to us. But to my surprise, it did actually help. Not always, but more often than not.

  I thumbed through the pages, welcoming the onslaught of mixed emotions I always felt each time I thought back to those early days. Every day it had felt like my heart was volleying back and forth from elation and awe at what a tough fighter my daughter was to panic, to fear about all the complications we were up against.

  I stopped flipping when a particular entry caught my eye.

  June 9 - 10:05 pm

  I can’t believe Peyton’s almost six months old. Sometimes it seems like it was just yesterday that I was flying to California without a clue that I was about to become a dad. Then sometimes I can barely remember a time in my life without her in it. Today was a little of both. She woke up every couple hours last night, and I think she might have an ear infection. I know since the surgery I’m overly paranoid about everything, but I think I’d be the same way had she been born perfectly healthy.

  Earlier, I was talking to Erik about the timing of it all, and he asked me to consider a question that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since…Do certain people come into our lives at specific times for a reason?

  To some, I suppose the answer might depend on their faith. But if you take faith out of the equation, it’s a philosophical conundrum without a simple answer.

  Three years ago, I would’ve scoffed at anyone who tried to tell me ‘everything happens for a reason.’ Which would lead you to believe my answer to the previous question is a resounding no.

  But three years ago might as well have been a lifetime ago.

  Because three years ago, she wasn’t a part of my life.

  In fifty years, when I look back on my life it’ll be divided into two categories—before her and after her.

  Before her, I thrived on chaos of my own design. After her, I’ll move mountains to contain the chaos.

  Before her, my only concern was making a name for myself. After her, my only concern is a life I can be proud of.

  Before her, home was nothing more than a bittersweet memory. After her, home is the only place I want to be.

  Before her, making plans was how I took control of my life. After her, I realize sometimes even the best laid plans can change.

  She’s given me the ability to see beyond the past. To embrace the present. To envision a new future.

  Now, that’s not to say my answer is as simple as a yes. Maybe it’s all a matter of timing. Maybe there’s not always a rhyme or reason for the things that happen or the people we meet. But that doesn’t mean that a certain person who comes into your life and flips everything upside down wasn’t always meant to be a part of your life.

  I know, without a doubt, Peyton was always meant to be in mine.

  I thought back to the night when I’d posed the same question to Elliot about people coming into your life for a reason. She said she thought the concept was something one could only believe if it happened to them, if someone happened to stumble upon the right person at the right time and they just knew.

  In a way, she wasn’t wrong. But only hindsight allowed me to realize that most of what I'd written about my life before and after Peyton could also describe before and after Elliot came back into my life.

  There’s no way I have Elliot back in my life only to lose her again.

  When I flipped through a few more pages, an envelope slipped out from between the pages in the back of the journal and sailed to the floor, landing with a thwack on the top of my bare foot.

  I picked it up and turned it over, eyeing the sticky note attached over the middle of the front. ‘We weren’t sure what to do with this, but couldn’t bring ourselves to throw it away.’

  I peeled the note off and instantly felt my stomach fall to the floor.

  My name, alongside David and Louise’s home address, was written in delicate, feminine handwriting.

  Familiar handwriting.

  Bridgette’s handwriting.

  So many questions swirled in my mind. When was this written? When I was still in Seattle? Why the hell hadn’t Louise or David just given it to me instead of hiding it for an unknown length of time? Do I even want to know what the letter says?

  I was tempted to march straight to the trash without opening it, but I couldn’t do it.

  Instead, I walked to the couch and flipped on the lamp to my left. The wild beating of my heart and a loud ringing in my ears was almost enough to make me reconsider my decision. The mellow light from the lamp illuminated the paper in my hands, and I forced myself to read Bridgette’s words before I came to my senses and set the paper on fire.

  Bryce,

  I’m not going to ask for your forgiveness because I know I don’t deserve it. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself. I know you’ll probably hate me for all of eternity, and I don’t blame you. Just please, please know that I truly didn’t intend to hurt you by not telling you about the pregnancy. I wasn’t in a good place in my life during those months, and I was too scared to call you right after she was born. I’m not ready to be responsible for another human being. I’ve never wanted to have kids; you know that.

  I couldn’t bear the idea of having a daily reminder of how badly I’d screwed my life up. And hers.

  After the doctors explained everything about her condition, I just knew she’d be better off without me. I wish I could go back in time and stop myself from living so recklessly, but I can’t.

  I’m not sure you’ll ever read this letter, or if you’ll even get it. I guess I also don’t know what you decided to do. If you kept her or if you—

  My grip on the paper went from tight to obliterating; I’d officially had enough of Bridgette’s bullshit. The excuses were so fucking typical of her that I wasn’t even surprised. When we were together, she’d constantly find ways to explain away her bad behavior, and it was one of the reasons I finally ended things.

  I wasn’t sure what I'd expected to get from reading her letter, but the only thing I could focus on was how incredibly different Elliot and Bridgette were. I deserved a kick to the nuts for ever entertaining the possibility Elliot could be remotely like Bridgette.

  Bridgette had the gall to even think I’d turn my back on Peyton, that I wouldn’t want her. That her condition would make me consider giving her up. We’d dated for a year, but now I wondered if she ever even knew me at all.

  Elliot had known me for almost twenty years. Even with the gaps in our friendship, she just…got me. She knew me in a way that I couldn’t even fully explain. With her, everything just felt easy and right.

  She knew me well enough to understand that I’d only been trying to look out for her when I told her grandparents about Helen.

  That’s what I was counting on, anyway.

  Elliot’s husky, s
leep-filled voice called out and snapped my head up. “Bryce? What are you doing? It’s like, not even five a.m.”

  She rubbed her eyes, and concern filled her features when she got close enough to register my expression.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting next to me on the couch and pulling my hand into hers.

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Alarm flashed in her eyes, and she immediately turned toward Peyton’s door. “Is it about Peyton? Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine, El. It’s not about Peyton.”

  Her shoulders slumped with relief, and she gave me a sleepy smile. “Oh. Okay, good.”

  “It’s about your mom.”

  “Helen? What about her? I don’t understand.” Her brows pulled down, and her shoulders tensed back up the second her mom’s name left her lips.

  “That night, when you told me about her contacting you…”

  “Yeah?” she prompted, confused.

  “Do you remember that I begged you to consider talking to Millie and George first before meeting up with her? That I thought you’d regret it if you didn’t?”

  “Yeah…” She tucked her feet under her body and crossed her arms. “Bryce, what are you getting at?”

  “I went to their office before my flight the next day. I told them that you were going to meet Helen.”

  “You. Told. Them.” She repeated the words like they were from a foreign language, as if she had no understanding of what I’d said.

  I quickly continued, “I was only trying to help, El. I told them because I was worried you weren’t thinking things through, and I needed to know you wouldn’t have to deal with it on your own once I was gone. I thought they’d talk to you, that you could come to a decision as a family. I had no idea things would fall apart like they did.”

  Elliot sat still, not saying a word. I wasn’t even sure she’d blinked since I started speaking.

  “I’m sorry. I never intended to hurt you. All these years, I thought they'd talked to you, and that you knew I'd gone to them. Until they told me recently that that wasn't the case, I had no idea…God, you have to know I’m so sorry.”

  “For what, exactly?” she snapped abruptly. “For striking the match, then walking away before you saw the way it burned my world to the ground? For being the reason I’ve spent the last five years wondering why Helen didn’t show up, thinking it had to be because she decided I wasn’t worth meeting after all? I spent that entire summer avoiding Nana and Pops because I was so ashamed I hadn’t taken your advice and gone to them first. I thought it was my fault that I ruined their chance for closure too. I couldn’t even tell Sophia because I hated myself for ruining her chance at meeting our mother. And then there was the fact that I had to deal with you waltzing back into my life only to vanish again. I almost convinced myself that I made up that night. That you were just a figment of my imagination, because if you had actually been there, you wouldn’t have just disappeared again. So, again, what exactly are you sorry for? Shattering my world back then, or for not telling me sooner?”

  Fuck.

  As much as this conversation was killing me, I knew I deserved every morsel of the pain slicing through my heart right now. Even so, I would’ve given anything to absorb all the hurt I saw in Elliot’s tear-filled eyes.

  “I’m sorry for all of it, Elliot. For being a part of something that caused you so much pain. For betraying your trust back then. For waiting this long to tell you the truth. I know it doesn’t make things better, but I swear I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought I was protecting you.”

  “I didn’t need your protection, Bryce! I needed my friend. I trusted you.”

  The words she left unsaid were the loudest ones inside my head—I trusted you, but now I don’t know if I can.

  “El…”

  “I wish I could say your good intention is all that matters, but it’s not.” She shot off the couch and started pacing, swatting angrily at her cheek. “I know you couldn’t have known the domino effect your actions would have. But you know what you could’ve done? Picked up the fucking phone and called me. Checked in to see how everything played out. You could’ve at least attempted to survey the damage your shit-storm caused.”

  “That’s not fair. I thought we both agreed—”

  “Agreed that we sucked at keeping in touch? You’re right, we did. But that was before I knew what you did. I get that you thought you were doing the right thing, but I don’t get how you could just walk away without giving it a second thought.”

  “I was an angry, conflicted twenty-two year old with my own impossible decision to make! I had to choose between following my dreams and causing a giant rift with my parents or giving up the only thing I’d ever wanted to do with my life to make them happy. It wasn’t exactly a picture perfect summer for me either.”

  The loudest, most painful silence of my life fell over us for a few seconds while she considered what I’d said.

  “What about now?” she asked softly, taking me by surprise.

  “Now?”

  “Five years ago, you made those decisions as an angry twenty-two year old. What about now? If you could go back in time, knowing everything you know now—as a parent, as my…friend. Not as an angry twenty-two year old with his own life-changing decisions to make—would you still have tried to interfere? To protect me?”

  It was a question I’d already asked myself time and time again the last few weeks.

  It was a fair question. A logical one.

  But it was also one that I was pretty sure she wouldn’t like the answer to.

  “If I could go back in time, I’d do a lot of things differently.” I paused and forced my jaw to unclench, knowing there was a chance I was about to put the last nail in the coffin of our relationship. She looked at me expectantly, her blue eyes brimming with cautious optimism. “But knowing what I know now—as a parent and as someone who cares deeply for you—there’s no way I would’ve let you handle that situation on your own. Not telling you what I did was a mistake, but I still wouldn’t have let you go through with it by yourself. I meant what I said back then—sharing DNA doesn’t merit automatic trust. All the best monsters can hide their appetite for destruction until it’s too late.”

  For a second, I could’ve sworn I saw something a lot like understanding in her eyes. But then it was gone, making me think it was just the dim lighting casting a shadow across her pretty face.

  “But, El, there’s more you should know—”

  “I, uh, I have to go.”

  “Elliot, don’t,” I pleaded, not even caring if desperation seeped into my voice. “Don’t go.”

  “I just…I can’t do this, Bryce. I need you to respect that.”

  And just like that, I watched the woman I loved walk out of my house.

  I only hoped she wasn’t walking out of my life too.

  Twenty-Two

  Elliot

  My grandparents had always been early risers, but apparently they’d adopted sleeping in as part of their (almost) retired lifestyle. I paced around their kitchen, trying not to fall apart while I waited for them to wake up. I’d always loved this kitchen—the marble countertops, the industrial fridge, the way it always smelled like a bakery. All the memories of cooking together as a family.

  Right now I wanted to bulldoze the entire place.

  The hurt and anger I felt toward Helen was manageable; I’d carried it around for so long now that it was like a second skin. It lived in a compartment all its own, contained by the force of the love I had for my grandparents.

  This pain was different. Like a trojan horse, it snuck in and destroyed me from the inside out. There was no compartment for this hurt, no force capable of reining it in. I couldn’t reconcile my love for them with the sting of betrayal.

  “Elliebelly? What in the world brought you out here this early?” Pops called, crossing the room to come to me. He stopped when he saw my face. “Honey, what’s wrong?
”

  An angry laugh popped out of my mouth, and I stopped pacing to meet his alarmed stare. “Is there something you and Nana want to tell me? Something you’ve forgotten to mention for, oh, I don’t know, the last five years?”

  Growing up, people would comment on how much I resembled my grandfather, with our matching eyes and identical smiles. I used to think sharing attributes gave me the ability to read him like a book. This moment definitively disproved that notion. I watched his pupils grow and his jaw clench as he took a tentative step in my direction, but I had no idea what emotion it was that I saw on his face. “Elliot, you’ve got to understand something. Back then she was—”

  “My mother!” I wailed, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “She’s my mother, and you had no right to go behind my back. If you and Nana don’t want her in your life, that’s your decision to make. But whether or not I want the same is my decision. I can almost understand if you had reservations about Sophia meeting her at the time, but I was nineteen and perfectly capable of making that decision for myself.”

  “You’re right, Elliot. You deserved more from us,” Nana called, crossing the room until she reached Pops’ side. Her fluid movements starkly juxtaposed with the jagged edges resonating in her voice, and it would’ve riddled me with guilt if not for the armor of anger encasing my heart. “We should’ve been more forthcoming about a lot of things regarding your mother. When you girls first came to live with us, we talked and talked about how to handle the day Helen came back, if she came back. The truth is…”

  My grandparents turned toward each other to share a look, and I folded my arms over my chest, bracing myself for another blow.

  “The truth is,” Pops repeated, turning back to me. “Your mother wanted to see you and Sophia several times over the years. But each time she came to us, she was…on something. Not in her right mind. So that day, when she showed up, we had no reason to believe anything she said. We had no reason to trust her.”