by Kat T. Masen
“Maybe that’s the look he wants at his wedding.”
She sighs. “You’re not helping me here.”
“Helping you do what?”
“He looks like shit because he misses you, Presley. And he knows he is a jerk and said jerk-like things to you. I don’t know why he is marrying her if he loves you. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“He doesn’t love me. End of story. Now can we please talk about something else?”
I bite down on a corn chip, avoiding Vicky’s penetrating gaze. She knows me well enough to know this is a sore subject. She can tell, not only because I’m avoiding making eye contact, but also cause I do that nervous twirl of my hair around my finger thing and constantly tap my foot against the floor.
I swiftly change subjects. “So I’ve lined up a part-time job at the Lantern House in L.A. I’ll be working four days a week. Three days in the office and one day from home. Luckily Gemma works from home as a graphic designer, so she jumped at the chance to take care of Masen till he’s old enough to go to daycare.”
“Sounds like you have it all planned out. Just like the old Presley,” Vicky says with her eyebrows raised.
Taken aback by her tone and comment, I place my fork down and wipe my mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that nothing’s changed. Yes, you’ve had a baby, but you’ve turned back into Miss Plan-My-Whole-Life-Out Presley. It was fun being around you when you stopped giving a shit and just lived for the moment. The Jerk changed you in ways you haven’t bothered to notice.”
“Well, not giving a shit and living for the moment ends up with a broken heart. I’m sick of this. I just want to go live my life without all the drama.”
“What about me?” she pouts jokingly.
“What about you?”
“Will you miss my drama?”
I laugh and lean over to squeeze her perfectly manicured hand. “That’s the only thing I’ll miss. You and Kate with your constant man-drama. I’m going to have to take up watching soap operas just to get my fill.”
“I love you, Pres. Thank you for being my best friend. I don’t know what I’m going to do without you just around the corner.”
“Ditto.” I smile back. “Now stop moping, because you’re flying to visit me next weekend!”
“I’m excited! I’ve never been to L.A. and there’s so much I want to do.” She pulls out a piece of paper from her bag and places it in front of me. “So here is a list I made of things I want to do, time permitting.”
I hold my palm in front of her face. “Stop the presses. Vicky made a list?”
“Are you proud of me? Mama Presley taught me well.”
“So, you can teach an old dog new tricks?” I laugh.
We fall into a fit of laughter until the cute waiter returns with our lunch. Despite Vicky’s attempt to be organized, I’m not the least bit surprised when she follows the cute waiter back to the bar and asks him for his number.
***
I arrive back at the apartment and see that Liz hasn’t returned just yet. It is almost dark and I’m starting to worry about them. Not wanting to call Haden, I find Liz’s number in my cell and dial it immediately. It rings for a while before going to voicemail, only adding to my worry. I scroll through the contacts and land on Haden’s number. Just as I am about to hit the call button, a tap on the door startles me and I scramble to open it, glad to see Liz and Masen on the other side. I unbuckle Masen from his stroller and lift him into my arms. Bringing him up to my face, I smell his hair and my nerves are non-existent with my baby finally back in my arms.
“I’m sorry we’re late, sweetie. Haden just wanted some extra time with him.”
“He could have told me.”
“I know. He has a lot on his mind right now,” she defends him. “So listen, he asked me to give this to you.”
She hands me a piece of paper and I open it up to find a calendar for the next three months. My eyes divert to the boxes marked in red. In print it says “Eloise and Haden.”
“What’s this?” I ask, confused.
“Haden thought it was best to put together a schedule of when they could see Masen.”
“But . . . but . . . this is every other weekend . . . and it says New York?”
She puts the baby bag down and gracefully places her hand on mine. “Sweetie. It was bound to happen. If you’re moving to L.A. and Haden stays here, both of you will need to make an effort for Masen’s sake.”
“I can’t fly out to New York every other weekend!” I respond anxiously.
“Maybe Masen stays here for a week or Haden flies out. He didn’t get into the details with me.”
Masen be apart from me for a week?! Hell no! What the hell is running through his head? I’m angry, furious to be precise, and that whole thing about not letting my emotions get to me . . . well, fuck it! I tear the paper up in front of Liz, much to her shock.
“This is what I think of his stupid plan!”
Liz knows well enough to leave at this point. Kissing Masen for the last time, she waves goodbye, but not before telling me she’ll visit in a couple of weeks.
After my normal nightly routine, I put Masen to bed and head back to the living room to distract myself with mindless TV. It doesn’t work. I’ve channel-surfed for the past hour without settling on anything to watch. Kate arrives home and the second she does, I burst into tears. Not once does she tell me I’m wrong or making a mistake; she allows me to cry and let out my unresolved issues. Feeling bad that I soaked her shirt, I pull away, apologizing for being a wreck.
“You have every right to be. You love him and the Jerk’s marrying someone else. Plus, he puts together this stupid plan?”
“Why is he doing this? I don’t understand why he wants to take Masen away from me,” I sob.
“You need to talk to him, Presley. Clear the air and move on.”
“No. I don’t want to see him.” I stand up and head to the kitchen as Kate follows me. “He’s made his decision, Kate. He is marrying Eloise. He wants Eloise to be his wife. I’m taking Masen with me and moving to L.A. End of story.”
“If that’s what you want, Presley. Just remember that despite him marrying her, he is still Masen’s dad.”
Of course, I know that. Masen looks exactly like him, even at this age. Every time I look at him I’m reminded of that. How can I cope with a lifetime of staring at my child’s face and being reminded of the man who so carelessly broke me to pieces? I have no plan for how to avoid that. That’s what makes it all the more difficult. No matter what you do, there’s no plan for curing a broken heart.
***
Saying goodbye isn’t too hard because the girls will come visit soon. It’s the cab ride to the airport that kills me. The radio is set on some ’80s love song marathon. It’s easy to say I can just ignore it, but when Barry Manilow is belting out a tune, you better believe your heart aches along with him. When I was growing up, these songs were so corny, yet Mom and Dad would put them on and stare lovingly into each other’s eyes while singing out of key.
That was love. Married for almost forty years, and even with all their quirks, that love never faded. Mom once told me that she loved Dad more now than the day she married him. Forty fucking years.
Stuck in the usual traffic jam to the airport, the driver turns the dial up on the radio when Chicago’s “Hard to Say I’m Sorry” comes on. Blinking my eyes to stop the tears, I force myself to think about my mascara and how I don’t want panda eyes at the airport. But I’m not that strong.
The cab driver actually asks me if everything is okay and I make up some lie about being homesick. Don’t need to get into the whole ‘the man I love got married today and I’m a pathetic single mom running away from all my problems’ story.
Song after song plays, and the more they sing about love, the more my mind wanders to today. Haden and Eloise are officially Husband and Wife right now. The vows to love each other for all eternity have been said and
done. The shiny bands are sitting on their fingers, and right about now, they’re having their first dance as a married couple to some sappy song that probably played only moments ago in my cab.
I have shed so many tears over him. I’ve spent countless nights waking up in a cold sweat. If I’m ever to move on with my life, I need to grab that glue and start mending my heart. He may have torn it apart, but I’ll be damned if I’m the one suffering this lonely life all because of him. He can go ahead and be married, have a dozen babies for all I care. We both stood at that fork in the road and he went the opposite way.
Fate—you’ve laid out all the cards and I’ll take mine so you can leave me the fuck alone.
When street signs indicate that the airport is only a couple of minutes away, I breathe a huge sigh of relief. The driver pulls alongside the curb and hops out of the cab, opening the door for me. With Masen in his carrier, an attendant pushes a trolley my way, escorting me to the check-in desk with my suitcases.
The hustle and bustle of the airport distracts me. Streams of people lining up all heading to different destinations. There are plenty of businessmen standing in the first class line waiting impatiently to be served. The economy line is full of families and crying kids, all waiting to continue their journey. It takes longer than expected and by the time I’m served, I don’t have as much time as I originally set aside before having to board the flight. Shit. I don’t know how this happened; I scheduled everything and gave extra time for any incidentals like traffic or queues.
You dropped the ball, Presley. It’s what happens when you’re suffering from a broken heart.
Oh, shut up, brain!
As I walk towards the gate, I see a line has already formed. Just great. I’m not sure if I have enough time to check Masen’s diaper and grab a bag of chips. I have barely eaten all day. Scanning the gate area for a spare seat to change Masen, my eyes move towards a man sitting on his lonesome near the entrance. With his head bent down, dressed in a black tux, he nervously plays with his wedding ring. How odd. As if someone would fly wearing a tux! It takes a moment for my brain to catch on but when it does, it’s like a strike of lightning followed by loud thunder. It hits me all in that one moment. That signature move, running his hands through his hair. Rubbing of his eyes beneath his thick black frames . . .
It can’t be.
You’re seeing things. You’re tired and delusional from the lack of sleep and food. You also possibly need your eyes checked for old age. Yeah, that’s it. Blame it on old age.
Yet I am drawn to this mysterious stranger. His behavior is odd and I’m surprised that airport security hasn’t detained him for being a suspicious weirdo. Oh god . . . what if he has a bomb?!
I’m walking slowly towards this madman, frightened for mine and Masen’s lives. What the fuck am I doing? Why is no one else helping me! The nervous rush running through my veins is making the blood in my heart pump so hard I’m certain everyone can see.
Then I stop.
A few steps away.
My heart stops, the beats barely existent as I stand on the spot, frozen. The blood drains from my face, and like I’ve seen a ghost, the noises around me fade into the distance. My stomach is nothing but a hollow pit, the walls caving in as the pain eats away at every part of me that has struggled to exist.
All because the man in the black tuxedo is my jerk.
The man who has so carelessly stolen my heart.
I’m walking towards him like a zombie and somehow manage to place Masen’s carrier carefully on the ground beside me. With a dry throat, I’m unable to speak the words sitting on the tip of my tongue. The words that have run circles in my head, begging me to speak them out loud every second since he walked away that night. But my pride steps in, and straightening my posture, I try to act calm and cool, not wanting him to see how much he broke me.
“What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t say anything, and the announcement reminding everyone that final boarding is commencing sends everyone around us into a hurried pace. Yet Haden is sitting perfectly still. Head down, staring at the carpet, twisting his shining wedding ring around his finger.
He got married. You saw the wedding ring earlier. Run now. Board that plane and never turn back. Don’t wait for him to shatter your heart even further, if that’s even possible.
“Did you know Britney Spears was married for less than twenty-four hours?” His tone is even, controlled, not a single whisper of any remorse.
Where is he going with this?
“Uh, yes I did . . .”
Silence.
He laughs at himself, like it’s a sick and twisted joke, shaking his head as his shoulders slump. “Who would have thought I would beat that record? Three hours. I mean, who the fuck separates after three hours?”
My voice cracks, and with a nervous stutter I ask, “Haden . . . what are you trying to say?”
His eyes move slowly up my body, causing every part of me to ache in his presence. When his eyes eventually meet mine, his stare is so deep that I’m terrified he has climbed into my soul and has buried himself even further. He looks dejected, tired, and worn out. There’s no life in his eyes anymore . . . even when he stares back at me. And why would there be? He doesn’t love me.
“You see, all along I was waiting for a sign. Just like in the movies. You know, when the priest asks if anyone objects and the girl of your dreams runs into the church professing her undying love and then the couple run down the aisle and into a fancy car.”
“It was a guy stopping the wedding, and I think you mean bus,” I chastise, with a weak smile.
“In my fantasy it’s an Aston Martin.”
“That’s some fantasy you got.”
His eyes dance playfully. Behind the dark circles, the corners of his eyes wrinkle as a smile escapes him. “So I’m sitting at the head table as everyone toasts the newlywed couple and I think, wait. I’m the Jerk here. How could I expect that fantasy to come true when the girl I love avoids drama at all cost? She would never do anything like that. And if I had opened my eyes, I would have seen that she gave me an opportunity. An opportunity that I selfishly ignored and placed my own insecurities in front of.”
Another announcement interrupts, but I ignore it, eager for him to finish his story.
“Then, it’s time to dance with my wife, and like a giant wrecking ball that knocks the life out of me, I realize I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life. I married the wrong person because I didn’t think I was good enough for the girl that has consumed me.
“All along my girl said she wanted more. She wanted my heart to beat for only her. She wanted to be the only one I ever thought about. And she is. My heart beat for her the moment I first met her and purposely spilled that tea over her desk. It beat so fucking hard that I had no idea what to do. I have never experienced anything in my life like this. I just refused to believe she could ever feel the same way about me. So I married the wrong person hoping that the Band-Aid would fix the giant hole in my heart.”
“Haden . . .” I whisper, tears falling down my cheeks.
“It’s always been you, Presley Malone. Even before you even noticed I existed. I just couldn’t handle how intense my feelings were for you. I was going insane.” His voice cracks with pain.
I drop to my knees until we are face to face. Caressing his cheek, I don’t wait for any more signs. I lean in and kiss his beautiful lips. The second our lips touch, a warm electric current electrifies every inch of my body, and I know in this moment that I can never let him go again. I want to fight for him, for us, for our family.
I pull back momentarily, still in close proximity to him. “You said the girl you loved . . .”
“I love you.” He runs his fingers along the side of my cheek, moving them towards my hair. His grin takes my breath away, and with a gentle whisper, he says, “I love you so much I don’t know how to exist without you. I’m sorry I had to put you through all that to get to this point.”
“I love you, Haden Cooper. I’m sorry I didn’t have the guts to admit that earlier. I was terrified. I’ve never felt so in love with someone as I am with you.”
There, in front on the entire crowd, he pulls me in and kisses me deeply as if no one is watching. His tongue desperately searches for mine and the moment we connect, both of us moan. I don’t care who’s watching us. I never want to stop. This belongs in my catalog of memories. A moment I want to hold onto forever, because this time, I’m not going to let go of him, and I trust he will never hurt me that way again.
The crowd around us breaks into a cheer and applauds as we pull away from each other, shocked that everyone is watching us; a few are even filming us with their phones.
“I wanted more. But I’m not sure if I’m ready to be a YouTube sensation,” I whisper in his ear, laughing.
“I don’t care if the whole world sees this moment.” He lifts me up into his arms easily like I’m a feather and screams, “I fucking love you, Presley!”
The whistles and cheers don’t stop and I’m waiting for airport security to break up the chaos. Instead, they are standing on the sidelines with amused looks on their faces.
Suddenly, it dawns on me that we still have a major problem.
“There’s just one thing,” I remind him. “You’re still technically married.”
He moves his lips onto mine, not answering. He pulls back and the corners of his lips rise slowly in a half smile, partly showing his teeth. There’s a gleam in his eyes and I know he is holding something back. A secret that I’m not in on . . . yet. Slowly, he moves his hands inside his jacket and like a magician, pulls out two tickets.
“First class tickets to the Dominican Republic. Flight leaves in two hours.”
Huh? The Dominican Republic? How would that solve this problem? My silly, lovesick brain needs a couple of moments to catch up as he waits ever so patiently for the ball to drop.