Still Us

by Lindsay Detwiler

  Most of all, the fear that I’d be my father’s son and do him proud, that when things got tough, I wouldn’t be man enough for Lila.

  That I would hurt her.

  I’d tried to explain it, over and over, in the best way I could. But how did you explain to a girl like Lila, a girl who believed in forever and who had two mostly happily married parents as role models, that forever was a frightening prospect? How did you explain that it really was you and not her? How did you explain that you wanted, you needed to give her forever, give her that commitment she needed, but that you just couldn’t… because you loved her too much?

  How did you put your reservations and fears out there for her to sift through and understand?

  How did you ask her to let go of her dreams of a marriage, of a house, of a real family, because you were too fucked-up to just get over yourself?

  You didn’t. You couldn’t. And as that knowledge seeped in over the past year, as we fought and scuffled like couples do but with the underlying knowledge that forever was always off the table, I think it cracked us.

  I think resentment leaked in. I think frustration, more frustration than the average couple feels, crept in when we weren’t looking.

  Suddenly, her long hours made me lonely, and my short hours made her pissed. Her need to schedule out our lives felt constraining, and I’m sure my desire to just go with it made her insane. Where once we had been the yin to each other’s yang, we now became the detriment of each other, the destructive bomb in our identities.

  We didn’t fit anymore. We couldn’t see the soul mates aspect anymore, and even if we did, I wasn’t ready to seal that soul mate bond with the ring she needed.

  I know she tried to get over it. She told me she didn’t need a ring, didn’t need that promise. And I almost believed her.

  But Christmas had revealed the truth. And I didn’t fault her for that. I didn’t blame her. The heart wants what it wants in life. I just hated myself for not helping her get that picture.

  I tiptoed out to the kitchen, feeling like I was walking on literal eggshells and not the metaphorical ones that now littered our relationship.

  “How was work?” I asked, an icy quality to my voice.

  “Fine,” she said and then sipped her water, not bothering to look at me.

  We didn’t look at each other anymore. We didn’t smile or talk or laugh.

  We just existed.

  And standing there, staring at Lila Morrow, the woman who stole my heart over a dying cat, it hit me.

  We couldn’t do this. We’d tried to reclaim what we had. We tried to move past the Christmas debacle. We’d painted on those smiles and assured ourselves we weren’t breaking.

  But, when we weren’t looking, we didn’t see that the break was already unfixable. It was already a devastating crack that couldn’t be patched or smoothed over.

  Lila and I, no matter how much I didn’t want it to be true, were done.

  So, I rustled up the courage I couldn’t find when it came to us.

  I would hate myself for that for days, weeks, and months afterward.

  “We can’t do this anymore,” I said, a quiet solemnity filling the room. Lila put the glass on the counter, still not making eye contact.

  “I know.”

  Two words, two simple, soft-spoken words that sealed our fate, that sealed what I already knew to be true.

  We’d both known, in honesty, since Christmas. We’d both known maybe even longer.

  We’d known what we didn’t want to know. We were broken. We were over.

  Luke and Lila as we knew us couldn’t exist.

  A piece of me wanted her to fight me, to say it would be okay. But she didn’t.

  Slowly, painfully, she seemed to force herself to look at me, those eyes staring into mine, the tears welling.

  “I loved you, Luke.”

  Loved. Past tense.

  I nodded, wondering what I should do. I wanted to cross the room, to pull her into my arms, to tell her I would make this better. But looking into her face then, I knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t give her what she wanted, not here.

  I also saw something else, though—I saw a hope of freedom. I saw the Lila Morrow who knew her plans for her life didn’t have to end here, with me, this curly-haired singing failure. I knew she could go out and find someone who deserved her, who could give her the ring and the promises and forever. I knew she could find someone who wasn’t already broken, already screwed-up when it came to love.

  She could find someone who hadn’t fooled himself into believing he was healed and capable of overcoming his past, his demons.

  I wanted to run across the room and beg her to stay. I wanted to force down my fears and promise her what she wanted to hear.

  But at that moment, I saw in her eyes resignation. So I resigned myself to the fate of losing Lila.

  I told myself it was the selfless thing to do, the best thing to do. In that moment, I convinced myself we’d already both checked out and that we didn’t fit. I convinced myself the fates weren’t in our favor.

  But that night, when I slept on the couch, I knew the truth.

  I’d chosen this. I’d chosen it from the second I saw her, the second I knew a girl like Lila deserved so much better than me.

  I knew from the second I kissed her that she would be my undoing, and that I wouldn’t be able to stop it.

  Lying on the couch, there was just bone-chilling silence. There were no screaming fights or swearing arguments—we were both too tired, too done for that.

  There was just the silence of broken hearts, of shattered dreams, and of painful tomorrows we knew were coming.

  In the coming weeks, we divided our things and prepared for the disentanglement of our lives. We let the iciness creep in and take over, broadening the gap that had already been growing between us. We didn’t get out our ice picks and try to chip it away. We’d given up now, resigned ourselves to going our separate ways.

  Over the next few weeks, I wrestled with myself. So many times, I wanted to cross that icy sea and grab her, throw her a life ring, toss her a straw of hope. I wanted to tell her I’d change, that I would be the man who deserved her. I wanted to promise her the forever I knew would be shaky.

  But looking at Lila Morrow from a newfound distance, I realized what I’d known all along. I couldn’t be the man for her. I couldn’t be what she needed. Lila was a go-getter, a planner, and a woman on a mission in life.

  And I was me. Luke Bowman, the abandoned son of an asshole, the man who believed marriage was fucked from the start.

  I wanted Lila to be the woman to change my mind. I wanted to believe our love was strong enough to change me.

  But maybe I had just been as naïve as my twelve-year-old self who thought my dad was coming back. Maybe I’d let the feelings I had with Lila overpower my brain.

  So, as I watched her pack up her now ninety-one pairs of shoes in boxes, labeling them carefully, and make arrangements to move back in with her mom, I sat by and watched. I watched as she sorted herself out in the orderly way she did, compartmentalizing all the pieces of herself and gluing the Lila she was without Luke back together. I watched her rip all shreds of us out of her life, watched her piecemeal together a semblance of normalcy. I watched her march forward to a carefully planned path that now just erased me from it.

  I watched her walk into the unknown with a sense of purpose I’d never had.

  I watched her walk away with a huge piece of my heart and the painful knowledge that I never deserved her and that I’d never have her again.

  Most of all, when we said our final goodbye, I watched the best damn thing that ever happened to me walk away, knowing the whole time I was making the biggest mistake ever—but not knowing how to find the courage to stop it all.

  ***

  “This is a terrible idea,” I say out loud to myself as I’m driving the familiar road. And it is, in fact, probably the worst idea I’ve had in forever.

  I haven
’t talked to her in months. I haven’t seen or heard from her. And what if her new boyfriend’s there? What am I going to say anyway? What do I hope will come out of this?

  Maybe Mom did put some pot in the brownies because I’m clearly not thinking straight.

  I can’t manage to force my foot to the brake, though. It’s like I’m on autopilot, unable to stop the train that is my heart.

  When I get to the familiar street, I park a few houses down, shut the truck off, and take a deep breath. I have no idea what I’m doing.

  But maybe I do.

  I get out of the truck and shut the door as quietly as I can, almost as if in reverence for what I’m about to do.

  Dammit, I miss her.

  And if Mom can get over her fears and her qualms about love, what’s stopping me? What’s stopping me from being the man Lila needs?

  I tiptoe up the familiar sidewalk, up the driveway that holds so many memories. I step onto the porch, my heart thudding so hard I can hear it pounding in my head. I’m reaching my fist up to knock when I glance through the front window and see it.

  Lila.

  She’s smiling, beaming by the tree, the Morrow family tradition I was once a part of on Thanksgiving. She’s hanging an ornament on the side.

  She isn’t alone, though.

  His arms are wrapped around her. He’s kissing her neck, and she’s giggling, the lights from the tree making the glow of her skin even more palpable, even through the window.

  She looks… happy. Peaceful. Joyous.

  Who the hell am I to come crashing into that?

  She’s moved on. She’s found what she was looking for.

  It just isn’t me.

  I slink away from the door, rushing back to my truck before someone can see me. I walk away from the home that used to house who I considered family. I walk away from the traditions and the love.

  I get back in my cold, empty truck and drive away, having no clue where I’m truly going.

  ***

  “Here,” a familiar, kind voice says behind me, and I stop strumming on my guitar for a minute. I’m singing to an empty street, the light above me the only thing keeping me company. With every word I sing, my breath comes out as a cloud, the chilly November air biting into me. My fingers are practically numb, but I needed to be here.

  I needed to sing, to mourn, and to work out what I saw tonight in the only way I can.

  I turn to see Dot, wrapped in a red parka and a scarf. She hands me a plate with a doughnut on it.

  “It’s my pumpkin tarte doughnut, since its Thanksgiving and all.”

  “I thought you would be closed,” I say, taking the plate and the heavenly looking doughnut.

  “I was. But I was driving by and saw a lonely friend on the street corner, and thought he could use a doughnut.”

  “Thanks, Dot.”

  “Now why don’t you come inside for a few minutes? I have some organizing to get done, and it’s too damn cold to stand out here. Come on with me, tell me what has you here alone on Thanksgiving of all days.”

  I oblige, pack up my guitar in its case, and follow her inside. She flips on the light before taking off her parka and tossing it on the nearby table.

  I do the same, slinking into a chair.

  Dot heads behind the counter. She busies her hands as she always does. “So tell me, Luke Bowman, what are you doing?”

  “To tell you the truth, Dot? I have no idea.”

  Dot sighs, stopping her work to walk over to me. She sits across from me.

  “Tell me all about it.”

  I do. I tell her about my Mom and Charley. I tell her about Margot. I tell her about Scarlet’s words and the visit to Lila’s and the sight in the window.

  I tell her how I miss Lila but how I know I’m not what she needs. I bare it all to her, the things I’ve been too cowardly to say to anyone else, most of all to the woman who really should be hearing it.

  Dot just shakes her head when I’m all done. “Luke Bowman, you’re an idiot, you know that?”

  “Thanks, Dot,” I say, shaking my head too.

  “I mean it. All this not good enough talk. Snap out of it. That girl was head over heels for you, you know? And she still is.”

  “She has a new boyfriend.”

  Dot just laughs. “He may be her boyfriend, but he’s not you. Not even close. Lila might have on a smile with him, but I see the cracks. I see how her eyes look off into the distance when he’s talking. I see how she’s thinking exactly what you are—that he’s not you and never will be. I wish you two would stop playing this damn dance. Life’s too short. Sure, you weren’t perfect together. But guess what? Nobody is. Love is hard work, married or not. And when you find someone who fits you, someone who makes you happy, you hang on to it like it’s a one-of-a-kind flavor of doughnut. And when it crumbles, you pick up the crumbs and put it back together. That’s what you two need to do. Pick up the crumbs, Luke. Stop being a coward. Tell her how you feel. Be honest about what you’re afraid of. Find a way to work it out. Because if you don’t, you two are going to live these fake, ingenuine lives forever. And that, my friend, would be a real shame.”

  “I can’t, Dot. I can’t ruin her happiness.”

  “Well, then, I guess you better get used to singing sad songs under the streetlight,” she says, clearly disappointed. At that, Dot wipes off her hands, stands, and goes back to her work, humming to herself as she tidies up. I sit for a long while, taking in Dot’s words.

  I wish I could take her advice. I wish I could find a way to go back, to choose differently. But I can’t. And I can’t expect Lila to drop everything for me. We’ve been there. What’s changed?

  Nothing. I’m no different than the man she walked away from. So why should I threaten what she has now? She’s moved on. I need to let go.

  “Thanks, Dot,” I say after a long while, getting up and hugging her. “Do you want me to walk you to your car?”

  “I’m good, honey. You go on home. You’ve got a lot of thinking to do.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m positive. See you soon,” she says, winking at me. I smile, heading out of Dot’s not really feeling any better, but happy to have everything out in the universe and off my chest.

  And happy to know despite what Dot thinks, I at least feel like I’m doing the right thing.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lila

  As usual, the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas are a blur. Oliver and I spend more time together, going ice skating for the first time and having way too much coffee. I also spend a lot of time tediously packing up yet again and moving into my new place, to Mom’s utter disdain. Her first visit is filled with scowls and snarky comments. But thanks to Maren and Zoey, we get the place looking pretty okay, buying lots and lots of area rugs and cute decorations.

  And air fresheners.

  So by Christmas Eve, when my family gathers in the living room of Mom and Dad’s to watch the Griswolds’ Christmas, as is our custom, I’m feeling pretty content if not a little lonely.

  Oliver’s understandably gone to Maine for the holiday to spend time with his parents and, despite his invite, I wanted to stay put. There’ve been so many changes. Even though they drive me up a wall and fifteen minutes into our Christmas Eve celebration I want to drink the entire pitcher of eggnog, I wasn’t quite ready to change this tradition.

  Maybe it’s Maren’s pregnancy. Maybe it’s because so much has changed this year that I don’t have sure footing. Whatever it is, I’m feeling sentimental.

  Cuddling up with Henry and Trixie on the love seat alone, the only hint of Oliver the perfume he bought me—expensive perfume, I must say—I’m cozy, content even.

  And then my phone buzzes.

  “Oh, is that your hot boyfriend?” Maren sings like I’m fifteen, and I roll my eyes.

  “Hush, the good part’s coming up,” Grandma yells. Who knows what part she thinks is good, but I dare not ask.

  I look down
to see a text, but it isn’t from Oliver.

  It’s from Luke.

  And it says Emergency.

  With that, I’m off the couch and into the kitchen, panic setting in.

  ***

  I’m barely inside the vet office, flicking on the lights, when Luke follows, rushing in with Floyd.

  Doctor mode sets in. “Bring him back to room one,” I say, rushing back to get the equipment I need.

  Floyd is in Luke’s arms, not looking very well. He’s clearly in distress, not his usual, wily self.

  I rush him back, examining and checking for obvious traumas. “You said he hasn’t been eating?” I ask.

  “It’s been a few days. I thought he was just under the weather.”

  “Has he been vomiting?”

  “Yes, and today, it’s been a lot. He’s just not himself, Lila. I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry, I know it’s Christmas Eve, but I didn’t know what to do.” Luke’s voice is shaking with panic. I’ve only seen him this worried one other time.

  Luke’s clearly beside himself, worried about Floyd—and for good reason. The cat’s clearly in need of medical attention.

  “Stay here, Luke. I’m going to x-ray him. I think he’s got something lodged. Did he eat anything weird?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  I rush Floyd back to the X-ray machine and, within a few minutes, it’s confirmed.

  Floyd needs surgery, and it looks like I’m the only one who can save him now.

  ***

  “Thank you again. I’m so sorry,” Luke says hours later when we’re sitting in the back room, Floyd coming out of surgery just fine. I’ll have to stay and keep an eye on him, so we’re back in the room Floyd is no stranger to. The poor guy is sleeping now, and we’re on the sofa, taking a breath for the first time all night.

  “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I’m glad I could help,” I say, meaning it. I’m exhausted and worn out, the surgery taking its toll on me.

  “I still can’t believe he ate a damn piece of his cat scratcher.”