You're Still the One

by Sasha Clinton

  “It’s okay. I have a spare shirt in my car. A spare jacket too, to soak up the spills,” he said, and despite the mood she was in, it managed to lift the corners of her lips.

  “I’ll pay for dry-cleaning this,” she said, embarrassed for having smeared her snot all over his shirt.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  When her left foot took a backward step, his hand lunged out and grabbed hers. The sudden touch sparked her nerves.

  “Andrew…”

  “Stay with me for a while. I’m feeling a bit lonely.” It was a brave confession from a man who had perfected wearing the suit of aloofness.

  Andrew and emotion were antonyms. But at the slight quiver in his lips, she gauged the depth of his feelings. She had perfect comprehension of how much it sucked to be alone in moments of sadness.

  She expected the screams inside her to break out into a pandemonium when she touched his hand. To tell her to get away from him when she was so emotionally unbalanced. He could affect her so easily now. Could get under her skin effortlessly. But she couldn’t leave. Not when she needed him as much as he needed her now.

  Picking up his hand, she led him further up the path for a walk around the cemetery. Nothing like physical exertion to get endorphins going. And endorphins were exactly what they both needed right now.

  “How did Violet die?” Andrew asked.

  “Cardiac arrest.” Ashley sounded almost peaceful saying that, like she was talking about a neighbor’s dead dog, instead of her mom. Death put that kind of distance between people. “She came to visit me in New York, then suddenly, she had to be taken to the hospital…”

  The distant memories flashed like interrupted TV signals.

  Andrew kneaded her shoulder and her arm arced around his waist. Being able to hold a human being brought solace to her weakened heart.

  With his skin shifting beneath her, the urge to go lower, go in, diverted her from her despondency. No, what was she thinking? They were in a cemetery, for goodness’ sake!

  “I wish I could say something that could lessen your loss, but there are no words that can do that.”

  “I know. Loss defies words.” Sucking in the mucus dripping from her nose, she turned to inquiring about Drew. “Did Drew have a family?”

  “Yes, three kids. The youngest one was one and the oldest six.” The creasing around his mouth showed Andrew had a soft corner for those kids.

  “How are they doing now?”

  “His wife, Holly, is looking after them. They’re young. Two of them don’t even know what death means.”

  “It must be tough for her.”

  “Yeah. But she’s handling it well. She’s doing her best for the kids.”

  “That’s good.”

  They turned where the path curved. He extracted his arm from her shoulder, probably judging that it had been there too long. Her shoulders felt bare without it.

  “How’s David doing since Violet’s death?”

  Surprised that Andrew remembered his ex-father-in-law, Ashley wished she could have given him better news.

  “He’s depressed. He’s changed so much. He’s lost weight and he doesn’t talk much nowadays. I’m hoping he’ll recover slowly.”

  “Is he getting any medical help?” The gravel on the path scratched his shoes.

  “He sees a counselor and attends a group session every week.” Ashley wiped away the wetness on her cheeks with her hand, but more replaced it.

  “Do you ever visit him?”

  “Sometimes. I’ll visit him this weekend. He was supposed to be here today. If he comes later, I’ll probably be back here with him in the evening and crying a few more gallons.”

  “If you need anything—a jacket to ruin, a human handkerchief or a six-foot punching bag—call me, okay?” His fingers cupped her chin, as he lifted her face up.

  “I don’t think I’ll need any of those things.” she said. Especially not from you.

  “I mean it, Ashley. Don’t suffer through the misery alone. Misery loves company. Especially of the handsome male variety.”

  Despite the gloom of the situation, her face lit up with a grin.

  She nodded, another smile encroaching upon her face, then rested her head against the top of his arm. Without heels, her head rested a hair’s breath below his shoulder bone.

  “Where did you learn to be such a smooth talker?” she asked him, trying to extend the moment of lightheartedness. “Obviously it isn’t genetic.”

  His father had all the tact of a tractor. She had only met him once, at the wedding, but his behavior had left a deep impression on her—a bad one.

  “I have my own natural talents, like you have yours.”

  Her talents. Her unused talents—kissing, making love. She crushed her lip with her teeth as her insides went to cinders.

  No, not here, not now. Not ever, actually. Not with him. She’d suffered enough for her one-sided love.

  Andrew stopped without notice, a few meters away from an ongoing funeral service. Men and women wearing black gathered around a casket, faces bent. As a young man recited the eulogy, and the minister read out his words, Andrew turned sharply and retraced his footsteps.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “Nothing. It’s just…” There was a perceptible wobble in his steady tone. “Can we walk the other way?”

  “Did it make you recall Drew’s funeral?”

  “No, it made me recall yours.”

  Her eyes widened. “What? I’m not dead.”

  “You came damn close to it.” Agitation spilled out of him. “I dreamt every night of this scene—of having to give a eulogy at your funeral. Having to close the casket on your beautiful, dead face.”

  The rising tide of emotions overcoming him made her see something in his face she had never seen before—vulnerability. The kind of vulnerability that turned a man into a helpless child. And fear—primal fear.

  So he’d had nightmares about her. What else had he had that she didn’t know about? Despite her attempts to squash the sympathy she was beginning to feel for him, she couldn’t. The honesty of his emotions seeped into her heart and softened some of her hatred towards him. Maybe he’d suffered too.

  She still couldn’t forgive him for what he had done, no matter how much he had suffered. Because she had suffered much more than him. And he’d let her suffer alone.

  But she could see that he had been human. That he had been terrified; he had been panicked. That somehow made his actions seem like those of an immature person rather than a cold-blooded automaton.

  “I didn’t know you cared for me enough to dream about me.” She kept her voice deliberately sharp.

  “Then you know nothing about me.” With his back to her, he looked distant, as distant as he had when he had left her.

  It unsettled her. For the first time, she doubted her assessment of him and his motives behind leaving her. What if it had been out of the fear of losing his mind rather than wanting to get rid of a mentally ill wife? The questions poked at her doubts, her beliefs, her judgments.

  How much did she want to know? How much could she handle? How much did she want to deny that he had loved her, even if in his own, selfish way? No, she was the victim here. She had to continue to be the victim if she was to keep him away.

  “I know enough about you to know that you are the kind of man who leaves his wife when she becomes too much of a burden.”

  No, she wasn’t going to listen. She didn’t want to give up her deeply ingrained resistance to loving him. She was scared of loving again. Scared of having to face the withdrawal of his affection again. Scared of trusting in him again. So she was going to fight to hold onto the hatred that could prevent her from feelings those things again.

  “Actually, I don’t blame you. You were probably terrified at the thought of being saddled with a mental patient. When you married me, I was beautiful, funny and all that. Then, suddenly, I’m half-crazy and suicidal.”

  “
That’s what you think? That I left you because you were not well?”

  “Isn’t that what you did?”

  He opened his mouth to rebel, but then hung his head, giving up. Whatever he had wanted to say died on his tongue. “Maybe it is. Maybe that’s all a confused twenty-four-year-old could have done. I’m sorry.”

  No, don’t let me win, she screamed, but the protest only vibrated inside her, rattling the core of serenity she had built up for seven years.

  “There’s no point in going over those things now. Whatever happened, happened. We should move on now.” he said.

  The rest of their sojourn down the gravel path was silent, except for the chirping of birds overhead.

  Then, at the entrance, they exchanged goodbyes and parted ways.

  Her heart refused to stop bleeding on the way back home.

  Chapter 9

  “How’s Andrew’s book coming along?” Mary asked on Thursday, at the doorway of the meeting room before the eleven o’clock acquisitions meeting.

  I haven’t even read a page.

  Since running into him at the cemetery, Ashley had been procrastinating on the book. She was well aware of what exactly was causing the trepidation—the fear of her feelings towards him changing.

  “It’s going well,” Ashley lied, before settling into her ergonomic chair in the boardroom packed with editors, assistants and interns, in-house publicists, the marketing director and the sales director.

  “I heard Derek couldn’t make it to lunch last week.” Mary massaged hand sanitizer over her palms. Mary could be really OCD sometimes.

  “Yeah, his daughter broke her arm.”

  “That’s bad. How did it go with Andrew?”

  “We talked about the publishing process and about the editing process. I think he knows what to expect.”

  Mary fiddled with the notes she’d made for the meeting. “Good. I was worried that working with your ex-husband might prove to be challenging for you.”

  “You knew I was married to Andrew?”

  “Derek emailed me this morning about it.” So Mary hadn’t known all along. Ashley had been a bit worried that her boss might be the most heartless bitch in the world. “I know you’re doing this as a favor, but I don’t want you to work on his book if you’re not comfortable. I mean, I’m going through a divorce now, and I don’t think I’d ever be able to look at something Nicholas wrote.”

  Ashley felt the same way. But she feigned competence. Mary would be in real trouble if she didn’t.

  “I think it’s a good book. I’m enthusiastic about working on it.” She waved her hands, like she was really excited.

  With that, she had pushed herself deeper into the hole she was trying to escape from.

  “You sound like a professional. I’m surprised you can not be affected by your past.”

  No, she wouldn’t say that.

  “It was a no-blame, mutual consent divorce, so we don’t have hard feelings towards each other.”

  “So it’s that. No wonder. I was surprised when I heard you used to be married to Andrew. I almost couldn’t believe it. I thought Derek was pulling a prank on me.”

  I almost can’t believe myself that I was married to that jerk.

  “We’re very different,” Ashley said, but since the afternoon at the cemetery, she was feeling the opposite.

  “Oh, before I forget. I won’t be able to make it to tomorrow’s book launch. I promised to attend Mark’s football game. You’re still going to go, aren’t you?”

  “I’m going.”

  The book launch scheduled for Friday was for one of the lead titles that Doubleside was launching this fall. It had been heavily promoted with ARCs, co-op and all that jazz, partly due to the fact that the writer was a financial maverick who had a professional and personal network as wide as the landmass of Canada, so getting mouths and fingers going on social media wasn’t a big issue for him.

  “Good, at least somebody is going. Oh, John’s here.” Mary snapped her attention back to the documents on the table.

  The head of marketing walked in and shut the door. All the gossiping in the room dropped to nothing. The editors, all excited to pitch their darlings, readied their profit and loss statements.

  It was time to roll.

  ***

  The Barnes and Noble store on Fifth Avenue was buzzing with energy and anticipation on a Friday night. Throngs of people hovered around the bookshelves like busy worker bees, looking to suck in their fill of books. The tills rang constantly, until their pings started resembling a concerto.

  Ashley loved this energy, loved soaking up this atmosphere. It was the sound of success.

  A large poster of Sam’s latest book and a cardboard cutout of him adorned the sides of the table where hills of his books were arranged neatly.

  She wove through the restless crowd. Wow. She had never seen so many people at a book launch party before.

  She found Sam—a jolly forty-five-year-old with the energy of a fifteen-year-old—leaning against a shelf in the business section.

  “Congratulations. That’s a big legion of fans you have in here.” she said.

  He wrapped her in a quick one-second hug. “Thanks. Glad you could make it.”

  Nobody else from Doubleside was here, as far as she could see. Not even Aoi, who was Sam’s editor.

  “I’ll go and buy a copy of the book, so I can get it signed by you.”

  “Wait,” He handed her a camera from the table. “I’m sorry to spring this on you suddenly, but do you mind taking a few pictures of the event? The photographer left for a break.”

  “Sure. I’d be happy to.”

  Hanging the Nikon camera around her neck, Ashley grabbed a cupcake before she found a spot where the lighting was good. She wasn’t a pro, but she had taken a photography class in college, so she knew her way around a camera.

  Bending her knee to adjust the angle, Ashley lost her balance when her ankle folded, unable to continue standing on the three-inch pencil heel.

  Something tore. Her hand darted to her back, where a slit went from the bottom of her knees, all the way up to her hip. She could feel the soft cotton of her underwear underneath her fingers. Her mind raced.

  Great! She should have known that the skirt was too tight for her. She had decided to carry her mini-clutch, so she couldn’t even cover the tear with her bag.

  And if that wasn’t bad enough, her heel was broken too.

  Ashley tiptoed to the wall, leaning up against the back, waiting for something.

  A miracle.

  A miracle was what she needed now. Nothing short of that could help her.

  ***

  The jab of heat in his lower abdomen at the sight of her threw Andrew off balance.

  He’d seen her skirt tear—and gotten an unwanted peek at her perky bottom before she’d pasted herself against the wall. It was a sensible thing to do, because an ass like that could easily steal the spotlight from everything else.

  She sucked in her lips and closed her eyes. To Andrew, it looked like she was praying. He should do something.

  Don’t get close to her, the voice in his head warned. She could sort this out herself. She had been taking care of everything on her own for the last seven years. He should pretend he hadn’t seen.

  But he couldn’t just look away and leave. The desperation in her tense shoulders tugged at him to play knight in shining armor.

  And that was what he ended up doing.

  “I wasn’t expecting to meet you here. We are running into each other a lot these days.” He rolled up to her nonchalantly.

  She twirled, a curly golden strand uncoiling from her ponytail. The lines on her face instantly arranged into a frown.

  “What are you doing here?” Her tone was positively unfriendly. He’d expect nothing less.

  “Sam invited me to the launch party. I figured that since I am going to be doing one of these in a few weeks, stopping by would be a good idea.”

  “Andrew…
forget it.” Her nose hit the wall when she turned away.

  “Need a new skirt?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  “You saw it?” Pink spots burst all over her cheeks.

  “Yeah. All of it.”

  “Ah! Great!” She stamped her broken high heels on the laminated wood and rolled her eyes. “Who should catch me at my most embarrassing moment but you?”

  “It could have been much worse. Someone else could have seen it—someone who’s not seen you naked before. Don’t you think it’s lucky that it was me?” Andrew turned on his smoldering gaze on her. She returned it with a glare.

  “Please don’t mention ‘lucky’ and ‘you’ in the same sentence.” She clicked her tongue.

  “I see you’re in a bad mood.” He brushed away the strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail. She passed him an annoyed glance, but he could see she was affected by it from the way the blush intensified. “Don’t worry. I’ll buy you a new one. What’s your size?”

  “Thirty-four B.”

  “Your skirt size, Ashley, not your bra size,” he reiterated. “Unless you want me to buy you a bra too?”

  She slapped her forehead, mortified by the slip.

  “Six. Size six.”

  “Any color preference?”

  “Black. Just hurry up.”

  “I’ll be back in five.”

  He sailed out into the humid evening, her stunning face leaving his consciousness only long enough for him to ask the retail assistant at Saks Fifth Avenue for a black size-six skirt.

  The line at the cash counter was longer than he expected, but a quick swipe of his card and he was out of there faster than lightning.

  ***

  Relief washed over every pore in Ashley’s body when Andrew handed her the Saks Fifth Avenue bag. She eyed the bathroom, which was on the other end of the floor.

  “You need me to come with you?” Andrew asked. She couldn’t help but melt at the concern in his eyes. It was moments like this when he made her weak.

  Ignore him, she told herself.

  “I’ll manage.” She didn’t want to let him too close, especially when her heart was unarmored after the incident at the cemetery.

  She positioned the bag over the torn back of her skirt and ducked to the bathroom. Thankfully, it was empty, so she could get in without any uncomfortable encounters. Paper rustled when she reached into the bag.