Imperfect Love Story

by Rachael Brownell

  All for appearances, of course.

  Attached two-car garage and detached three-car garage.

  Large wrap-around front porch with hand-carved rocking chairs and a swing on either side of the front door. I loved to love to sit out front in the fall, the smell of fresh-cut hay on the breeze. I’d grab a book to read or watch the sunset.

  Turning my attention to the ranch, there’s little activity outside right now. A few head of cattle are roaming around in the open meadow closest to the barns, but the rest are probably taking shelter inside. Looking down at the clock on my dashboard, it’s just after one o’clock. The ranch hands should be back from lunch soon and work will resume, no matter how hot it is outside. There’s always something to be done, animals to be tended to, and my father’s ranch runs like a well-oiled machine. Everyone knows where they need to be and what they need to do.

  Taking a calming breath, I give myself a quick pep talk. I need one before walking back in there.

  I can do this. I am strong. It’s only for a few days.

  Sure, I’ve seen my parents several times since I left, but never here. Not on their turf. They’ve always come to me. Birthdays, holidays, family vacations. Any occasion, any time we’ve spent together, has been in Denver. They even bought a condo in the city so they would have somewhere to stay when they visited.

  Staying with me was out of the questions, especially after Lola arrived. My three-bedroom apartment was full. With Carmen living with me to help care for Lola, there was no room for my parents when they visited.

  I can do this. I am strong. It’s only for a few days.

  Repeating the words over and over in my head, I snag my bag from the backseat and climb the steps of my childhood home. As I’m about to open the front door, it opens for me, an elderly lady with vibrant white hair and a large smile on her face welcoming me.

  “Miss Chloe. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m Marta,” she says, pulling me in for a hug.

  “Hi,” I reply dryly. Marta, the woman who must have replaced Carmen when she became my live-in nanny. “Where’s my mother?” Just as I ask, I hear her laughter from the living room. “Never mind. I’ll find her.”

  Dropping my bag next to the door, Marta scoops it up and heads up the staircase. Watching her go, I cringe a little on the inside. Had I thought about it, I would have taken my bag up myself. There was no need for her to do that, even though I know my parents expect that of her.

  “Mother,” I state as I walk into the living room. She’s standing on a platform, three women working feverishly around her, pinning her dress in place.

  “Ah, Chloe. You made it. How are you, dear?”

  “Fine. What’s all this?” I ask, knowing the answer will be more elaborate than necessary.

  My mother has changed since I left. I noticed it last year when they visited for Christmas. She’s sickly sweet these days, likes to talk for hours, and is overwhelming at times, even more so than when I was a child. She is constantly telling me how much she loves me.

  I’ve chalked it up to her realizing what a bitch she was when I left. Maybe this is her way of making amends for all the wrongs in her life. Maybe she’s just softening in her older age. Whatever it is, it’s annoying as hell. I almost prefer her acting like a snooty bitch.

  “Well, a lady’s got to look her best when she’s the center of attention, right? These lovely ladies are going to make this dress a true work of art, and I’m ever so grateful.”

  “Fabulous, Mother. I’m going to take a nap,” I say, turning to run from her sickly sweet voice. I don’t get far, of course.

  “Oh, Chloe. Before you go, can you please find your father and make sure things are progressing in the backyard? Pretty please.”

  Good lord.

  “Sure.”

  Walking through the house, I duck and weave through hordes of people moving furniture and decorating the main rooms. The kitchen is in disarray as a team of caterers attempt to work in a kitchen made for a maximum of six people. By the time I push through the back door, I’m beginning to feel claustrophobic.

  My father is standing in the middle of the yard, directing traffic. Next to him is a petite woman, coming only to my father’s chin in her heels. She looks important, her pale yellow top glistening in the afternoon sun.

  Three large white tents have been set up already as well as wooden flooring inside them. There is a team stringing up lights and another team hauling in tables and chairs.

  With the party in less than forty-eight hours, they’re ahead of schedule from what I can tell. Once they cover the tables and drop centerpieces, things will move quickly after that. I’m surprised my mother didn’t ask me to come coordinate everything for her.

  With a degree in event management, I would have been able to take some of the stress off my parents, not that either of them looks stressed at the moment. My father is pointing and my mother is wrapped in expensive fabrics.

  “Chloe!” my father hollers in delight.

  “Hey, Dad.” The fact that I called him dad makes him smile. It’s been a while and the word slipped past my lips effortlessly. After I left, I called him father or when I was really pissed, Joseph. He hated it when I called him by his first name, and that knowledge fueled my fire.

  “Come here, sweetheart.” Uh, not him too. Since when do my parents call me by nicknames? “This is Kelsey. She’s in charge of things this weekend. If you need anything, you let her know.”

  Since when do they hire someone to plan their events? My mother has always run things around here. There’s no party too big or too small for her to handle. That’s the way she likes it. I swear she used to make up occasions to have people over when I was growing up just so she could plan something. It’s probably part of the reason I chose to become an event planner myself. I saw all the ways she could have done things bigger and better, or even simpler, and knew I could make it happen. I learned a lot from my mother’s parties.

  “Hi, Chloe. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet you,” she says, extending her hand.

  “It’s nice to meet you too. Dad, Mom wants to know how things are going out here.”

  “I’m sure she does. You tell her to mind her own business,” he quickly retorts.

  “Um, does Mom not have a say in all this?” I ask, extending my hands out in reference to the extravagance surrounding us.

  “Not this time. It’s her birthday and this is my gift to her. I’m planning the party, with Kelsey’s help, of course.”

  “Well, this should be interesting,” I mutter under my breath. “So, what can I do to help, then?”

  “Nothing. Go relax, unwind from your trip. Dinner will be served promptly at five in the family dining room. I’ll see you then,” my father replies, dismissing me with a wave.

  I don’t think interesting is a strong enough word to describe what will transpire this weekend. With my mother not leading the charge, she’s going to be unbearable until the party. My father, on the other hand, will be walking around with a smug grin on his face, proud of his accomplishments. Accomplishments that my mother isn’t privy to.

  Then there’s me, stuck in the middle of them. Dinner will be a show, I’m sure, as my mother tries to get any details out of my father she can. At least the focus won’t be on me for a change. That’s the only sense of relief I feel right now.

  Taking the back staircase, I make my way up to my childhood bedroom. When I open the door, I’m not surprised to find that it’s been redecorated. My walls, once light pink and covered in posters of pop stars, are now a soft beige and adorned with framed Ansel Adams photos. My white, four-post bed is gone, replaced with a dark-stained sleigh bed with matching furniture.

  There’s nothing childish about this room. In fact, if my bag wasn’t sitting on the bed, I would wonder if I had walked into the wrong room.

  “Can I get you anything, Miss Chloe?” a voice says from behind me, startling me.

  “No, thank you, Marta,
” I reply softly, smiling at her over my shoulder.

  No, there’s nothing I need. Except maybe a chance to rewind time a little and choose a different path. We all have fears, mine was of losing Wyatt. His was of heights.

  The thought alone makes me laugh to myself.

  Making my way over to the window, I look down at the chaos below. A man walks by carrying a ladder over his head, one rung missing near the middle, and I smile. That ladder created a lot of amazing memories in this very room.

  “You want me to what?” Wyatt says as I drop him off down the road from my house.

  “Look, I’ll move the ladder when I get home. All you have to do is climb up when I turn my light on and I’ll let you in the window. It’s easy. I’ve done it before.”

  “And how high up is your window?”

  “Not that high. Why? Are you scared of heights?” I tease. When he doesn’t reply, I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. “Well, if you’d rather, I can walk you through the front door and you can meet my parents. I’m sure they wouldn’t have a problem with you staying the night.”

  “I think I’d rather take my chances with the ladder.”

  Quickly going over the plan one more time, Wyatt gets out of the car and begins to make his way through the meadow in the direction of my house. As soon as I pull into the driveway, I rush to move the ladder from its resting place in the garage and head inside. My parents are both in the living room when I pop my head in. My father is reading the paper, my mother a book, but the TV is on and the news is blaring from the speakers. You would think they were both partially deaf with how loud it was, but that was going to work to my advantage tonight.

  “I’m home,” I holler.

  “Did you eat dinner?” my mother asks without looking up.

  “Yep. I’ve got some studying to do and then I’m going to bed.”

  “Okay. Goodnight, then.”

  Too easy. My parents have no idea what I do all day and most of the time, I’m certain they don’t care. I stay out of trouble, get good grades and run in the approved circles as far as they know. They see me as the perfect daughter because they only see what they want to see, and I plan to keep it that way.

  Flipping my light on, I lift my window and slide out onto the roof of the porch. Looking over the edge, my eyes meet Wyatt’s and realize how real his fear is. His eyes are wide, and his hands are shaking as he grips the sides of the ladder, his foot poised on the bottom rung.

  “I’m right here. You can do this. I promise,” I say with confidence.

  Nodding, Wyatt slowly climbs the ladder, his eyes never leaving mine. Once he’s safely on the roof, he scrambles through my window, sitting on the floor inside my window. Climbing in behind him, I find him panting heavily, a panic attack on the horizon.

  Holding him in my arms until he calms down, I rub my hand up and down his back and kiss the top of his head. I’ve had one panic attack in my life and it wasn’t pleasant. If I had known that this would send him spiraling into one, I never would have asked him to do it. I would have found another way.

  “I’m sorry,” I say when his breathing finally returns to normal.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  “Um, yes there is. I pushed you to climb that ladder. If I had known—”

  “It’s not something I’m proud of, but heights scare the shit out of me. They always have. I don’t know why but there was going to come a time I was going to have to face that fear, and tonight turned out to be the night. At least it was for a good reason,” he replies, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

  “Oh yeah? I’m a good reason.”

  “The best reason. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Chloe. You have to know that by now. I love you.”

  And just like that, my world turned upside down. All it took were three little words.

  He’d never said them before, but I knew how he felt. I felt the same. Falling in love with Wyatt had been easy. We’d been together for four months and I’d fallen for him a little more each day. It was the little things like the way he looked at me or how he showed me he cared.

  Tonight, on the floor of my bedroom, I fell the rest of the way. I knew he was the one. We were meant to meet, to find each other. One night changed everything for both of us.

  “I love you too,” I reply, pressing my lips to his.

  “I love you too,” I say aloud.

  It still rings true. My love for Wyatt has never wavered, not one day. The only thing I can do to keep that love alive is to love our daughter because I know the moment he finds out about her, the only feelings he’ll have for me are hatred and disgust.

  I’m prepared for that. To love him for the rest of my life without being loved back.

  If I thought things could turn out differently, I would do whatever it takes to make that happen. Every scenario I’ve run through my head has led me down a dark road. One I’m sure is in the near future now that I’m home. Even if it’s only for a few days.

  I can feel him.

  I felt his presence when I drove through town, and I can feel him now. I wonder if he can feel that I’m back. Has he moved on? I’ve been too scared to ask anyone. The fact is, I know the answer will break me. No matter what it is.

  5

  Four

  Marta knocks on my door promptly at five. Dinner is ready, and my parents are waiting.

  I’ve spent the last few hours rehearsing what I plan to say to my parents’ guests this weekend. People are going to ask how I am, who the adorable little girl beside me is, and, most importantly, where my husband is. It’s not because they’re nosy, it’s because that’s what people around here do when you disappear for so long.

  They inquire about your life.

  Most of the time it’s a genuine interest in what you’ve been up to. Other times it’s so they can compare what they’ve done or share their life story. No matter what, my life will be portrayed as flawless thanks to my parents’ diligence over the years.

  They’ve developed my life story over the years, dropping hints and clues to friends as people have asked about me.

  I work and live in Denver. I’m an event manager for the University of Colorado. The only truths amongst all the lies.

  I’m a single mother because I lost my husband in a car accident. It happened right before Lola was born. With Lola in preschool, I don’t visit often because I don’t want to disrupt her schedule.

  Now that… that is the biggest lie of them all in my opinion. I could visit every weekend if I wanted to. It’s only a four-hour drive without traffic.

  The truth coming out would destroy my parents. Their reputation is everything to them. They’ve fabricated lie after lie over the years to keep up appearances when it comes to me. Had they told the truth, that I had a child out of wedlock, I’m sure they felt they would have been judged. Knowing the circle they tend to associate with, they very well may have, but on the other hand, who knows.

  On one hand, I don’t blame them for lying. They still live here, they still see the same people every day. The reputation of the ranch was at stake in a way.

  On the other, I think it’s all bullshit that I have to keep lying at this point. Lola is four years old. One day I’m going to tell her the truth, that her father’s still alive, and she’s going to hate me for lying. She’s going to want a relationship with him.

  That’ll be the day I break and tell my parents to go to hell. It won’t be this weekend, though. This weekend is about my mother, not me.

  “No one needs to know about any of this, Chloe Grace. Do you understand,” my father said as he handed me my suitcase and a set of keys to the apartment.

  “Who am I supposed to tell? You took my phone.”

  “That’s exactly why I took it. You’ll have a replacement tomorrow. For now, get comfortable. Your mother and I will be by in the morning.”

  With that, he walked out the door and closed it behind him. I was officially alone.
>
  Wyatt was four hours away, probably wondering where I went and what my note meant.

  My parents are shacked up at the hotel downtown.

  Me? I’m staring at an empty three-bedroom apartment. I have the clothes on my back, a suitcase Carmen packed for me, and an air mattress still in the box, waiting to be inflated.

  I get to work setting myself up for the night so I can attempt to sleep. It won’t come easily, if at all. My dreams will be nightmares. Those same nightmares will become my reality when I open my eyes in the morning.

  Lying on the air mattress, my mind is on one thing and one thing only.

  Wyatt.

  I need to call him, talk to him, and explain what’s going on. He deserves to know I’m pregnant. He needs to know this wasn’t my decision, that my parents forced me into the car and brought me here. He’ll never forgive me if he thinks I left him.

  Locking the door behind me, I set out to find a phone I can use. I need to call him tonight. The longer I wait, the harder it’ll be to tell him.

  I walk six blocks before I find a bar with a pay phone. When cell phones became a household staple, the pay phone became obsolete apparently. I found one a few blocks back, but it didn’t work.

  The operator is not sympathetic to my situation. I don’t have a number to give her to place a collect call. She’s not willing to locate a number, and by the time she hangs up on me, I’m screaming into the phone, begging her to help me.

  Is no one on my side?

  Am I all alone in this world right now?

  In less than nine months, I won’t be, but until then, it appears I’m my only ally and friend.

  When my parents show up the next morning, they’re not alone. A flood of people enters my apartment carrying a variety of furniture, setting things up as they see fit. Three hours later, I’m putting sheets on my new bed and my father is placing my new cell phone onto the charging station.