Sweet Bliss

by Helena Rac

  I promised I would never leave without saying it, so I keep my promise. Even though it’s heartbreaking saying it and even more heartbreaking seeing his reaction – a stunned, hopeless gaze, like it’s finally sunk in.

  I turn away and don’t dare look back. This is it. Step Three: Run.

  I expect to hear him call my name, I expect him to come after me, but he doesn’t. Not this time. Perhaps he’s realized it would be futile to fight for something that’s doomed to fail.

  I’m certainly taking the easy way out. Or at least I think I am. According to my carefully planned-out plan, this is the hardest step. It can’t get any worse than this, because we’re done. We’re over. What a relief.

  Except that I also feel deflated and sad. It’s not surprising, given what just transpired. I’m sure it will fade over time, though. I’m positive, because I’ve lived through it.

  When I get back to the table, Clara reads right through my everything-is-peachy expression and asks, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Why?” Am I really that transparent?

  “You were gone for a while. And Luke followed right after you left. But he hasn’t come back with you.” And why does she have to be so damn intuitive?

  “He must have gotten sidetracked.” I try to sound unaffected, hoping to deflect her question. That seems to do the trick because she doesn’t probe further.

  “Are you ready to get going, then?”

  “Yeah. Definitely.” I’m all smiles as I finish my glass of wine. I so need it right now. Or maybe a shot of something stronger or, better yet, sugar. I have a sudden urge to raid my own bakery. But composure prevails. The façade is back – happy, confident Tessa, who’s hoping the confusing, gloomy thoughts that are crowding her brain won’t show on the surface.

  I grab Clara’s arm as we make our way out of the restaurant and to the club with the bridesmaids for a girls’ night out, a mini-bachelorette party. We had an official one a month ago, and Marcus had his bachelor party several weeks ago too, because Clara didn’t want to have them too close to the wedding. She wanted to make sure there were no last-minute hiccups. I think she must have seen the Hangover movies too many times.

  The guys are heading out on their own tonight as well, but I don’t really want to think about what Luke might end up doing after I left things the way I did. I really hope he’s not going to jump the first opportunity who presents herself just because he’s pissed at me. I’m being irrational – he wouldn’t do that. You broke things off, I’m reminded by the tiny voice that tries to reason with me. Like I need the reminder.

  Once we get to the club, we head straight to the dance floor. I’m hopeful the deafening music and the distance from Luke will make me feel lighter, freer somehow. More confident about the decision I made. But dancing doesn’t help as much as I thought it would. I can’t seem to let go like I normally do. Drinks don’t seem to help either. There are plenty of guys here, but all I can think about is the one guy I just forced out of my life. I tell Clara I need to get some fresh air and that I’ll be back in a few minutes. She looks concerned, but I tell her it’s just the drinks and the heat and the crowd that are getting to me. If only…

  I walk out to the patio and take a calming breath, but even the air outside feels stifling. I’m so confused. I search my brain for the sense of relief I should be feeling. After all, I just avoided potential heartbreak. I should be ecstatic. But the eerie feeling can’t seem to disappear.

  “Tessa?” A familiar voice startles me. I search through my bucket of memories, trying to place it. It cannot possibly be. I turn around and am faced with the last person on the planet I want to see at this moment.

  “Jason?” I ask as if uncertain, although I’m fully aware it’s him. I haven’t seen him in ages, but I recognize him easily. He seems older and broader, and his hair is longer, but he still looks attractive.

  I brace myself for an onslaught of anger, resentment, infatuation, lust, forgiveness, need … but I don’t feel a thing. Nothing. As if I never knew him. He’s just a good-looking guy who appears to know my name.

  I’m relieved. Time really does make a difference. I don’t doubt for a second that I am over him. I’m just not over the scars he’s left on my heart.

  “I thought I caught a glimpse of you on the dance floor.” He seems shocked that it is in fact me.

  “Turns out you were right.”

  “How are you?” he asks timidly, probably wondering if I even want to talk to him after the way he left things between us.

  I’ve thought of what I would say to Jason if I ever ran into him, but now that I’m actually face to face with him, everything I ever wanted to say seems pointless, a waste of breath. He’s not worth it. He doesn’t deserve a second of my attention.

  “Good. Things are good. Real good,” I reply, and I smile confidently. Never mind that just a little while ago I forced a certain someone out of my life because I have commitment issues that span three years and I have no one but this jerk to thank. “How about you?” I’m being polite, because that’s what mature people do in situations like this, right?

  “Things are great, yeah…” He trails off, and I wonder if he’s being honest with me or if he’s pretending, just the way I am. But he’s never been good at saying what he really means, so his less-than-expressive response doesn’t surprise me one bit.

  An uncomfortable silence finds its way around us, the kind I absolutely despise. Awkward. I pick at my nails nervously as the space around us becomes suffocating. How did it ever feel anything but? I have that impulse to ask a question just to break the quiet.

  “So I see you’re back?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been back for almost a year.”

  I’m surprised by his answer. I can’t believe he’s been back that long. And I can’t help but wonder where things would have been right now if we’d run into each other sooner.

  “Oh, wow, I had no idea. How come?” I’m not even sure I really care to know the answer.

  “Things just didn’t work out,” he says, not giving much away.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Not at all. Karma’s a bitch.

  “What have you been up to?” he asks.

  “A little bit of this. A little bit of that. I did manage to open up my own bakery, actually.” I smile, but it’s bittersweet. I’m happy to inform him that I did in fact go after that dream of mine, but it reminds me of all the times I told him about it, the countless hours I spent planning, the fact that he didn’t bother to stick around and dream with me.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” I can sense he wants to ask a question but is hesitant. “You wanna grab a drink or something?”

  “Sorry, I can’t.” Not after the way you left things.

  “Oh.” He sounds disappointed. Good. “Are you seeing someone?” He surprises me with his bold question, because being frank is so not like him, and I can’t help but falter.

  Yes, I was. But I was too afraid to keep him.

  “Umm, yes … yeah, definitely.” So convincing. I lie and tell the truth at the same time. I wonder if he can see right through me. “How about you?”

  The last thing I want Jason the Jerk to know is that he left scars that are still with me, smothering me, preventing me from finding my happily-ever-after. Argh! I was wrong. Anger is one emotion I still feel toward him.

  “Not really. No one special anyways,” he admits.

  At least he’s being honest. Not that I really care to know, though. Okay, maybe I do care a little. But only because I’m hoping he’s as miserable as I was when he first left me. I’m hoping he’s scarred from his experience overseas, even though I have no clue why he returned. But I’d like to think getting dumped by a pretty brunette is what caused him to come back.

  “Well, it was nice seeing you,” I say, and I’m ready to scurry off. It’s liberating knowing his life doesn’t seem to be much further along than mine. No wedding ring, no kids, no special someone in his life.

  “You
know–” He holds onto my arm to stop me from moving past him. “I really am sorry about how I left things with us. I know it was forever ago, but I want you to know that I made a mistake. I thought better things would come my way. I was wrong. I do still think about you. And wonder.”

  Wow. Okay. Did I just hear him right?

  But I’m not letting him get to me this time around.

  “Well, I don’t,” I say with conviction, as I pull out of his grasp, making my way past him, leaving him stunned. Taking control. Freeing myself of the scars that have pained my heart for three years too long.

  Chapter 20

  I know what heartbreak feels like. Jason made sure of that. I’ve seen it happen with Clara, and with Mom, too, after Dad died. One thing’s for sure: It’s not pretty. In fact, it can be paralyzing. Yesterday, I was convinced that I’d made the right decision – letting go of Luke was the smart thing to do. Thought out thoroughly, courtesy of my plan. I put emotions aside and used my brain, just like I normally do and just like my dad taught me. And logic has served me well in the past.

  But after the chance meeting with Jason last night, I’m no longer sure. In fact, I’m even more confused. Something that I’ve been holding onto for the last three years seems to have simply vanished. What’s more, I think I’ve realized that I wasted time mourning over Jason when I really didn’t care about him as much as I thought I did. I’m wondering if my fear of commitment, of taking a chance on love again, was never quite as significant as I let myself believe, given how easy it was to face Jason last night and not feel a thing. Maybe it was never fear after all. Which makes me wonder: If my fear was irrational, was letting Luke go a mistake?

  No, I’m not going to think about that. What’s done is done, even though I’m starting to realize that the heart should play a part in the decision-making process. I certainly wouldn’t have opened Lovely Cakes without it. It couldn’t have been just my brain convincing me to do so. My heart definitely had a lot to do with that decision. There were risks and rewards, and the reward of having my own business has been far greater than the risk I knew existed and still exists. I love doing what I do. So why in the mother-fucking cupcake did I choose to ignore what my heart was trying to tell me this time around?

  I’m too tired to run this morning, but I force myself anyways so that I can clear my head. When I’m done, though, I’m no closer to figuring out what I’m feeling. Normally I’d make a list, but I’m starting to think it won’t do me any good. List or no list, I may just need some time to get past this nauseous feeling in my stomach. It will fade eventually. I hope.

  After I shower, I make my way to Lovely Cakes, ready to spend the day working so that I don’t have to spend another minute thinking about the decision I made last night or the things I said to Luke. Or the hurt I must have caused him. Again. Or the hurt that I undeniably caused myself, even though I’m fighting incredibly hard to not admit it. Nothing can possibly be hurting if I didn’t fall in the first place, I remind myself. I didn’t fall; no, I didn’t fall; I didn’t fall for Luke, I repeat until I’m sure I’ve convinced myself.

  When I get in, I decide to sort through mail before I immerse myself in everything else. I’m thrilled to see a thank-you card from one of my clients and a picture of her adorable son celebrating his first birthday. He’s covered from ear to ear and forehead to chin in icing, and his eyes sparkle with the innocent happiness that you only see in a one-year-old, someone who is truly, undeniably happy. I smile because his eyes remind me of Luke’s and the way they glistened with warmth and joy every time he saw me.

  My brain may not have quite figured it out until now, but I know in this particular moment that when a little boy’s eyes remind me of Luke, I really am deeper in than I thought.

  What have I done?

  This plan to spend the day at work isn’t going quite the way I imagined, considering the first thing I think of is Luke’s eyes. I will not cry, I repeat to myself for the umpteenth time.

  I pin the card to the board and take a step back, admiring the happiness the thank-you cards express. When I’m done reminding myself that pure, true happiness does in fact exist – just maybe not in my life – I go into the work room to put the finishing touches on Clara’s wedding cake. The one thing left to do is to add the crystal rosebud brooches. They are absolutely breathtaking, just like Clara will be on her wedding day. That I am sure of.

  But the thank-you cards are messing with my head. I can’t stop myself from taking another look at them. My eyes well up at the sight of my wall of happiness. Those same thank-you’s that have made me smile every time I’ve looked at them are now just a reminder of how pathetic my life actually is.

  And that’s when I kind of lose it. Not in a bat-shit-crazy way, because that would be too melodramatic, but emotionally. All the pent-up feelings and my stupid decisions and indecisions grab me by my throat.

  In fact, I’m so bitter that I seriously contemplate grabbing Clara’s cake and throwing it. Thankfully, the tiny voice of reason reminds me that that would not go over so well tomorrow. So instead I grab an icing-covered spatula and, in defiance of my normally poised and self-controlled existence, throw it at the wall. Stupid, stupid Tessa!

  The red icing splatters all over as I drop to my knees, weak, defeated. Just like that, anger gives way to sadness. It starts off with a sob and within seconds turns into a waterfall.

  I’ve spent the last three years living through other people’s happiness. I have helped head-over-heels-in-love couples get married, celebrate their anniversaries, celebrate their kids’ birthdays, celebrate life … and all I got to do was watch. I’ve watched them smile when they first saw their cake design, I’ve seen their excitement build as their wedding day neared, and I’ve appreciated their awe when they finally saw the real thing. They were all just so damn happy.

  I was almost there too, but now any possibility of having my own happily-ever-after with Luke has been ruined. Not because of anyone else, but because of me. I have squashed those exhilarating, blissful feelings with the heaviness of my own rigid determination. It hurts knowing there’s a chance I won’t be able to get past this. It’s such a sad fucking existence.

  The tears continue rolling down, and I can’t bring myself to get back up. My hands are covered in red icing – a bloody mess. My makeup’s probably smeared all over my face, my eyes feel puffy from the tears, and my nose is runny. I gasp for air but am unable to catch a breath.

  “Tessa?” Rose’s voice pulls me from my inner monologue. She must have just come into the bakery, only to find me in this mess on the floor. “Come here,” she says as she envelops me in her arms, holding me, letting me cry it out. “It’s going to be okay. Just breathe,” she says in a comforting voice.

  Well, this is kind of awkward. I’m crying in front of my employee. Because that’s what all bosses do, right? If there were any lines left between us, they’ve definitely been erased. Rose and I are officially in the friend zone.

  She’s probably dying to know the reason for my emotional breakdown, but she doesn’t ask like she normally would. She just holds me until I finally manage to calm down and pull myself up.

  “Go home for the day,” she orders, helping me get up. “You need time to figure things out. I’ll call you a cab, okay?”

  I nod. “Rose,” I find my voice, “please don’t mention anything to Clara, okay? I don’t want to trouble her with this, not the day before her wedding.” I have a feeling Rose would have asked Clara to come to my rescue, and that is the last thing I want her to deal with right now. She has more important things to focus on.

  Rose nods in agreement.

  “Thanks,” I say, wiping at the remnants of my tears. “The cake?” I suddenly remember it and worry about getting it finished, even though it’s nearly ready.

  “I’ve got it,” she assures me. “Don’t worry, I’ll have everything done as planned. We’ve talked about it enough, and I’ve seen your drawings. I know exactly what�
��s left to do. It will be just like you imagined.”

  “Okay,” I say, my voice still shaky. “You’re the best.”

  On the cab ride home, I can’t help but analyze what just transpired. I haven’t cried like this in years but, surprisingly, I feel better having let the tears out. Maybe I should have done it sooner. I might have realized that being guided by emotions is okay. It’s what life is about. It’s about ups and downs, happiness and sadness, and summers and winters. It’s being able to recognize that life goes on, even if you have to leap over hurdles and stumble along the way. Jason made me stumble, but I’m picking myself up, I’m letting myself feel again. And even though it’s border-line terrifying, I welcome the hopefulness, the fear, and everything in between.

  Once the cab drops me off at my apartment, I crawl into bed and inhale the lingering traces of Luke’s scent in the sheets. Just yesterday morning he was here. Right beside me. I have a sudden urge to wrap myself up in my covers so I feel like I’m being cuddled. I miss being wrapped up in someone else. Someone like Luke, specifically.

  I startle when I hear a knock at the door. I must have drifted off to sleep. A long one, it appears. It’s been more than two hours since I got home.

  “Honey, open up.” I hear another knock.

  Great. What could she possibly be doing here? Not a good time, Mom.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming.” I make my way groggily to the door, but I’m feeling more rested, more composed. Probably a good thing, since I’m about to come face to face with ever-vigilant-over-my-heart Mom.

  When I open the door, she swooshes in, giving me a tight hug, barely letting me breathe. Her hug is comforting. Sometimes it’s just what a girl needs.

  “Oh Tessa, honey, are you okay?”

  I look up at her with puffy eyes, on the brink of crying again. I can’t speak because the lump in my throat is too big. Instead, I nod, but without the reassurance I would like to give her. I guess the composure I thought I had woken up with is still wavering.