Insipid

by Christine Brae

  And he is.

  I hold my breath and allow a few seconds to pass before I flap my arms furiously in an attempt to resurface above the water.

  I’m not here to die. I’m here to live.

  And just as I expected, two strong arms pull me out of the abyss as he lifts my head above the water and holds me tightly, his strong legs treading water and leading us back towards the shore. My rescuer. My lighthouse. He’s here.

  “I’ve got you, baby. I’m here. You did it, Jade. You’ve bravely faced all of your fears. I’m so proud of you. I love you so much.”

  “OH MY BABY, I miss you so much!” Tears fall from my eyes as I rest on the stone path directly across from Cia’s headstone. “I’m sorry you had to see all that,” I weep as I cover my face with my hands.

  Above me, the gray clouds sit still, listening, absorbing all the words I have to say; condensing them into rain that will fall down on me and wash the pain away.

  “I’m better now. It has taken a while, but I’m better. For the first time in so long, my head is clear and my heart is at peace.”

  It’s the day of the memorial service and all the guests have gone home. I’m spending some time alone with my daughter. There’s just so much to tell her about since the last time I visited, since the last time I was truly honest with myself, and I want to say these words out loud in front of her.

  “Oh gosh. What a time it’s been. I don’t know where to start. I’m not sure how I just lost myself after eighteen years of being somebody else. He just appeared out of nowhere, Ci, and my world just went awry. Nothing made sense, everything was just so confusing. I tried so hard to fight it, but there was no turning back after I met him. I didn’t know it would happen. But it did. I fell in love, baby. I don’t know how, and I can’t imagine why, but I love him. He brings so much color into my life. If you saw how happy he makes me, you would love him too.” The words flow effortlessly, as if I’m addressing my best friend. In more ways than one, that’s what she was to me. We spent every minute of every day together; she was the center of my life. “That night at the beach, he told me that he had a dream about you. That you asked him to follow me to the Ritz. I laughed when he told me that as soon as he barged into my hotel room, but I believed him. I am so glad that he was there with me, that you sent him to take care of me. I don’t think I could have done that without him.” I lapse into silence as I remember what he did for me that night. Lucas saved me from the past; I haven’t looked back since. “I’m going to marry him, Ci. He doesn’t know it yet, but one day soon, I will. He’s broken me with his unrelenting proposals. I’m giving in.” I laugh without restraint, without reservation.

  A flash of wind stirs me from my thoughts as the leaves and branches of the trees around me start to sway lightly. I feel a cool breeze on my skin and a sweet, refreshing calmness washes over me. Out of nowhere, the same tiny moth flits around briefly and settles on her tombstone. This time, it looks different. Its wings bear tiny tinges of yellow and orange along its edges.

  It was never a moth. It was always a butterfly.

  I move closer as it placidly rests on the granite top so that I’m almost face to face with it. “Everything is as it should be, baby girl. Your dad is fine. He’s getting married soon. If you could see how happy he is—he looks like a completely different person. And Chris. He’s fine too. He’s touring around with the best college basketball team in the country. I’ll be attending the awards presentation for Coach of the Year next month. Can you believe it? Chris is Coach of the Year! And those boys, he treats them all like they were his sons. They are so all so fortunate to have him in their lives.” I stretch my arm out and reverently brush the tips of my fingers against the neatly polished carving on her tombstone before continuing on. I swallow my words painfully because I never thought that I’d be strong enough to let her go. “We’ve all come full circle, Ci. And we all miss you so much. But you need to rest now, my love.” I look straight into the butterfly’s antennae. “Enjoy your peace. You don’t have to worry about me anymore. And thank you so much for watching over me. I will live my life for you. I will make you so proud to be my daughter. I won’t be afraid to love him with all my heart, because he deserves nothing less than that. I love you, Felicia Albin Richmond. You will forever be the biggest part of my heart.”

  With all the strength I can muster, I dry my eyes and wipe my face, resolved to replace my tears with delight. I extend my arm out as the butterfly takes off and gently settles itself on the palm of my hand. It lingers for a brief second before circling around my face and fluttering against my cheek before flying away forever. I giggle at the thought of being kissed by an insect. No one will believe me. Well, maybe Lucas will. Or Leya. Maybe even Olivia. They’ve listened to my stories, they know about these signs. I kneel down on the concrete ground to say a final prayer, unraveling the scarf from my neck and tying it around the stone cross above the headstone as I do so. There’s no longer any need to hide my scars. I wear them with pride, knowing that I survived through the darkest of days. I have love now. No matter what happens, I am not alone.

  And as I lift my head up from where I am, I see them. One by one, the vivid colors of the flowers around the grave—bright yellows, pinks and blues. A rainbow of light that catches my eye for the very first time. I smile at myself and turn away towards the road ahead of me. He is there. Leaning against my car, watching me, waiting for me.

  There he is. My rainbow. My bright palette of life.

  I lay a bouquet of flowers on the ground, but not before choosing the brightest pink peony and clutching it tightly between my fingers. I spin around excitedly and search for his eyes, breaking out into a smile so filled with the promise of a future together. Slowly, he holds his hand out to me, beckoning me to walk towards him. I hold the flower up to him as a beacon of light, a signal to him that I’m no longer afraid.

  Here I go, I say to myself as I hurriedly make my way into his arms. Walking towards my light. Heading into a lifetime of color.

  “GET AWAY FROM me! I hate you! I can’t believe you did this to me! Why, Lucas? Why?” she asks me with tears in her eyes as I maintain a firm grip on her hand.

  “She doesn’t mean that,” her mother counters, silently consoling me through what has been an eighteen-hour ordeal for all of us.

  Her father sits in a chair on the corner of the room, relaxed and composed while reading a newspaper.

  “Oh yes, I do! I do! Lucas, why? It hurts so much I don’t think I will ever recover from this.”

  “I’m sorry, baby. Please try to calm down.”

  “No! Get away from me.”

  I release her hand and begin to back away, giving her what she wants.

  “No! Lucas. I didn’t mean it. Please come back. I love you. I love you, baby, please.”

  Those words, those eyes. They belong to the only woman I have ever loved.

  It’s been a year after she left me that voicemail message. The one that had me catching the next available international flight back to the States with nothing but my wallet and cell phone with me. My life started two years after hers ended. And here we are, as husband and wife. In a private hospital room where the most beautiful woman in the world has her legs hoisted up in a medieval torture device the doctor calls stirrups.

  She is having our baby.

  “Jade, I think it’s time to start pushing,” Dr. Vierling announces as he steps into the room, mechanically donning a pair of gloves and gesturing to the nurse to stand next to him. He rolls the stool over so that he’s right smack in the middle of her legs.

  “No, it’s not. I can’t. I’m going to die if I do,” she argues adamantly. “I’m too old for this.”

  “You’re not going to die and you’re not too old. On the next big contraction, you’re going to have to push,” he says sternly.

  “I ca—Owww! Okay, I’m pushing! Aargh. Honestly, whose idea was this?” she spews out in between shallow breaths.

  I continue to sq
ueeze her hand while wiping her forehead with a damp cloth. Her father remains glued to the chair in the corner reading the financial news.

  “Baby, you came third in your age group at the Big Sur marathon last year. This is nothing. You can do it,” I encourage, guiding her through her breathing exercises.

  “Age group, Lucas. That’s the key. Age group.” She pushes as another contraction hits her.

  “That’s it, baby, you’re doing really well. Just a little more and we’re there.”

  “The last time I did this, I was asleep. Knocked out. Why couldn’t we do it that way again?” she pants, swatting my hand away, amusing Dr. Vierling, who nods at me like he’s already seen it all.

  “Why did you move your hand? Luke. I need your hand!” she snaps.

  Our conversation is stopped short by a whimper and then a shrill, melodious cry.

  “Here you go, kids. While you were busy arguing, your baby decided to come out,” Dr. Vierling says sarcastically.

  And that’s how this story ends. Or begins.

  Francis Lucas Albin Martinez was born on a bright September morning, a healthy little boy with brown eyes and bushy dark hair. From that day on, we’ve shed many happy tears, Jade and I. And as our love continues to flourish, we look back on the past as a reminder that life is precious, life is short.

  Fight for it. Fight for true love. No matter the time and place, no matter the circumstance. It may drown you in the depths of the ocean or push you into that rough, cascading sea, but once you have it, it will keep you afloat. It will be your buoy in the middle of nowhere, the anchor that won’t let you drift away. It will fill the seasons of your life with hope, for every change signifies a new beginning.

  And so, as we leave you here today, listen to what a wise old woman once said:

  Fate is a friend and not a foe. Sometimes, all it takes is one hello.

  As I write the final words of this book, I think back to the year that has passed. My heart is filled with love and gratitude for everything that you have done for me. THANK YOU so much for being here, for reading this book, for your love and support throughout this journey.

  To my Street Team—without your kind words and constant encouragement, I couldn’t have made it through this time. How fortunate I’ve been to have you all in my life. Thank you for always being there for me. Due to the limited amount of space, I won’t be able to name all of you—I hope you all know who you are.

  To the people who have touched my life in one way or the other—Tammy Zautner, Gabri Canova, Krystle Zion, Marivette Villafane, Erin Spencer, Tray Davis, Suzanne Wendolski, Cynthia Mae, Melissa Jones, Stephanie Johnson, Miranda Howard, Hali Gibson, Wen Cast, Angela O’Brien, Anna Green, KC Chavez, Robin Stranahan, Jaime Iwatsuru, Misty Canada Devotie, Nessa Rebel Book Babe and Stacy Hgg among many others. You are all so dear to me.

  To Barbzy Murray, Alisha Rosey Jackson, Kissa Mil Xu and Emma Fernandez—you’re all still here! What an honor it is for me that you stuck around.

  Megan Simpson, Serena Knautz, and Robin Segnitz—your friendship means so much.

  Nelly Martinez de Iraheta—my life changed when I met you.

  To my beta readers and friends, Lisa Rutledge, Tosha Khoury, Laura Wilson—you remind me that love and loyalty go hand in hand.

  For the best book cover yet and for the light that you bring into my life, I love you, Lindsay Sparkes.

  To Janna Mashburn for all your support, and to Melissa Brown, because I never forget.

  And to Erin Dauer Roth, editor and friend. You are the reason why I never gave up.

  Angela Cook McLaurin of Fictional Formats—this one is for you. You helped save this book at the last minute. Never mind that you kept sending me pictures of the beach in the dead of winter.

  To Christine Estevez for believing in me.

  To Denise Tung for always, always holding my hand.

  To Trisha Rai for your faith in my stories.

  To Rick Miles, who never stopped urging me to plug along and who treated me as a friend despite the fact that I was really just a client.

  To Becca Manuel for so eloquently giving life to my book with your trailer.

  And to all the wonderful blogs who signed up for our Blog Tour. I am honored that you are taking the time to read and review my story.

  To my Brutus, my Butsy, faithful friend for ten years. I still look around the house for you every single day.

  To my friend 007. Don’t read this book.

  Thank you, Willow Aster, for trusting me enough to share your big reveal with me.

  If I were to describe the year 2014, I would sum it up as The Year That I Left. Not only was I running around the country on business trips, I was lost in heart and mind and soul. For those of you who loved me relentlessly, who pulled me out of the fog, who listened and cried and told me to get my head out of my ass—you are my heroes. Tarryn Fisher, Lori Sabin, my sisters, Gerri and Tessa—I couldn’t have survived this time without you.

  This book is dedicated to the Loving Memory of Mary Ogarek (1981-2014). Thank you for being proud of me. I only wished that we had more time to talk (and laugh) about this book.

  Last but most certainly not the least, to my husband, Bill -Thank you for never giving up on me. For letting me go because you knew I’d be back.

  And I am back. Suitcases in hand, stronger, happier and truer to myself.

  This is going to be the best summer of my life.

  XO

  Connect with Christine Brae:

  Facebook:

  http://www.facebook.com/pages/Christine-Brae/251960864949578?fref=ts

  Website:

  www.christinebrae.com

  Goodreads:

  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7076627

  Email:

  christinebrae@gmail.com

  And now, a sneak peek into Willow Aster’s new book,

  Maybe Maby

  Coming July 13, 2014!

  I BARELY MAKE it to the subway on an early Monday morning and sit beside a smelly old man. It is the only open seat. I can hold my breath. Maybe I’ll die that way. My obituary will read: She held her breath trying to avoid inhaling body odor. It doesn’t work. I have to keep sneaking quick breaths and the old man asks what my problem is. It kills me when people who haven’t bathed in weeks have the audacity to think I’m weird.

  I ignore him and when another open seat is available, I hop up and take it. Old smelly man shakes his head at me and I wave. I can be much friendlier from afar. I smooth down my corduroy skirt and try to subtly yank up my tights. It’s December in New York and cold.

  My stop comes and I rush to get off, along with dozens of other people. I count to 127 as the crowd pushes and nudges and smacks their gum around me. I will never get used to all these people in my space, but the alternative is worse: the thought of driving in the city is terrifying. On the 128th step, I turn to the right and take the 17 steps to my destination. I rub my finger through the ribbing on my skirt with each step. 14, 15, 16, 17. Unlock the store.

  Whatnot Alley is a gifts and furnishings boutique owned by Anna Whitmore. She used to be a friend of mine, but ever since she had a baby—and became the owner of her flourishing shop—she doesn’t have time for anything as quaint as friendship. I came to work for her as a favor and have now run the store for 3 years. She comes in at least once a week, and my skin is on edge the entire time. Whenever she engages in conversation, it’s to moan about how she never has time for anything. But she would like to have one more child, just one more… as long as it’s a boy. She’s already run ragged, but let’s throw another in the mix for good measure. That’s what nannies are for!

  I lock the door behind me. We won’t be opening for a while yet. Unlock. Lock. Unlock. Lock. Okay, I can move on. Moving to the back of the store, I hang my coat on the hook to my right. My gloves go in my purse, which I lock away in the bottom drawer of my desk. Unlock. Lock. If I’m going to have a good day, it takes 28 steps to do all of the above before I star
t the coffee. If I’m going to have a bad day, it takes 29. It’s a 44 steps kind of day. I have to go back and redo my first steps because it just didn’t feel right.

  My grandmother, Mabel, who I’m named after, also had OCD. Speaking of leaving, she sure left me behind with a couple of doozies. Between the disorder and the name, I feel like she should have stuck around longer than my 11th birthday to make sure I survived.

  Before I do anything else, I put my earphones in and begin playing my ocean sounds mix. Music is too stimulating. I find it hard to concentrate on anything but the music. The crashing waves calm me. It feels nice to know that somewhere it is more tumultuous than in my mind. Once the store opens, I will have to take off my earphones, but when it’s just me, I keep everything turned off. When Anna is in the store, she plays Top 40 radio. Some days it’s bearable; other days I’m certain I will break every trinket within close range. I usually stay behind the counter on those days, where I can only do damage with the cash register.

  I take a sip of the coffee I pour in my smoky blue Zojirushi stainless steel mug, rated highest on Amazon for quality. It doesn’t leak, and it keeps the coffee hot for 6 hours. I’ve tested it and found it to be true. I chose smoky blue because it suits my moods more than the cheerful lilac or the completely soulless black. Smoky blue maintains mystery but still has the touch of melancholy. I wish I were a lilac person, but I’m not.

  I made my list for today before I left on Friday and I take a look at it this morning. I can already check off 4 things, so I immediately do. I then add to the list all of the vendors I have to call today and check which shipments might be coming in. I tidy up the throw pillows on the few pieces of furniture we carry and straighten the pictures over and over again. Symmetry is a requirement. Anything else is… evil.

  At 8:30, I set my phone alarm to go off at 8:53, so I will have plenty of time to gather my notes for the monthly meeting in the small side room. Anna and a couple of part-time employees come to the meetings before we open. I’m the only full-time employee, so Anna asks that I’m always ready to give input if she needs it.