by Grea Warner
“What I wanted even a couple years ago,” I continued, thinking of the life-goals conversation Ryan and I had, “I am finding out it isn’t what I want now. And if he makes me happy ...”
“Are you?” my mom questioned. “You don’t seem to be. You’re crying—”
“I—” But I didn’t know what to say.
“Bethany, you know I saw you yesterday on the front stoop. And I didn’t say anything because I know you will tell me if you want to talk. You have a pride in you,” my mom added. “Daddy and I have noticed how tired you look. And you said you’re not even answering his calls.”
“Are you happy, Bethie?” my dad tagged in.
Oh. Oh, geez. Why did they ask that? Why were they making me think about all those things? When it was listed like that, I wasn’t happy ... at all. Yet, when I thought about Ryan ... when I thought about the time spent with him ... about nearly everything besides hearing one more time we couldn’t be the real us, I was happier than I had ever been. Ever.
What then? Why? Why couldn’t I just be happy? I knew his feelings, but I wouldn’t let him say them. Was it that I was simply holding onto stubbornness from an argument we had when we were both beyond exhausted from being up with Kari’s drama? Or was it all the lying? I realized he never, ever demanded that of me, but I took it on myself. I believed him when he said the divorce would be revealed soon. I did. But was there still that part of me afraid of being rejected one more time?
After my parents gave me the time to internally ponder their simple but yet so complex question, I tried my best to explain. “Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t know if I am. I think so. I think what it comes down to is principal. It’s what you raised me on. I want it all from him, and I know his hands are tied.”
“Bethie, you should consider staying here,” my father suggested. “I know the music thing is good, and at least this Ryan situation isn’t as bad as it seemed. You—”
My phone, resting on my father’s wooden desk, started to chime. My dad was still talking, but I was only focused on the ringing and Ryan’s name on the screen. How ironic. I scrunched my eyes shut. I was so confused—Stay in Carolina ... Ryan ... crying ... love ... angel ... devil ...
My stress level reached a higher peak when I reopened my eyes to see my father not only answering my phone but putting it on speaker. “Daddy, what are you do—"
“Hi, there.” His voice seemed deeper and more pronounced than usual.
In contrast, Ryan’s was not as secure. “Uh, hi. I was calling for Bethany.”
“Figured as much. This is her father.” As he spoke, I looked at my mother who was shaking her head. My dad was a patriarch in so many facets. “Ryan, I presume.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Opala.”
It was funny listening to him. I thought I had heard and seen all versions of Ryan Thompson. First, the mean judge on TV. Then, the creative lyricist. The caring father. The thoughtful friend. The passionate lover. The in-charge exec. But shy guy was something new.
“Ryan, she doesn’t want to talk with you right now.” My dad was looking at the phone as if he was actually staring Ryan down.
“I understand.” He sounded so defeated.
“After how you treated her on that glorified television show, I don’t know why she ever even talked with you again.”
“Daddy!” I belted out.
I was shocked he went that route ... that he even mentioned the show. I had barely brought it up. It was of zero concern to Ryan and me. But maybe it bothered my parents, and they had never said anything to me.
Ryan didn’t react to my dad. He reacted to hearing me. “Bethany ...”
“Yeah, you’re on speaker. Sorry. I didn’t know he was going to—”
My father continued right on, citing what I think was one of the major issues he had with both Ryan and, honestly, me. “We’ve told her to stay here where things are honest and right and not covered with half-truths. I did not raise my girl to be a liar, and I’m at least grateful she knows she doesn’t need to do that with her family. I’m glad she told us everything.”
Whew ... wow. He was laying it on thick. He had finally seemed a little more at ease about everything until Ryan actually called.
“Sir, that is not who I am. I understand your concerns. My family has those same beliefs. I was raised in a church-going, heart-helping family. Still am.”
A soft smile accompanied my body which was relaxing the tiniest of bits. Ryan was holding his own and speaking honestly. And it dawned on me then that my father might be giving Ryan a little test—man-to-man. I don’t think he ever did that with Hutch. But Ryan was not Hutch. I had never told my parents I loved someone before. And even though I was upset when Hutch and I broke up, I think they could already see that Ryan was different.
“It’s good to know.” My father did a one-nod. “But you have to understand this is my daughter ... my daughter we are talking about.”
“I do understand.” Ryan sounded a little more like his confident self every time he answered my dad, and I think that was because he was so confident of his feelings. “I have a daughter of my own. I would lay down my life for her ... both my kids. I am glad Bethany told you everything. I hate the lies.” He directed his comment to me, then. “Bethany, you know that. And you know I don’t lie to the people I care about.”
That was enough. As much as I loved my parents and I appreciated that they listened and supported me, my phone conversation was not theirs. It was mine. It was private. I hoped that someday they would meet Ryan and they could have a much more amicable conversation but not then ... not then with all the confusion floating around.
I grabbed the phone and took it off speaker. “Ryan ...” I started to walk out of the office.
“Betha—"
“You’re off speaker.” I opened the front door. “I’m going somewhere private.”
“It’s fine. It didn’t matter. I’m glad you told them.” I could hear his voice change to one of concern as I walked down the slope of the front yard. I didn’t have any shoes on, and the grass was dewy from a late-night rain. “Bethany, you’re coming back, aren’t you?”
“I ... I don’t know.”
It wasn’t even a consideration to stay in Carolina until my dad brought it up right before Ryan called. And now it was in my mind. Did it have some validity? I didn’t know. I think it just added another wrench to a terribly cluttered toolbox.
“Wha ...” He didn’t even say a complete word, and I knew he was devastated by just the possibility of me not returning to California.
“It depends on Garrett and ...” I was trying to rationalize on the spot. “If I do, if things are still ...”
I couldn’t even say it. How much longer would things remain as they were, and how would that change us? That thought devastated me. Staying sheltered in Carolina seemed like the safe thing to do, both as protection from the press and from heartache.
Legitimately not knowing the answer, I changed topics. “How are Sallie and Joel?”
I heard his mini-sigh, but he had been around me long enough to know to go with the flow of my conversation. “They’re loving farm life and sad we have to leave tomorrow already.”
“I’m sure. It’s a different world, huh?” I asked in an “ahhh” kind of state. “Tell Sallie I’ll work on that song for her.”
“We miss you.”
And just like that, my heart fluttered. Gosh, I missed them, too. “Ry ...” But it was all I could say.
I heard a bit of a hitch in his breath before he asked, “Nobody’s bothered you, have they?”
“No. No press. My social stuff is off. Willow called. That’s all. What about you?”
“Ignoring everything. There’s nothing else for them to print so ... we’re hoping it will die off.”
“That is still what the team is saying?” I asked in somewhat of disbelief.
“They wanted me to come out and say that you and I are working together and that’s it. Refute the
word ‘affair.’” Did he hear my hmmmf before he continued? “But I won’t lie ... not about you.”
That should have made me feel better, and it did, but only a little. “No comment, though. Isn’t that the same thing?”
“It was a compromise.” He seemed to blow out some air. “Bethany, just so you know, I am not happy about it.”
“But you promised ... for Kari.” How could I knock a man who was a firm believer in keeping his promises?
“For ... yeah ... for her to feel more secure first. Besides, the source isn’t really the most reliable person now, is he?”
I kicked at a random pebble on the street, and I wished I could kick it harder because, yes, I had seen the identity of the person who sold Ryan—and most of all, me—out. I had seen it sometime in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep. And it made me sick. No wonder my parents thought I looked exceptionally tired. I was. And I hadn’t even shared that latest little tidbit with them.
“No, he’s not,” I agreed.
“He’s a—"
“Bastard.”
I shook on the thought of what I had let happen between Andre and me—bastard was way too kind of a word, especially after his press junket choice. The latest updated articles had mentioned his name, that he saw Ryan and me at the cemetery, and that he knew from personal experience why someone would be attracted to me. He hadn’t admitted to the two of us actually having sex but, at least in my mind, I think it was implied. I’m sure the only thing that, thankfully, stopped him from going into those details was the fact he might have gotten in even more trouble from the apartment, and that wouldn’t be good.
“I guess he got the money he needed by selling his story,” I continued, and then added, “I’m sorry. I kept blaming people on your end, and here it was my stupid—”
“Stop. This is not on you,” Ryan replied firmly. “I thought it was the cleaning people. I terminated the service last night.”
“Oh ...”
“You know, I’m glad I don’t know where this Andre jerk lives, because someone would have to restrain me. I’m sorry he continues to hurt you. I’m sorry I continue to hurt you.”
“Ryan ... don’t ... no. That’s not true. I know—”
The neighbor across the street started to happily wave from her car as she pulled out of their driveway. I could hear laughing somewhere in the neighborhood. And me? I had tears running down my face.
“Lenay ...”
I started making my way back toward our house ... back to the safety of our home. “I ... I’m gonna go. I think I still need to talk with my mom and dad for a little bit.”
“Let me just—”
I wasn’t sure if he was going to say it. But if “we miss you” and “sorry I continue to hurt you” sent me into a tailspin, I definitely couldn’t handle any more declarations. “I gotta go.”
I hung up even more emotional. I copped out again and felt bad I wasn’t letting him speak. Because every time—every single time—he only said the sweetest, most considerate, heartfelt things. He ... hurting me? I was pretty sure it was the other way around.
I made my way back to my father’s office where my parents appeared to have not moved an inch since my exit. I’m not sure they had even said a word since then, either—it was so silent. I sat down in the empty chair once again. I didn’t have much more in me. I wanted to hear from them.
When my mom looked at me, I nodded, and she spoke. “Bethany, listen, sweetheart, I’m not sure how your conversation went. No matter what, we will always be here for you. Always. I understand this is a hard situation. I really do see both sides you are struggling with. And like your father said, you should take this time to think. If, and only if, this ... he ... is what makes you happy should you go back.”
That cleared up nothing. Yet, it cleared up everything. I didn’t know exactly what or how I felt, but my mother’s advice allowed me the chance to take the time to figure it out.
Still, there was another person’s opinion I wanted. “Daddy?”
“He held his own with me,” my dad stated, confirming what I predicted his demeanor had been about when talking with Ryan. “And he sounded so truthful with what he was saying. Like I told him, though, you are my little girl. I don’t want you hurt. I want you happy.”
I gave them both a hug. I had needed to tell them. I probably should have told them all along. It helped lift part of the weight off my shoulders. In a weird way, even having my name out in the public and not waiting with fear of when it was going to happen felt good.
Something else I decided I needed was a shower. I wanted to start the day over again—afresh. Besides, my feet were semi-green. It made me think of Ryan walking in his bare feet all the time, too. I made my way upstairs and was in my bedroom when his text came through.
I know U know how I feel. Let me say the words that when U said them to me meant so much. & know that I am trying to do the best for everyone. I promise YOU that I am working on making this right.
I didn’t cry. I just read it once again and tried to sum up the courage to reply back and accept his truth. But before I could do either of those, he sent a photo.
The image was perfect. As if I had any doubts, it confirmed he listened to everything I talked with him about. The photo symbolized us. It symbolized the hope I was desperately holding onto. It symbolized that he felt the same way ... even if I wouldn’t let him say it.
Four strings with a heart, I typed back, referencing the image of the guitar with a heart instead of a hole in the center.
The ONLY kind. Pls tell me that hasn’t changed.
I didn’t stop and overthink. I just sent back four heart emojis. I had followed my heart with the text, and it felt right. If only everything was that easy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Do you happen to be awake? I sent the text.
Lying here panging like crazy w/thoughts of U.
For real? I don’t know why I didn’t believe him—his text came in seconds after I sent mine.
FOR REAL, he replied, and only then did I realize I had used our tagline. It’s pretty late. U OK? Is there a reason for my pangs?
Just the normal fretting about the mess my life suddenly seemed to be, I thought. I couldn’t sleep. I had been lying there for hours, thinking, composing lyrics in my head, and watching Ella murmur dreamingly. I needed something else. I needed my partner ... my friend ... and just that.
If I call, can we just talk ... about anything and nothing. Not about us?
Call me, Ryan replied.
I hesitated, both with the amount of time I took getting back to him and then with the eventual word. Promise?
He didn’t get back to me ... via text. Instead, my phone rang. My face jerked a little since I was anticipating a visual indicator, not an auditory one. I swung my feet out of bed.
“Tell him he better be worth waking me out of my dream with Bachelor Number Sixty-Nine,” mumbled my sister, who was normally notorious for being hard to wake up.
“Ella ...”
“Answer the call, Bethie.” She pushed some of her dark hair away from her face and rubbed her eyes.
I pressed the button to connect to Ryan. But I didn’t talk. I was still waiting for ...
“I promise.” I needed those words because I knew they meant something from him. “Talk to me.”
“Ella has decided to become a nun.”
“She what?” Ryan had never met or talked with my sister, but, regardless, he knew that would have been the shock of the century.
Ella threw a pillow at me. “Go talk mooshy-mooshy with beach-bod somewhere else. This is not a conversation for my virginal ears.”
“I’m sorry ... your what?” I jested back.
“But deets later,” she whispered.
I mouthed “You got it,” because once everything had come out, Ella had actually been a very good listener.
“I’m guessing the nunnery is not really the truth.” Ryan’s voice was soft like m
ine as I quietly shut the door behind me, not wanting to wake my parents.
“Not even close. But then who knows where she will end up.” I started climbing the staircase to the third floor. “She doesn’t have a plan or direction. She got a generic degree off of a sports scholarship, but she’s not professional athlete material.”
I opened the door on top of the steps. The guest room was musty and needed some fresh air, but it was as remote of a space indoors as I could find. And I realized I felt as lost as some of the people who had stayed in the room before.
“I’m sure she’ll find her place eventually,” Ryan offered. “Sometimes it happens under the most unexpected circumstances.”
I sat on the edge of the bed, covered with a white down comforter. Looking out the dormer window, the sky seemed void of any stars. Everything was as dark as dark could be.
“What else? What else you got to hit me with at one-fifteen in the morning?” His voice soared across the line.
“Two-fifteen here.”
“Right.”
“What are you going to name the dog?” It was the first normal, easy, erase-my-racing-mind question I came up with, and it reminded me of the last truly happy moment I had with him.
He didn’t miss a beat. “We have a little while yet until we go back to Dylan’s to get it, but I should let the kids choose the name, huh? Although, they’ll each end up picking the name of their best friend and arguing about it or then hating their friend and the dog ...”
I smiled. “Our dog’s name is Moses. Guess who picked that?”
“So, you’re saying dads get final vote.”
“On some things,” I answered, in case he was thinking of my dad’s influence if I remained in Carolina or not.
Luckily, Ryan stayed on the lighter topic of puppy names. “Well, I better get thinking then. The dog is a relative of Vino. So, wine is their business. Maybe something about music? Ideas?”
“Hmmm, I like that. Let me think.” When Ryan started humming the Jeopardy theme, I legitimately laughed.
“That laugh ...” I could hear the smile in his voice.