Interlude [Book 2]

by Auden Dar

  I turn my body to face him.

  My dear Andrew. The man I have loved for more than half of my life. The man who has spent the past few hours trying to convince me he’s changed. The man who broke our relationship and is desperate to repair it. The man who never left my side during tragedy. The man who, at the tender age of sixteen, told me he would love me for the rest of his life. The man who waited patiently for years to make love to me. The man who wept beside me as doctors told us he was biologically unable to conceive a child. The man who let me go several months ago. The man who still wanted me after I had left him. The man who, after all these years, wants to marry me in a few weeks. The man who wants to spend his life with me. The man who wants to give me a family. The man who gave me his heart. The man who continues to give me his heart.

  The man I should be marrying.

  The man I am not in love with.

  If only I could sleep the pain away.

  Julian continues to occupy my mind. I think of him−recalling the sound of his gentle breathing when I’m wrapped in his arms at night. The utterance of darling he softly murmurs in his sleep. I curse myself for replaying the memories over and over again. Memories that deplete me of my energy yet somehow sustain me.

  I touch my lips and remember his.

  Two separate kisses from Julian flash before my tired eyes. Our first kiss in front of my home as the rain started to pour. And our last desperate kiss last night as he made love to me, whispering several times, “You are home.”

  A few months ago, I would long to touch Andrew’s face. Begging for him to reach out to me even in his sleep. I continue to watch him as his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. And although he is right next to me, even thousands of miles apart, my heart still clings to another man.

  I brush my lower lip with my forefinger, reliving my last kiss with Julian one more time and wonder if I’ll ever feel that way again.

  I cry me a river. That’s the best way to describe it. Tears fall like a torrential downpour and my body shakes so violently I’m forced to immediately escape to the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, I don’t know if I can survive this.

  Will my heart be able to beat again?

  I’ve waited all my life for what Julian Caine gave me … even if it was just an interlude.

  Reminding myself that in the next room is a man willing to change so that I will be happy. A man who a few months ago didn’t want to adopt children, will do so for my happiness. Sixteen years of memories, good and bad, how can I throw that away?

  What is wrong with me?

  Everything I had wanted for years is sleeping soundly in the next room, and all I want to do is run away … run from it all. I can sleep the sadness away for only a few hours, knowing deep down inside that when tomorrow comes, I will still be breaking inside.

  How do I move on?

  How do I stop this pain?

  The edge of the tub can no longer support my anxious body, and I slowly slip to the floor, feeling the cool tile beneath me. Curled up in a ball, I find myself unable to do anything but cry. Love, being absolutely and crazy in love, has destroyed me. Would it have been better not to experienced passion at all? I used to think just to feel it for once was all I needed. But at this moment, as I’m lying on my bathroom floor, my body, my mind, my heart are no longer mine. I curse myself. I curse at my choice to surrender to Julian. I had once read that losing someone to death was easier than losing someone under voluntary circumstances. The knowledge that Julian is out there, somewhere, makes it more difficult to move on.

  A part of me wants to get up and leave. And another part of me knows the person next door is the man I should be with. The two of us will work through this. We’ll repair our relationship. We’ll get married, adopt kids, and life will go on. The thought doesn’t ease the heartache. Instead, it intensifies it. All I shared with Julian was a fleeting moment in my life, yet he was able to take every part of me.

  I remain on the floor but position myself so I am now sitting up, my back against the bathtub. With my legs up against my chest, I gently rock my body side to side before hearing a familiar voice. “Lina.”

  Andrew is suddenly behind the locked door. “Are you okay?”

  I swallow hard. “Yes, I’m fine. Please go back to bed,” I beg, trying to hide my quivering voice.

  “I love you, Lina. I’ll be right here.” I hear his body sliding down against the door. A few minutes of silence pass us before Andrew reminisces, “Do you remember our first date?”

  I sigh. “Yes, Andrew. Of course I do.”

  I hear him lightly tapping on the door. “I knew from our first kiss … I knew then as much as I know now that I would love you for the rest of my life.”

  I whimper, unable to respond with the right words.

  “I’m here, Lina. I’ll always be here for you.”

  I purse my lips tightly, trying desperately not to bawl my eyes out. “Andrew … Andrew, I know.” Before he can continue, I plead, “Please just go to bed. I need to be alone right now.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you.” I hear a thud and believe his head just hit the door.

  Exhaustion, defeat, and surprisingly, irritation come over me. “Yes, please go.”

  “I’m so sorry. I thought about what you said a few weeks ago when you were in New York. I’m so sorry that you felt unloved. I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder. I’m sorry you felt I let you walk away. I don’t want to lose you. I love you,” he repeats. He’s never uttered ‘I love you’ so much in such a short period. It takes a few minutes to finally hear him leave.

  What if we had lost each other long ago?

  The position I’m in is physically difficult. After rocking my body in the same position for more than an hour, I finally rise. It’s dawn and all I desire is sleep. To obliterate the memories I’ll never forget.

  I wash my face with cool water and try to stare at the mirror in front of me. But I refuse to acknowledge the reflection before me. It would frighten me. Instead, I wipe my face before leaving the bathroom. It takes everything in me to be a few feet away from Andrew. One long deep breath and suddenly I am lying next to the man who I’m trying to love again.

  Forty

  Once I finally went to bed a few hours ago, my exhausted body gave out, and I finally fell asleep. As usual, I didn’t hear Andrew get ready for the day. Finally waking up, I eye the large clock on the opposite wall. It is already eleven thirty. Sojourned in bed, I realize the world didn’t end.

  I survived last night.

  I survived the early morning hours.

  My eyes stay focused at the ceiling, foolishly seeking answers. What are you going to do today, Lina? How do I move forward with Andrew? I’ve looked at my life and still somehow, I’ve allowed illusions to dictate it. The illusion that all I have ever wanted is a family.

  Does family have to mean marriage, kids, and a house with a white picket fence?

  When I turn to the nightstand to reach for my phone, I notice an ancient portable CD player with a Post-it note that reads Listen to me. I chuckle inside because Andrew doesn’t like new technology. I grab the headphones next to it and press play.

  The first piano notes in the key of E major play, and all I want to do is cry. Peter Cetera begins to sing one of Chicago’s most famous song, “Hard to Say I’m Sorry.” I allow it to play a few more times before succumbing to tears.

  Andrew’s never been the romantic type and because his knowledge of music is very limited, it must have taken him some time to choose this song. Moreover, although he had taken me for granted for years, still remembers what I had revealed to him when we first started dating. “When words fail us, music can always speak on our behalf.”

  This thoughtful gesture of Andrew’s warms my heart but also saddens it. He’s desperately trying. Can I actually erase the years of neglect and finally move forward with him? Can I love him like I used to? Will my heart allow it?

  Can I forget I fel
l in love with Julian Caine?

  After storing the portable CD player away, I lie in bed still filled with melancholy. How did I get myself into this situation? It was inevitable that the fairy tale I had conjured up for all these months would end. It’s time to bring myself back to reality. As I think about how to start this day and how to move forward, I’m listening to sad songs in my head when Andrew interrupts me from my thoughts.

  “Good morning,” he says in an unfamiliar tone. The bedroom door is ajar and only a portion of him faces me.

  I peer up and meet his light brown eyes. He’s still handsome. He’s dressed in a new light blue UCLA Bruins t-shirt that accentuates his slim figure. I’m in shock again that he’s not wearing the color brown two days in a row. He smiles shyly at me and doesn’t mention the romantic song he wanted me to listen to. Instead, he says, “I figure you were exhausted. I don’t have to go into the office today, but I have an hour or two of work and then we can spend the day as you wish.” He pauses before suggesting, “I … we … we can drive to Santa Monica Place or Century City, have a late lunch, and to choose your ring if you’d like.”

  Like his first marriage proposal years ago, this romantic suggestion is actually not romantic at all. He’s trying, I remind myself again.

  I press my lips and attempt to smile, trying to remember if I accepted his proposal last night.

  Opening the door, Andrew makes his way to me. Kneeling by my bedside, he says, “I’ll never be a fool again.” He takes both of my hands. “I can’t ever remember a time when I didn’t love you. If you need time, I understand. I’m not going anywhere. As long as you are here with me, that’s all I want. I have enough love for both of us.” His lips touch the back of my hand. Leaning forward, he closes the distance between us. Surprisingly, he offers a chaste kiss as he rests his forehead against mine. “I’ll be in my office. Just let me know when you’re ready.” We both sigh at the same time. He rises from his kneeling position. Standing in place, he expects an acknowledgment. Unfortunately, I’m unable to give him one. Just when I think he’s about to leave, he plants himself a few feet away from me, simply studying my reaction. I can see it on his face. He’s anxiously waiting for some sort of sign. I’m sorry, Andrew. I’m unable to give him anything. How can I when I gave everything I have of myself to someone else? Slightly embarrassed, he nods. “I’ll be in my office.” I watch him walk away dejected.

  Although we’re only a few rooms apart, we might as well be in different states. Even with his declarations of love, even with his romantic gesture with “Hard to Say I’m Sorry,” I am still despondent. Suddenly, I’m reminded that Andrew trampled on my love for the past few years. He took everything I gave him without hesitation, without reciprocation. He may not have done it intentionally, but the hurt and years of neglect are still too painful to forget. I lie here in bed, forced to confront the truth again. The person I had returned to no longer holds the same spot in my heart anymore. A good part of me believes I could continue living my life with my first love. That, in time, we can be something I’ve always wanted.

  I can lie to everyone even to myself, but can I lie to my own heart?

  My phone on my nightstand vibrates, and I let it go directly to voicemail. It could be Patti. It could be Roger. It could be Nana. It could be the man I’m hopelessly in love with. The man I would do anything to forget. But the fool I have become refuses the call and readies myself for the day−half believing time can help me and Andrew move on with our lives.

  My aching body finally rises. The reality is, I don’t want to be in the master bedroom. I don’t want to be in this house. I don’t want to be here. I head to the bathroom again to brush my teeth and to wash up. Cool water hits my face. There, there, Lina. I tie my hair in a neat bun. I moisturize my face and body quickly and walk to my suitcase on the floor only a few feet away from my bed. My black jersey dress stands out among the items. I hold the dress close to me because it has held onto Julian’s scent. Although I need to forget Julian, I want everything about him as close as possible.

  An indescribable pain travels through my entire body. I close my eyes, allowing myself to embrace the truth.

  Even if the man I’m in love with is unattainable, I can’t be with Andrew for all the wrong reasons.

  The inevitable needs to happen. I need to move forward without Andrew.

  Being with him again allowed me to face reality. Deep down inside, even if I wasn’t in love with Julian, I can no longer be with my first love.

  Somehow, somewhere, deep inside, I’ll find the courage to be honest with the man who no longer has my heart.

  We can’t pretend we’ll be able to move on−not when I’m in love with someone else.

  Forty-One

  I sit on the floor next to the suitcase, holding the black dress close to my chest. Heartbroken with memories of Julian, I try to pull myself together, desperate not to cry. I scoot over to the nightstand for my phone. Placing it against my ear, I brace for what the message may be.

  “Darling.” My heart skips a beat just hearing his deep voice. “I could pretend you don’t exist, that I have never loved you. I could pretend the past few months never happened. I could pretend I haven’t loved you all my life.” He pauses. “Or I can live my life the way it’s meant to be lived, by being with you, by loving you. Although you’re thousands of miles away, I feel your heartbeat as if it were my own. Your melodies play in my head. Your voice and music are all that I long to hear. All I can hear. I close my eyes and see your emerald eyes. I have loved you all my life, and nothing could have ever prepared me for this.” Another brief silence before he admits, “I’m scared out of my fucking mind. Frightened you’ll think this is a phase I’m going through. I don’t know what it’s going to take to make you trust me. I broke it off with Shira before Father’s heart attack. She’s been relentless with her texts, but not once have I responded since breaking it off with her. But I know what I’ve always known, that it is you and only you. I said I would respect your decision when you chose Andrew, but I refuse to accept it. I’ll always fight for you. I’ll always fight for us. Please look at the inside pocket of your handbag. It was always meant for you. Only you. I love you, Evangelina Darling James.”

  Holding the phone close to my ear, I press play over and over again to hear Julian’s familiar voice. To hear his longing. To hear his professions of love. More importantly, to hear that I am the only one.

  I am his only one.

  Patti’s words from a few nights ago hit me. “It’s probably a fake article. With Photoshop, anything is possible.”

  Self-doubt is the bitch of all bitches. It consumed me, and I allowed it to cloud my judgment, my heart.

  Suddenly, I remember the screen on Julian’s phone. There were no text responses to Shira.

  You’re a fool, Lina.

  I’ll always fight for you. I’ll always fight for us.

  Do I want to continue to dream night after night of Julian? Do I want to regret having said my last goodbye to him? I’ve already made up my mind that I don’t want to walk down the aisle to a man who I’m not passionately in love with. Living a life meant for someone else. I don’t want to spend my days and nights living vicariously through my interlude. I don’t want to wake up and realize my life has become a sad book ending. Even worse, a sad country song on repeat.

  The storm inside me has finally calmed.

  My legs finally have the strength to move. Quickly, I pick myself up off the floor. Walking over to the docking station, I hit the “JC” playlist that includes songs reminding me of my romantic man. Seal’s “Loneliest Star” plays. The song mimics what I’m finally ready to admit. Julian and I belong, and his love is a chance I want to take− I will take. Humming along to the song, I exchange my pajamas for the black wrap dress. My face is washed, my teeth are brushed, and my hair is still in a bun.

  Next to my nightstand is my black bag. Placing it on top of my bed, I try to locate the mysterious item Julian had pla
ced in the inside pocket. The bag is enormous and it takes a while for my hand to find something other than my wallet, moleskin book, Blackwing pencils, Mugpie’s dog treats, and makeup bag.

  The world stands still.

  Trembling fingers touch the edge of a small box. Quickly taking it out of the inside pocket, I gasp.

  I stare for a few minutes, marveling at what it could mean.

  Vintage Red Garrard & Co. ring box.

  How could I have missed this?

  With anxious hands, I open it. Staring at me is a simple Ceylon sapphire ring surrounded by diamonds. When recognition strikes, joyful tears start to form. I fall slowly to the floor as I hold the exquisite ring. It is Elisa Rutherford Caine’s engagement ring. It is the only piece of jewelry that Elisa loved and wore along with her wedding band. Inside the box, in Julian’s barely legible handwriting, is a message written on a folded piece of paper:

  It was never meant to be an interlude.

  I want a family.

  I want to give you babies.

  I want everything.

  I want forever.

  Only with you.

  Julian.

  Family.

  Babies.

  Forever.

  Although Julian is not here by my side, his note’s declaration is the most romantic gesture I have ever had in my life. I rise and sit on the edge of my bed, surveying the room. This house has never felt like home. I cry like I’ve never cried before. I allow myself to weep, bracing this emotion. Unlike last night’s tears, these tears are from joy and realization. I have wonderful memories of Andrew and myself, but they’re from too long ago. They are memories that have been immortalized in pictures. Pictures I’ll always treasure.