“Honestly, he didn’t really give me a reason. We had a great day yesterday, and then…” I lowered my voice. “Last night we had sex on the living room floor of his house, where he’d lived with his wife, and it was really intense. Right after that, he suddenly ended things. Said we never should have gotten involved in the first place.”
“Aha. You scared him.” Jaime sounded confident as she sat back. “That’s what I used to do, before Quinn. As long as it was just sex with a guy, I was fine, but if there was any chance of an emotional attachment, I was out of there.”
“You even tried to do it with Quinn,” Claire reminded us.
Jaime nodded. “Totally. And I didn’t have the baggage Jack has. Maybe he just needs some time and distance. Gain a little perspective. That’s what I needed.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But we exchanged some pretty harsh words last night. And I flat out asked him to give me a chance, and he said no.”
“Well, don’t give up. He might surprise you.” Jaime sipped her drink. “And if he doesn’t, it’s his fucking loss, because you’re amazing.”
“And strong.” Claire patted my arm again. “You’re one of the strongest women I know.”
“I’m not,” I said, feeling like a fraud. “I’ve spent my entire life just doing what I’m told Thurber women do, playing the role of dutiful daughter and society debutante. I can’t think of one decision I made for myself that I’m proud of or one risk I took.”
“I can,” Jaime said loyally. “You quit your job and came to work with me. That was a risk.”
“Not really.” I wasn’t going to let them talk me into liking myself. “I was never going to be poor.”
“When Tripp said he didn’t want to get married last year, you broke things off. And you said no to him when he proposed, even though part of you wanted to say yes,” Claire added. “That was not easy.”
“I didn’t want to marry that jerk,” I said. “I just liked the ring, which makes me shallow.”
“Well, you should be proud as hell that you threw those scones. I’m proud of you.” Jaime shook her head. “God, I wish I’d been there.”
I allowed a tiny smile to work its way onto my lips. “I guess I’m proud of that.”
“See? And you can still make changes to your life. You don’t have to play any role you don’t want to,” she went on. “If you don’t want to work at Shine anymore, tell me. We can figure things out.”
“No, I do. I like the work. I like helping people grow their dreams.” I sighed, swirling the last sips of gin in my glass. “It’s not that I don’t like my life. I love my family, my friends, my work. And I’d be lying if I said being Margot Thurber Lewiston is really that tough. It’s not. I mean, what do I actually lack? It’s selfish to want more than I have, isn’t it?”
“Margot, it’s OK to want to share your life with someone,” Claire said. “No one thinks you’re selfish just because you want someone to love, and someone to love you back.”
The lump was back in my throat. “I do want that. And crazy as it sounds, I had this gut feeling Jack could have been that someone. I’m just so frustrated and sad he doesn’t see it.”
My friends looked at me sympathetically. “I wish I had more advice,” Jaime said. “But love is strange. When you’re looking for it, it knows just where to hide. When you’re not, it jumps out and clobbers you on the head.”
“Don’t I know it,” said Claire, tipping back her drink. “Maybe that’s what we’re doing wrong, Gogo. We’re looking.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, you guys. I’m being a complete downer and I’m totally monopolizing the conversation. I had a disappointment, but I’ll survive.” A shaky smile made its way to my lips. “I actually started making this list of things I want to do while I was up there.”
“Like a bucket list?” Jaime ate one of the olives from the stick in her martini.
“No, more like Margot Thurber Lewiston’s To-Do List for Having a Funner, More Fulfilling Life.”
Claire grinned. “What’s on it?”
“Stop fearing 30. Ride horses. Learn to Cook. Get involved with the food justice movement. Get a tattoo.” It came out of nowhere, but as soon as I said it, I realized it was true.
“Wow,” Jaime said for the third time today. “It’s like a whole new Margot. What happened to you up there?”
“It wasn’t just up there,” I said. “I mean, it was definitely an intense week, but looking back over the last year or so, maybe even longer, I think this awakening has been a long time coming.”
Jaime nodded and held up her drink. “To Funner and More Fulfilling Lives.”
Claire and I lifted our glasses to hers and clinked. I felt better, and grateful for my friends, but a little piece of my heart still ached for Jack.
Maybe it always would.
Thirty-One
Jack
The morning after I broke things off with Margot dawned sunny and warm. It aggravated me, since I wanted the weather to match my glowering mood. I did the morning chores sluggishly, my bones weary, my muscles lax. No pride in my work. No feeling of contentment or accomplishment. No hope that I might find something about today to enjoy.
Just emptiness.
I’d spent the entire night hating myself for what I’d done. But I’d had no choice—I’d known all along I couldn’t have her. It didn’t matter that she was willing to give me a chance…I couldn’t take it. And she deserved someone whole, someone perfect, someone like her. She shouldn’t waste that chance on me. I was too broken, too flawed.
But God, I could have loved her. Easily. Deeply.
If I were someone else, if my life had gone differently, if I’d met her sooner. What would that alternate life look like? Would we be married? Would we have children? For a moment I let myself picture them, a little boy with curls like Cooper, a little girl with blond hair and blue eyes.
I swallowed hard, imagining tucking them in at night, reading them a story, giving in to their pleas for one more song, one more kiss, one more hug. Then I’d share the rest of my night with Margot, share my thoughts, share my body, share my soul.
I could have taken care of her in all the ways she needed. We were different, but maybe our differences would have complemented each other. We could have fit together like two jigsaw pieces. She had book smarts and business savvy; I had physical strength and common sense. She had a gift with people; I had a gift with nature. I knew how to grow; she knew how to sell. She was smooth where I was rough, articulate where I was tongue-tied, social where I was aloof.
I could have loved her.
Sheltered her. Cherished her. I could have done the things for her she didn’t know how to do, taught her things she didn’t know, shown her things she’d never seen. And she could have been my link to the outside world, offering me refuge when I needed it. She could have taught me things too—she knew about art and literature and history. Things I’d never paid attention to, but didn’t want to leave the world without learning.
I could have loved her.
I could have let her love me. I could have been a father. I could have been happy.
Instead, I was alone. But at least it had been my choice.
I didn’t want to go to Pete and Georgia’s that morning since they’d likely ask about Margot, but I’d run out of coffee, and I needed the caffeine badly enough to risk it. From the moment I walked in, I made it clear I wasn’t in the mood for talking.
“Morning, Jack,” Georgia called as I entered the kitchen. She was feeding Cooper at the table.
With barely a harrumph in greeting, I crossed the room to the coffee pot and poured a cup. Even this damn kitchen reminded me of Margot. I could still see her sitting at the counter last night with her wine, eating at the table, laughing over cards. Maybe this would have been our house.
“What’s going on today?” she asked.
“Nothing.” She’d be feeding our baby at the kitchen table.
“Have you and Margo
t gone riding yet?”
“No.” We’d go riding together all the time.
“Might be a nice day for it.”
“I don’t have time,” I snapped. But she was right—it would have been a nice day for it. I was going to take her camping tonight.
She glanced back at me, her brows arched. “OK. Just a thought.”
I swallowed mouthfuls of coffee, letting it scald my throat, glad for the pain. I wondered if Margot was still sleeping, if she’d go home today or stick around. Hopefully, she’d leave…I didn’t think I could stay away if I knew she was here, and I had to. I had to.
“Do you and Margot want to do the market tomorrow? She seemed to really enjoy it the other day.”
“No.”
Georgia looked at me again, a little longer this time. “Everything OK?”
“Fine,” I said. But I wasn’t fine.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her. No matter where I went on the farm, something reminded me of her—the chicken coop, the barn, the pasture. The woods, the lake, the cabin. I went to the hardware store, and I swear to Christ, the cab of my truck even smelled like her. On a whim, I drove by the cottage, telling myself I wouldn’t knock on her door, I’d just see if her car was there.
It wasn’t, but a minivan was, and as I idled past, a woman came out of the front door carrying what looked like a bucket of cleaning supplies. She’s gone.
I was angry at myself for being disappointed. Annoyed at the way my chest caved. Alarmed at the ache in my heart.
What the hell? This was better, wasn’t it? I didn’t want her hanging around, tempting me at every opportunity. I wanted her out of town, out of reach, out of my life.
Later I took Cooper to the park, hoping that would boost my mood, but even that reminded me of Margot. Christ, would she never get out of my head? I’d done the right thing! When would I be rewarded with a little peace of mind?
That night I was so exhausted I fell asleep early, but I woke at two in the morning from a nightmare, yelling and shaking, the sheets soaked with sweat. I sat up, my heart beating furiously, my chest tight. Frantically, I looked around the room for danger, but it wasn’t there.
When my heart rate slowed, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and sat still for a moment to catch my breath, cursing my fucking subconscious for its unrelenting assault.
Minutes later, I stripped the bedding and tugged new sheets over the mattress. I thought about Margot’s hands clutching at them. Leaving them twisted and shoved aside. Holding her beneath them. I got back into bed and lay awake, blinking at the ceiling. I wondered if I’d ever see her again. I wondered if I’d ever be able to forget her. I wondered if she missed me as much as I missed her.
I wondered if I’d ever stop asking myself what if?
A few miserable days later, I broke down and called her.
It was after midnight, which made me an even bigger asshole, but I couldn’t go another minute without at least hearing her voice. I’d gotten into the habit of pulling up her picture on the Shine PR website, and the image was driving me crazy—I wanted those blue eyes looking at me. I wanted that smile to be flashed in my direction. I wanted that long blond hair slipping through my fingers. I wanted her light, her laughter, her lips on mine.
More than that, I wanted the feeling she gave me—that heart-pounding, gut-clenching, blood-rushing feeling that made me feel alive and vital and virile. I wanted to feel wanted again. I craved it.
But that was impossible, wasn’t it? She’d never agree to see me. Not unless I apologized and admitted I’d made a mistake, and there was no way I could. It didn’t matter that I wished things were different—they weren’t. This wasn’t a fairy tale. This beast wasn’t going to turn into a prince, and she deserved a prince.
But I was starving for her. I needed a taste.
I paced next to my bed as I listened to the ring. Please, please answer, Margot, I begged silently. Voicemail would be OK, because at least I’d still get to hear her, but a conversation would be better. I wanted to feel close to her again.
She didn’t pick up right away, and my hopes started to dwindle. Why should she answer your call, asshole? But then it stopping ringing, and I heard her breathing. Goosebumps blanketed my arms and legs.
“Hi,” I said quietly.
“Hello.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d answer.”
“I almost didn’t.” Her voice was hushed, and I wondered if she’d been asleep. My blood ran warmer as I thought of her under the covers.
“Did I wake you?”
“No.”
“Good. I’m…” Shit. Now that I had her on the line, I couldn’t think of anything to say. “I’m sorry to call so late.”
“It’s fine.”
“So…how are you?” Fuck. So stupid.
“OK. You?”
She wasn’t OK. I could hear it. And neither was I. “OK.”
An uncomfortable silence followed, during which I thought of nothing I could say and ten things I couldn’t, starting with I miss you. I miss you so much I can’t breathe.
“Are you really OK?” she asked.
“No,” I admitted.
“Me either.”
“I want to see you so badly,” I blurted. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.” She paused. “Does this…does this mean you changed your mind?”
I wanted to say yes so badly, I felt strangled by it. “No,” I choked out.
“Then I can’t see you, Jack. It wouldn’t do either of us any good.”
“Please,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “I need you.”
“No. I’m hanging up. This hurts too much.”
“No, wait!” Panicked, I held out one hand as if she could see me. “Please don’t go, Margot. I miss you so fucking much. All I do is think about you.”
She said nothing at first, and then I heard soft, quiet sobs. “Why are you doing this to me? I’m trying to forget you.”
My heart broke for both of us. “I’m sorry, Margot. I know I shouldn’t have called. I’m just…” I closed a fist in my hair. “…so fucked up about this. I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you want to do?”
I exhaled, lowering myself to the bed. What I wanted was so simple. “I want to feel alive again.” My throat thickened. “The way I felt with you.”
She was openly crying now, and it was torture knowing I could make her stop. But the words wouldn’t come—something inside me held them captive. Fear? Guilt? Shame? All of the above?
“Jack,” wept Margot, “I can’t do this. I want to be with you, but not unless you’re ready to move on. I don’t know what that would take, but it’s something you have to figure out.”
She was right, of course. It was on me to find a way out of the cold, lonely dark and into her light. But I felt immobile, chained to the past and unable to break free, even for her.
A moment later, she whispered goodbye.
Cursing, I set my phone aside and dropped forward, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. Instead of feeling better, I felt worse. Sad and angry.
What I wanted was one thing; what I was capable of was another.
Why the hell couldn’t she see that?
Thirty-Two
Margot
If I’d made any progress getting over Jack in the last few days, the phone call set me back that much and then some.
What was he trying to do to me? To himself?
The tone of his voice, tender and sorrowful, told me how miserable he was. The things he’d said tore me to shreds—I miss you, I want to see you, I want to feel alive again. It was agony knowing we both wanted to be together and it was just his stubborn head getting in the way. Never in my life had I simultaneously wanted to hug someone and hit him with a scone at the same time. Did he just need more time?
But how much? How long would I be willing to wait? At some point, it would be pathetic rather than patient to keep holding out for someone who was never
going to want me that way.
I had to get over it. Pick myself up, dust myself off, and try again with someone who wasn’t so hell-bent on being alone forever. Someone who wanted everything I had to offer. Someone who recognized that the kind of chemistry we had didn’t come along that often in life.
I started to get angry.
Damn him for not seeing what we could be. Sitting up in bed, I reached for a tissue from the box on my nightstand. Damn him for being a coward when I need him to be brave. Damn him for being stubborn when all he wants is to give in. I blew my nose, threw the tissue on the floor, and grabbed another.
I hope you’re even more miserable than I am, Jack Valentini. Because this is your fault. I never rushed you. I never pushed. The only thing I did was care, and fuck you for being too scared to care back. I deserve better.
By the time I fell asleep that night, my nose was raw, my eyes were puffy, and my head ached, but I made up my mind not to waste any more time crying over Jack. Yes, it was sad that he didn’t think he deserved to be loved because of his past, but that was his choice.
Plenty of people don’t get to even make that choice, Jack. They never experience what we have.
Damn you for giving it up so easily.
My anger simmered throughout the day Sunday. I felt like I needed to keep busy so I wouldn’t think about Jack, and I spent the day doing things like laundry, cleaning out the fridge, reorganizing kitchen and bathroom cupboards, and grocery shopping. It kept me occupied, but it didn’t necessarily take my mind off Jack. Clothing I’d worn at the farm reminded me of him. Food and drinks reminded me of him. My bubble bath and shampoo reminded me of him. The damn produce section at Kroger reminded me of him.
Later in the afternoon I went to the bookstore and bought some beginner cookbooks, and for dinner that night I attempted lemon chicken. It turned out pretty well and gave me a dose of confidence, even if I did feel a little lonely celebrating my first culinary triumph by myself.
Later that night, I was in bed reading a new romance I’d picked up at the bookstore (which I’d chosen for its premise and not because the guy on the cover looked like Jack, I swear) when my phone rang.
After We Fall Page 21