by Jewel E. Ann
*
I returned to New York by dinner Monday night. After leaving several messages on Quinn’s cell phone as well as half a dozen texts, all without response, I was starting to worry. The condo was dark and silent when I opened the door, however, it was odd that the alarm hadn’t been set. When I flipped on the entry light, a dark shadowy figure on the couch nearly stopped my heart.
”Oh my God!” I gasped.
“Sorry, baby, it’s just me.”
I flipped on another set of lights. “Jeez, you scared me! What are you doing? I tried calling you and I sent you numerous texts.”
“Sorry,” was all he said in a somber voice.
An uneasy feeling rippled through my body in chilling waves. Something was wrong. “Have you been drinking?”
“No,” he said with a pained laugh. “I want one, so fucking bad, but I haven’t had a single drop.”
He sat with his elbows on his knees and his head cradled in his hands. I shrugged off my coat and knelt in front of him with my hands resting on his flexed biceps.
“Quinn, what happened?”
Taking a deep swallow, he shook his head as if the words were caught in his throat.
My mind started to roam in every direction. I thought about death, cancer, car accidents, business dealings gone wrong, but I didn’t even once consider the words that came from his mouth.
“Olivia is pregnant.”
Silence. Anguish. Heartache. Misery.
Deep breath … I can’t, I can’t breathe …
“No … no …” I shook my head as I sat back on my heels. Biting my bottom lip to keep it from quivering, I tried to blink back the tears … but there were too many.
“I––I––don’t understand. You said you didn’t sleep with any of them, you told me you slept in the chair. This doesn’t make any sense!”
“I wasn’t lying, I didn’t sleep with them … when you were in New York. But before, when I was drinking—”
“STOP!” I screamed as I covered my face with my hands. “Just stop, I don’t want to know.”
“Addy, you were with Jake. How do you think that makes me feel when I think of him with you: touching you, kissing you, fucking you?”
“I get it, Quinn! It hurts, it hurts so … damn … bad!” I wiped my face and met his eyes. “But now tell me how it would feel if I told you today that I was carrying his baby? Tell me that it wouldn’t fucking gut you. Tell me what you expect me to say, what you expect me to do?”
Leaning forward, he ran his fingers though my hair then held my head inches from his. “Stay. I need you to stay, as much as I need my next breath.”
“Why are you doing this?” I sobbed. “Do you have any idea how desperate I was to hear those words from your mouth so many times before? And now you’re asking me to stay … and do what? Watch another woman carry your baby. The baby I was supposed to give you. It’s not fair for you to ask me to do that.”
“I know it’s not, but I’m still asking. God, Addy I’m begging you … please don’t go.”
I wrapped my hands around his wrists as he continued to hold my head. His touch felt so vital to my existence. Then I cried, because my heart was grieving for the life with Quinn that became more elusive every day. He picked me up and held me tight.
“It was supposed to be me—it was supposed to be me!” I cried out as I pounded my fists against his chest. My shattered heart ached as my stomach wrenched. It was a dull pain that left me begging for reprieve.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” he breathed in my ear.
It was a good hour or more later, and I was still curled up on his lap. My tears ran dry and the all too familiar numb feeling blanketed my body. Quinn didn’t speak; he didn’t move. I think he would have held me there forever, if it would have meant I was staying. My ear rested against his chest and the sound of his heart reminded me of all the little pieces of mine that were still beating. That’s the most amazing thing about the heart, even alone, each individual cell tells itself to rhythmically contract and relax. As much as I wanted to will mine to stop, it wouldn’t.
“Why am I even here? It’s like the world is rejecting me at every turn. I feel like I don’t belong, but my soul is stuck in this stupid life. What the hell am I supposed to be learning from all of this? I’ve tried so hard to be happy, content, and grateful, but it’s too much … I’m just too tired. I’m tired of feeling so numb.”
“Me. You’re here for me, to love me, live life with me, be with me. If you’re too tired, I’ll carry you through every day until you can walk on your own again. Just … stay.”
“I’ll stay,” I breathed out. Those two words came out so easily because, in that moment, I didn’t care if I died. Honestly, I thought I’d already lost him and my only wish was to die in his arms.
*
It took me three days to get out of bed with the exception of using the bathroom. I refused to eat, but I willingly drank water because I needed the tears. Quinn worked from home, specifically from the bedroom. He only left my side to get food for himself or water for us. Fear was etched deep in his face. He was scared to leave me alone. I, on the other hand, feared nothing.
After seventy-two hours, I broke the silence. “You should go to work.” My back was to him and my voice was weak.
“Only if you come with me.”
I shook my head.
“Then I’m not going anywhere.”
He was sitting in the infamous chair by the window working on his computer. He closed his laptop and moved to my side of the bed. Kneeling on the floor, he kissed my forehead. “I love you and you will always be the love of my life.”
He didn’t know what he was talking about. Olivia was carrying a piece of him that would change that. He would hold his little baby, look into its eyes, and see the reflection of his soul. The thought melted a few more tears from my eyes.
He kissed them away. “I’ll be right back.” He went into the bathroom and started the shower. A few minutes later he came back out with just a towel wrapped around his waist. “Let’s go.”
I shook my head.
“Then we’ll do it the hard way, but you’re taking a shower.” He pulled down the sheets and stripped my clothes. Then he cradled me in his arms and carried me into the steamy shower. Multiple jets shot warm water out from the walls while a massive square fixture poured rain-like water from the ceiling. He set me on my feet, and I closed my eyes as streams and rivulets raced down my body. Starting on my back, I felt his slick soaped hands slowly massaging my muscles. He took his time, giving every inch of my body his undivided attention. The tenderness and deep love I felt in his touch stirred the raw emotions that had been festering for days. Grateful for the camouflage of the water, I let more toxic emotions flow from my closed eyes as he stood behind me washing my hair. Then, leaving me to stand with the warm water raining down on me, he quickly washed himself before shutting off the water. He wrapped me up in a long, thick terrycloth robe and sat me on top of the vanity. After brushing my teeth, he dried my hair. More tears fell, as my mind drifted to memories of my mom. I used to love sitting at her vanity in a small gold chair with a white velvet seat while she used her soft-bristled brush on my long hair. She would look at my reflection in the mirror and tell me how I was everything perfect about her and my dad. I wanted my mom so desperately. She would’ve known how to make everything better. As many times as I butted heads with her, I never doubted her love for me. And I knew from experience, mothers were granted magical healing powers. I wondered if Quinn was wishing his mother were there to tell him what to do … to magically make everything right in his world again.
When he finished drying my hair, he kissed away more tears, slipped on a pair of jeans, and carried me downstairs.
“You’re losing weight, so either you eat, or I call Mac. What’s it going to be?”
“Eat.”
He peeled back a banana and handed it to me before getting one for himself. The interesting part about fasting
is that by the third day, you’re not hungry. It took me twenty minutes to finish my banana. Quinn made oatmeal with pecans, cinnamon, and coconut nectar. When he held a spoonful to my mouth I shook my head.
“You said you’d eat.”
“I did.” My response was monotone while my face remained expressionless. I tossed my banana peel on the counter in his direction, then I stood and went back upstairs.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Quinn
If there would have been a line of people waiting to spit on my father’s grave, I would have been at the front. The truth was, he did more good in his life than bad. But ask any politician what stands out on Judgment Day and they’ll all say it was the bribe they took, the prostitute they slept with once, or the pot they smoked in college. It doesn’t take much to tarnish an Ivy League education, a thirty-year political career, a professional athlete’s reputation, or even a Nobel Peace Prize. My father came to America and built his companies from the ground up. He provided jobs for thousands of people and treated his employees with respect. He loved my mother and his three children more than life. He sacrificed so much to give us the life he never had. But in the end, it was the one poor business decision out of a million, a meaningless affair that lasted weeks compared to forty years of marriage, and a few years of addiction out of sixty years of sobriety that everyone remembered … including me.
If fucked-up had a definition, it was what happened the night I let Olivia into my condo after I’d gotten home from work and numbed my misery with several hard drinks. Most nights I drank until I passed out, but she caught me a couple glasses shy of my goal. When she asked me how I was doing, all I could think about was Addy, my Addy, naked under Jake. Fucking Jake. I needed another drink, but what Olivia offered worked just as well. That was my mark. The night that tarnished everything else.
A baby. Olivia didn’t even want kids. When she showed up at my office Monday, I knew she was pissed, but she tried to cover it with her fake enthusiasm. Asking her to have an abortion, which she would have done if it were any other guy’s child, was not an option. My mother didn’t like Olivia, but she would have disowned me for suggesting or even allowing the termination of her grandchild. I think Olivia was waiting for me to drop down on one knee and promise her forever. That was never going to happen. There was no doubt that my child would not want for anything, but my feelings for Olivia would never go beyond simple respect for her being the mother of my child.
I told Addy I hadn’t been drinking and that wasn’t a lie. But I didn’t tell her how many glasses of Scotch I poured at my office and shattered against the wall before I went home. Part of me knew I’d already lost her, so I figured why not start the numbing process. But when I arrived home with my brown bag of poison, I was drawn to the sealed envelope in my room, the letter from my mother. Before I removed the cap to my most certain demise, I tore open the letter. I felt confident that after reading it I would need the alcohol more than I already did.
My Dearest Quinten,
You are such a beautiful expression of my soul. You were my first born … and my first TRUE love. When I take my last breath, I will remember your first. When I held you in my arms, my whole purpose in life was realized. I lived to love you. You have to know, I died a million deaths after your climbing accident. The day you went in for surgery I promised God my life in exchange for yours. When I found out the cancer had returned, I knew it was time. I made a promise to God, and when he spared your life, I willingly followed when he called for mine. I’m ready. The chemotherapy nearly killed me the first time, and I can’t do it again. Addy has offered to take me anywhere in the world, for any type of treatment. She’d spare no expense to save my life, to give you back your mother. Everyone needs to know that Addy has been amazing. She’s so broken––just shattered inside, yet she continually gives more of herself than she really has to give. I love her and I know you do too.
Forgive, my dear son. Forgive me for not saying goodbye. Forgive your father for his mistakes. Forgive Addy for everything … always. Then forgive yourself. You don’t have to be perfect to have the perfect life. Remember that, because had your father been able to grasp that, he would still be alive.
Love. Love yourself enough to hold on and love others enough to let go. I know you’re so talented. Money and success have always come easy to you, but they’re not worthy of your passion. Find your one true passion in life and follow it. Follow it until you take your last breath.
I will always be with you. Look for me in everything that makes you smile. Feel my loving arms around you when you’re sad. And hear my voice in the wind and the ripple of the tides. Be well, my dear child. Thank you for the best thirty-five years of my life. Being your mother was truly the greatest gift!
All my love & all my life––Mom
I crumpled the paper in my hands and held it to my face. When I pulled it back, I noticed the smudged black ink from my tears. I raced to the sink to grab a towel. I blotted the letters before her words faded as quickly as she did. Then I put it in my safe at the back of my closet. When I returned to my bedroom, the brown sack of alcohol on my dresser haunted me. I grabbed it and frantically removed the cap before dumping the contents into the sink.
Addy had sent me numerous texts and left multiple messages on my phone. I knew she was on her way. However, I needed all the time I could get to gain the courage it was going to take to tell the love of my life that another woman was carrying my child. Addy believed in karma, but I wasn’t as convinced until then. My cavalier and often reckless lifestyle had eventually caught up with me, and in that moment Olivia’s pregnancy felt like karma.
Had I not read my mother’s letter, I would have let Addy walk out my door forever, just like I had tried to do so many times before. But one word kept racing through my mind, passion. Addy was my one true passion in life. I wanted her more than I wanted to breathe. I’d made up my mind that I would never give up on her. If she left me, I would have spent the rest of my life, until I took my last breath, searching for her and begging for her forgiveness. I owed it to my mother. I owed it to myself.
Alcohol takes the edge off the emotional stab that comes from breaking someone’s heart. Telling Addy about Olivia—sober—was like slowly shoving a knife in her chest and simultaneously in mine as well. It was a raw Shakespearean moment. She wanted to die in my arms and I in hers. I had to be strong for her, like she had been for me. But all I really wanted to do was lock out the rest of the world and never be separated from her again. Being strong for her in one of my own weakest moments drained everything from me, but by some miracle, three days later we were both still hanging on. However, desperation still lurked at every corner. I needed to do something to jolt us out of our eternal misery.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Addy
Life is full of peaks and valleys. Then there was my life. By Saturday morning I still felt like I was at the bottom of the valley, pinned under a massive boulder that was crushing me. I could barely breathe and help was nowhere in sight. The previous day I spent in bed, even my water intake was down, which was fine because I was tired of crying. Quinn spent the day either on the phone or downstairs answering the door. My curiosity had vanished along with my appetite and will to live. I never asked him who was at the door or what the jumbled chatter was all about. I. Just. Didn’t. Care.
Quinn cracked the blinds to the room, letting in just enough morning light for me to notice the snow falling. I squinted my eyes.
“Close them,” I moaned before burying my face in the pillow.
“Not today, love. Today you get out of bed.” Quinn had a bit of hope in his voice that I hadn’t heard since I arrived back in New York. He scooped me up in his arms and carried me out of the bedroom.
Taking one slow step at a time, he carried me down the stairs, and my lungs captured their first full breath of air since Monday. Everything, literally everything, was adorned with garland, lights, wreaths, ornaments, and ribbons. The air smell
ed like a delicious mix of cinnamon and pine. The harmony of The Christmas Song on the piano flowed from the surround sound. When we turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs, the sight before my eyes was grander than anything I had ever seen in my life. Extravagant was inadequate, because there really were no words. The tree was a Griswold fantasy. The crystal star at the top nearly touched the double-height ceiling. There must have been a thousand ornaments hanging from the branches. It was Rockefeller Center meets Macy’s, architecturally designed to perfection for Quinn’s condo. Even his couch was covered in holiday decor pillows and two large poinsettias sat at each end. The kitchen island had red glass votives next to a plate of exquisitely decorated sugar cookies and two tall holiday mugs filled with hot apple cider.
He set me down on my feet and moved a step back, as if he wanted to give me a moment to absorb it all. After several minutes my eyes found his again. I didn’t see the alcoholic man I saved only a couple weeks earlier; or the father of Olivia’s child; or the broken spirit that had been clinging to me just days earlier. All I could see was love. My whole body flooded with warmth, and my lungs welcomed the fresh air, as though I hadn’t been breathing for days.
“This is … I can’t believe you …”
Shaking his head, he flashed me his cocky grin and said the one word I needed to hear to bring a genuine smile to my face. “Elves.”
Sometimes fighting hurts more than just surrendering. As much as I wanted our situation to be different, fighting reality was way too exhausting. What he did for me was the equivalent of Mac tackling me in the airport after the fire. It was my wake up call. I had to choose to live or die, but hanging on the precipice was no longer a choice.
“I love your elves.”
“And me?”
I walked into his open arms. “You’re okay.”
*
After I rehydrated with a large glass of water, we sat at the counter and sipped hot cider while the snow outside continued to fall.