Lost in Love (The Miss Apple Pants series Book 2)

by Charlotte Roth

  “Whe-where did you come from?” she asked, taking a small step toward him.

  “From Munich. We had a performance there last night and I…” His eyes settled on me now. “I’ve been following you guys since you started, I mean, since you took off from Seattle. It’s been quite entertaining actually and I, well, when you got here, it just brought back so many memories.” He paused to clear his throat. “And I guess I suddenly realized that, um… I realized how much I’ve missed you, Mom.” His eyes darted nervously back to Mrs. Rockefeller, who was no longer fighting her tears. With the mentioning of the word Mom, I guessed she had just let go.

  “Well, do I get a hug?” Aaron shifted on his feet and held out his arms. A silent tear had escaped his eyes, but he didn’t bother to wipe it off.

  “Of course,” Mrs. Rockefeller whispered as she finally managed to move her little body, slowly but steadily, across the floor. “Oh, Aaron,” she cried when she was so close that she could touch him.

  “Mo-om.” Gently, Aaron encircled her waist and they both started crying in each other’s arms. And of course, Mom and I started crying, too, which prompted Ava and Alfred to look up from their new coloring books. Alfred looked over at Ava as if to say, “Now the moms are weeping again,” and Mom and I couldn’t help laughing through the tears. They were used to so much crying and emotion in our house.

  “It’s all happy tears,” I ensured them, like I had done so many times before. Satisfied with my statement, they both picked up their crayons and continued coloring.

  “Excuse.” The concierge was back, momentarily interrupting everyone’s crying and laughter mixed together. “Sorry for interrupting your dinner again, but there’s another gentleman to see you.” This time she was undoubtedly looking at me, cross-eyed or not.

  “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  I looked over at Mom for help. “Me?” I asked again.

  The concierge nodded. “Hold on. I’ll go show him the way.” She left before I had time to ask more questions.

  “You think it-it-it’s Hans?” I stammered, my heart already picking up a few beats.

  Mom shrugged and looked over at Mrs. Rockefeller and Aaron. They had moved to the back of the room, facing the rose garden, and were standing right next to each other, talking together with lowered but cheerful voices. “Who knows? It seems like there’s a lot of love and reunion in the air and holding hands, so who knows?”

  I looked down at their hands and felt a stab at my heart when I saw their hands knitted together. Mrs. Rockefeller had finally reconnected with her son, with “a little help from my friends,” as Mom had been singing all the way down the elevator, headed down to the extravagant dinner party. I, on the other hand, had found my son’s dad only to dis-connect from him. I had left him where I had found him—on the bench next to Eleanor Rigby.

  “Will I ever see you and Alfred again?” he had asked when I said goodbye.

  “Of course, but not right now. Now is not the time. Not with everything that’s going on with your wife, a baby on the way in Berlin, or Hamburg or wherever you live. It wouldn’t be fair to her or the baby. We’ll find each other again later, when we’re all ready. Alfred will get to know his dad. Some day.”

  He had looked really sad then, and that’s when he told me, “It was an accident, you know. I mean, the baby with Gertrud. It wasn’t planned.”

  “So was Alfred,” I had reminded him. “A beautiful accident. And the cutest baby ever.”

  He looked down at my phone, smiling. While Mom had volunteered to take the kids for a potty break and ice cream down the street, Hans and I had spent the last half hour looking at all the pictures of Alfred I had saved on my phone and posted on Facebook. I had even showed him The Jensen and Rock Family European Adventure Facebook page, from start to end. He laughed out loud when he read all the comments and Beatles song quotes.

  “But accident or not,” I continued, “your life is here in Germany, and mine is with Alfred in the US.”

  “But is that why you came? To find me so you could tell me this, that I’m Alfred’s father, and then just leave? Or did you come to see me one more time before you decided?”

  “About what?”

  “If you wanted me in your life?”

  “Maybe.” It was the truth. I think I somehow had expected that I would have all the answers when I finally saw him, but I didn’t. I just knew that I had done the right thing, for him and Alfred. They both had a right to know. I also knew that, even though I could still blush just thinking about our night together, I wasn’t in love with him anymore. And after spending half an hour with him, I also realized I hardly knew him.

  “I really liked that about you. You seemed so, what’s the word?... Honest. And now I see you’re also a very brave woman. Brave and beautiful.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call myself brave, but I am a mother now and that kinda forces you to do brave things, like go around half the world searching for a dad for your baby. But it also makes you the most vulnerable person in the world, die ganze Welt.”

  He smiled. “I can see that.” He looked down at my phone. “Can I see the picture one more time? The saved-to-screen one, bitte?”

  “Sure.” I swiped my phone and placed it in his hand and we both stared at Alfred sitting next to a huge cake with his name and the number two on it.

  “He sure is handsome.”

  I nodded. “What can I say? He looks likes his father.”

  “Yes, but I think he has your augenform, um, eye form. And the eyes do look a little greenish-bluish to me, too.”

  I moved a little closer to the screen and examined baby Alfred and his big blue eyes and, for the first time ever, I noticed the green in them too. Maybe Hans was right? Maybe he had my eyes after all? Maybe every time I had looked into Alfred’s eyes, I had always wanted to find Hans in them to remind myself that Hans was his father?

  “You might be right. They do look a little green in this light.” I ran my finger over his face on the screen and nodded. “You know, my friend Thomas always did insist that Alfred has my eyes. Now I see he might be right, but don’t tell him though.” I smiled.

  Hans turned the phone off and handed it to me. “Are you in love with him?”

  “Of course, I am,” I said, laughing. “I mean, just look at that little chubby face. He’s wonderful, amazing, funny… I have never loved anyone this way. It’s breathtaking and kind of heartbreaking at the same time. Of course, I love him.”

  “No, I mean Thomas?”

  Thomas? Why was he talking about Thomas? He didn’t even know him.

  “Th-Th-Thomas?” I asked acutely aware of each heartbeat hammering in my chest.

  “Yes, I know who he is,” he said when he saw the look on my face. “I just saw all the comments, on Facebook right now. They were so liebenswert, um, lovely.” He raised his red-blond eyebrows at me and smiled. “Where is he now?”

  “At some Bed & Breakfast somewhere here, in England. With Jennifer, his girlfriend,” I informed him, adding a loud sigh.

  “Oh. But it sounds like he adores you. And it’s pretty offenbar, um, obvious that you two are very close.” He looked down at my phone and nodded. “You like him too, I think.”

  I sat back on the bench and looked up at the sky. You like him too… Was it that obvious that even Hans, my first love from almost another time period, a man who lived thousands of miles away from me, could see what I had been trying to tell myself wasn’t true all this time? What I hadn’t allowed myself to think all this time … and because of what? An age difference of 17 years. Because he once was an almost fictional character in a bunch of love letters but one who had come very much to life that day in Martha’s backyard—with his longish brown hair, blue eyes, and red Converse shoes. The man who had not been intimidated by a very pregnant woman but, instead, had urged me to sit down on a wobbly bench and never leave—a bench he later had restored, just for me… What was it Mom had said about that Paul McCartney quote, “You
have to allow yourself to fall in love”? Was it really that simple?

  But, of course, I hadn’t said any of this to Hans. I figured he’d had enough family drama for one day, or a year. But I did promise that if I ever let another man into my life, he had to love Alfred as much as he loved me. We were a package deal—two-for-one, I had joked, all the while thinking how Thomas almost loved Alfred like he was his own son.

  “I don’t think it’s Hans.” Mom’s voice snapped me back to the present and I took a quick look around the fancy dinner room. “I would recognize those shoes from even a mile away,” she continued, her voice laced with excitement.

  I sat back and listened as the footsteps came closer. But it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be him? I looked pass the concierge and down at the marble floor, and the first thing I saw was his mistakenly worn-out red Converse shoes. Ever since I had met him, he had worn those same Converse shoes. He had simply refused to throw them out, since they had once been signed by Russel Wilson at a charity event. The left, or maybe it was the right, was taped together with duct tape and it gave a funny squeaking sound every time he walked in them. Dad had once joked that if Thomas had been part of Mom’s crazy clothes fruit theme back then, he would have been the nut case. But I know that Dad secretly loved him for it. It was taking recycling to the extreme, right up Dad’s alley.

  “Thomas!?”

  Before I had even time to register that he was really here, in flesh and blood, and his old Converse, Alfred had already jumped out of his semi-high chair and was running toward him.

  “Hey, buddy.” Thomas sat down on one knee and Alfred almost knocked him over as he fell into his arms.

  “Why are you here?”

  Thomas’s eyes darted around the room and, suddenly, he looked so nervous.

  “I-I came to see you all. I didn’t want to miss all the Beatles fun, all the songs.” He stood up and looked over at me and Mom. “Hey, ladies.”

  “Hi,” Mom and I said at the same time.

  “Whe-where have you’ve been?” I stuttered as I felt a flush creep up my neck.

  “‘Here, There, and Everywhere,’” Thomas said with what sounded like a well-rehearsed Beatles reference reply, which, of course, made Mom’s face break into a huge smile.

  “That was a good one. I totally forgot about that one. I must remember to tell Martha that she raised her son well.” Mom winked at him, then held out her arms. “Do we, um, get a hug?”

  “Sure. Of course.” Thomas filled the gap between us in two big strides and suddenly he was so close I could smell the cologne on his face. A little unsure of who should go first, the three of us stepped forward at the same time and we all hugged at once and almost bumped heads together.

  “Aw,” Mom squealed into the group hug. “Dad would be so proud of us.”

  “I’m sure he would,” Thomas agreed, then whispered behind my back, “Hi, Ella.” He was now so close I could almost feel his warm breath on my face. “You okay?” He looked down at me and smiled. Maybe it was because I hadn’t seen him for almost a week, or maybe it was the contrast of hanging out with Mrs. Rockefeller and dusty old Beatles pictures and memorabilia in an even more vintage-looking hotel, but he suddenly looked so much younger than I remembered, with his hair a little too long and unruly and stubbles on his tanned face.

  “You okay?” he asked again.

  “I-I am,” I replied my voice as weak as my legs were starting to feel. I felt Mom’s hand in mine and she squeezed it a little too tight before she let go of me.

  “Anyway…” Thomas took a step back and ran a hand through his hair. “Um, can I speak with Ella for a moment, in private?” His eyes darted to Mom and she nodded, her eyes glassy with tears.

  With eyes on Thomas, she whispered, “Go ahead, you two.”

  “Come.” He reached down and grabbed my hands like he had done so many times before, but this time it felt so different, almost as if it was the first time, and my hand went instantly damp.

  He dragged me and my racing heart along, past Alfred and Ava, and Mrs. Rockefeller and Aaron, who were all staring at us as we slipped out through the French doors, and into the little rose garden.

  “We should sit.” He skimmed the small garden before his eyes settled on a small white bench in the back. “Ah, a bench. Of course, we have to sit on that, right?” He looked down at his worn-out Converse shoes and gave a nervous smile.

  “We-we should,” I managed to say, of course thinking about the bench at home, the bench he had restored. For me.

  “Come.” He pulled gently at my hand and we walked over and sat on the bench. “Okay, this suddenly feels too awkward, I mean, how many times have we sat on a bench together like this—a thousand times?”

  “A thousand and two,” I suggested, which made him laugh a little.

  “I just knew you would say that. And you know why?”

  “Because I’m so predictable?”

  “No, because I know every inch of you.” For a moment, our eyes met but then he got up and started pacing nervously in front of me.

  “And when I say I know every inch of you, what I really mean is to say that I love every inch of you.” He stopped pacing and looked straight at me and I had to swallow hard to will away the tears pushing at my eyes now. He loved me? Thomas loved me?

  “I love how you always tap at you chin when you’re thinking about something. I love that I know the exact moment you’ll cry while watching a movie. Sometimes, I’ll even just sit and watch you, waiting for it to happen. It’s quite fascinating really. I love the way you pick Alfred up, almost like you do it in slow motion, as if you’re savoring the moment, and kiss him on the very same spot on top of his little blond head. I love that you love him so much and I love that you’re a mother. Period.” He paused and sat down next to me before he continued, “I love that you like old movies like Kramer versus Kramer, and books by Hemingway, that you like Bob Marley and The Beatles and even old ladies, things I even find too old.”

  He inched closer and smiled. “When you mentioned Eleanor Rigby the very first time we met, I remember thinking, ‘How does she even know who Eleanor Rigby is?’ You were so young, so much younger than me, and it broke my heart to find out how young you actually were because I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. I even loved you more when you told me you were pregnant. I couldn’t care less who the dad was, just as long as he was out of the picture. And then, the next three and a half years, I watched you become the woman you are today and even though I know how motherhood matures you more than any other thing in the entire world, and even though I know you are more mature than me, in some ways, still, I was too afraid to follow my heart. I was, and still am, so much older than you. But I must’ve done a pretty bad job at hiding it, except from you, that is, ‘cause lately both Mom and your mom starting sending me all these random quotes. You know the ones you see on Facebook, and they were all these cliché ones, like, ‘age is just a number’ or ‘love is both color and age blind.’ Your mom, yes, sweet, sweet all-embracing Abby even sent me one the day after you guys met Jennifer the first time, with the words: ‘there are more fish in the sea.’ For real. She did,” he added with a small nod.

  “She did that? That is so unlike Mom. But why didn’t she tell me?” I looked in the direction of the dim dinner room and I could see the outline of her, sitting next to Aaron, sipping her wine. For a moment, she looked up and our eyes met. “I knew it all along,” I think she mouthed, nodding, and that’s when I realized why she had kept quiet all this time about whether to tell Hans about Alfred or not. She wanted me to follow my own heart. She didn’t want to infiltrate my feelings, as she would call it.

  “I don’t know. But she knew. And Jennifer knew it too.” With the mentioning of Jennifer, his voice adopted an almost sad tone. “She even asked me about it, about you, the night we came home from Mom and Dad’s.” He looked down at his feet and took a deep breath.

  “Where is Jennifer?”

  “Oh, E
lla, I’m such a big idiot. And, of course, a complete ass for leaving her back at the Bed and Breakfast or coming here with her in the first place. Maddie was right: Jennifer was, or is, more concerned about things being right, than things feeling right, like everything looking good in pictures, for Facebook, lining up for stupid selfies. I guess I tried to play along for a while but … your heart will catch up with you sooner than later, and when you asked me if I thought you should go and find Hans, I guess I panicked. I had never heard you talk about another man or even date one, but with Hans, it was different. You had been in love once and I thought…” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

  “You figured we would fall in love again—the mother and father be reunited?”

  “Well, the picture of the three of you sure says so.”

  “The one on Facebook?”

  “Yup, of the little happy family.” Once again, he looked down at his shoes, and I almost couldn’t help smiling when I saw the hurt on his face. It was both cute and silly.

  “It was the wrong picture. I posted the effing wrong picture. I wanted to post just the one of me that Mrs. Rockefeller took, but I mixed them up. Mom insisted we take that picture before we said goodbye to Hans.”

  “He-he’s not here?” He looked up at me, his face all lit up.

  “No, I… It’s a long story but no, he’s with his own family. |Alfred will get to know about him or know him eventually. He was actually the one who told him.”

  “Alfred?”

  “I almost chickened out but then Alfred called out my name, loud and clear, and it only took one look at him and Hans knew it. They look so much alike it’s creepy.”

  “I must say they do, well, except for the eyes. I think he has your beautiful eyes.” He moved closer and my body went both stiff and soft at the same time. “I’m so sorry to spring all of this on you, like this, like the jealous boyfriend who comes charging through the door, and I don’t expect anything from you. I know how you feel about older men dating younger girls, and I get it. I would probably tell Eleanor the exact same thing if she ever brought home an old pig.” He smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I just had to tell you, afraid if I didn’t, I would regret it for the rest of my life, thinking if there was only the slightest chance that you’d—”