by Taylor Dean
But we do have some unfinished business.
He seems to think things over for a moment, then he comes to a decision. He nods and says, “Sure. Come on in.”
I enter the house and keep on cringing. The inside is beautifully decorated and furnished. Not one single thing is out of place. As a matter of fact, it looks like a model home and I can easily picture Stony as a real estate agent conducting an open house. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a warm and cozy home, but it feels like real people don’t live here. It’s too perfect.
I can’t even remember if I made my bed this morning. I doubt it. My breakfast dishes are still in the sink too. In the presence of such perfection, I feel as though I should be hanging my head in shame.
Stony seems to remember his manners and says, “Please, have a seat.” I make my way into the sunken living room. The back wall of the great room is a glass wall, overlooking the backyard with a sparkling pool. I sit down on the cushy leather couch. I wonder what Stony and Spencer do together on this couch, then I push the thought out of my mind. Otherwise, I’ll just torture myself.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
So formal and so unlike Stony. We used to be best friends. I used to laugh raucously at his dumb jokes. We used to climb trees together and build backyard forts. We used to ride our bikes for miles on the streets of Sweetwater and play kick the can until the sun went down and our mothers called for us to come home. We used to make out in his car when we were supposed to be watching a movie at the old drive-in.
We used to love each other. We were going to spend our lives together. This home was going to be our home.
Not anymore. Now we’re practically strangers. We went off to college together at eighteen to start our lives. Now we’re thirty-two and our paths have gone in a much different direction than originally planned. I blame that mean old life character.
“Sure. Just water will be fine.”
My throat is so dry, I can hardly speak. The sight of him reminds me that I still have strong feelings for him. I’m not sure they’ll ever go away.
His back is toward me in the open kitchen while he’s getting my water, allowing me to look around. The photographs above the mantle catch my eye. There’s a beautiful wedding photo of Stony and Spencer. They look ridiculously happy together. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Stony smiling in a picture and I wonder how they managed that feat of unparalleled proportions. Dang, he looks good when he’s smiling. He should do it more often. I study him for a while, thinking about how handsome he is. I find myself wishing for a different ending to his happily-ever-after and wishing it was me standing next to him.
It should’ve been me.
But he’s not mine anymore, and he hasn’t been mine for a very long time. We drifted apart without even realizing it. We both let it happen. I used to blame him for it, but I know it was me too. Everything else in our lives seemed more important than our relationship. That alone should’ve told us both we weren’t right for one another. Best friends don’t always survive the transition to happy couple. I think I knew we weren’t right for each other in college, but I wasn’t willing to give up my best friend. I didn’t want to lose him.
It’s then I realize I already released him long ago. My heart has set him free and I feel glad that he has found happiness in his life.
I really do.
I take a deep breath and feel a semblance of peace for the first time in a very long time. Knowing he’s happy takes so much pressure off of me. I need him to be happy.
Then my eyes are drawn to Stony’s bride and a rash of new emotions besiege me.
Spencer. The woman who stole Stony’s heart. I’m so curious about her, I could die of the emotion.
So, this is who Stony loves.
She barely comes up to Stony’s shoulder. She has long blond hair and is quite gorgeous. She’s the complete opposite of me. Where she is light, I am dark. My hair is dark, my eyes are dark, and most of the time I feel like my soul is dark. I’m too tall and she is femininely petite.
I chastise myself and repeat in my mind, I will not compare myself with others. I will not compare myself with others. Then I amend my thoughts, I will not compare myself to Spencer.
It doesn’t take away my fascination. Spencer’s smile is genuine and she looks like she just won the lottery. In my opinion, she has. After all, she has Stony. Jackpot.
There’s several other pictures gracing the mantle and they catch my attention. One is of them kissing on their wedding day. I don’t stare at that one for too long. I do stare at the one of them looking at each other on their wedding day. I can’t tear my eyes away from the way Spencer is staring at Stony. There’s a look of complete adoration in her expression. She really loves him. It’s written all over her face.
What’s not to love? Stony’s pretty amazing.
Thankfully, the rest of the pictures are everyday casual photos. There’s one of Spencer standing behind Stony as he sits in a chair, her arms wrapped around his neck, their faces cheek to cheek. There’s one of Spencer sitting on Stony’s lap at a dinner party. There’s one of the two of them sitting in front of a perfectly decorated Christmas tree. There’s a few more that are obvious selfies of the two of them, spontaneously taken in the heat of the moment. They’re fun and silly pictures filled with goofy expressions, but they speak to their happiness together.
He’s happy. I didn’t ruin his life. Relief consumes my soul.
It hits me that in every single photograph my eyes are drawn to Spencer. I hardly notice Stony.
What does that tell me?
It confirms in my mind that I’ve let him go. But that doesn’t make this any easier. Regret is a tough companion.
It also tells me the green-eyed monster is alive and well. And I’m insanely curious about Stony’s lovely wife. She captured Stony’s heart. She is loved and adored by him. I want to get to know her and see what is so special about her. I want to see what Stony sees.
Secretly, I want to know what I lack. But I bury that thought deep inside me. It isn’t healthy.
I hear Stony clear his throat. “What can I do for you, Mia?”
I straighten and try to erase guilt from my expression. He caught me staring at his pictures and he must know I’m curious about his new life.
I turn around and he hands me an ice-filled glass of water with a few lemon slices floating in it. How very domestic. A simple cup of tap water would have done the job. “Thank you.” I take a sip as he sits down in an armchair. I follow suit and return to the couch.
“Are you well?” he asks.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Thought you moved away.”
“I did. I’ve been in Galveston for the last year. I wanted to get away, but I couldn’t leave the state.”
“Teaching English again?”
“No.” I know my face darkens. “I can’t really teach anymore . . . I mean . . .”
“I’m sorry.”
I don’t need to say more. He understands. No one will hire me as a teacher after spending time in jail. No one wants a criminal to spend time with their children. That’s me; a dirty and dangerous ex-con. Mothers, hide your children. Ladies, hide your men.
I let out a sigh. I hate being labeled as such. Society seems to say I’m forever an ex-con, even though I’ve paid my dues. I can never live it down. I will always be looked upon with suspicion. If I let it, it will ruin my life.
But I won’t let it. I won’t, I won’t.
“I’ve been working for a textbook company, writing grammar lessons. I’ve . . . enjoyed it.”
Not really. I’d much rather be teaching AP English to serious-minded high school students who are as fascinated by literature as I am. I loved my job and felt passionate about the material. It was a thrill to see young minds become enraptured by the classics.
But this is my life now. At least I still have a life, even though I’ve been keeping to myself and not pursuing friendships, male or female. I’
m just not in a good place. I live in a silent and lonely world of my own making. I politely decline overtures of friendship and sit at home binge watching shows on Netflix and burying myself in books. Entering society again is tougher than I thought it would be. I know it’s time to make changes and move on. No more feeling sorry for myself. Seeing Stony is the first step toward a new life. Although my mom has been encouraging me to start anew since I was released from prison, it wasn’t something she could decide or do for me. It had to come from within. I had to want it—and now I finally do. I’m really pushing myself. No one said it would be easy. And it’s not.
“You hate it.”
It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Stony knows me a little too well. There will always be a bond between us that can’t be broken. “Yeah, but it brings in a paycheck.”
He nods. “Good enough.”
A part of me wants to yell, Why, Stony? Why didn’t you visit me in prison? I never heard from you, not once. Not a letter, not a phone call, not a visit. Nothing. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada.
But I know the answer to that question. I turned him down that fateful night of the fire. I told him no, that I would not marry him. I remember feeling so angry over the matter. Why didn’t he want to marry me while we were still in college? What about after college? We became engaged, and then he never set the date. Everything else in our lives seemed more pressing. It wasn’t all Stony’s fault though. Even I was guilty of the delay. I was so absorbed with my own life goals.
I didn’t want us to be over, I really didn’t. I wanted us to be the picture perfect couple who were crazy for each other and couldn’t stand to be apart.
Looking back, I realize my actions didn’t portray the desires of my heart.
The reality was we’d been over for a while because we had fallen flat. Literally. We fizzed out. Neither one of us were willing to face it though. If he had been crazy for me, the I-can’t-hardly-stand-to-be-away-from-you kind of love, things would’ve been different. As it turns out, we were just meant to be friends.
So when I turned him down, it was the end of us. I know he doesn’t blame me for the ensuing events and my careless actions, but nothing says WE ARE OVER more than the silence I endured while in jail.
The message was received. Loud and clear. THE END.
How can I blame him? I left him when he needed me the most.
“How’s your mom?” he asks, and my mind wanders back to the present. I can hash out the past until I’m blue in the face, but it doesn’t change the WE ARE OVER cold hard fact.
I know my face darkens again. I have a hard time hiding my feelings from my expression. “Did you know it turned out to be pancreatic cancer?”
“Yes. My mom told me. It took a long time just to diagnose her.”
“Much too long.” I swallow my emotion. “It’s a deadly cancer, but she wants to fight. Going through chemo is rough and it has knocked her flat. Plus, pancreatic cancer is a painful cancer and the pain meds play havoc with her system. I’ve moved home to help for as long as she needs me. She can no longer function on her own. We can’t even leave her alone anymore. Someone always needs to be there in case she needs help. Blake couldn’t take care of her by himself anymore. With all the medical expenses, his finances were being wiped out. Blake was offered a nine-to-five job that paid so well he couldn’t refuse. He supports the household and covers all the exorbitant medical expenses. Of course, Jace has contributed quite a bit as well.” I have a hefty savings and I’m helping out too. It’s amazing how much money you can save when you never leave your apartment except to go to work.
“Wait. Blake is leaving the basement?”
“I know, shocker. We’ve all had to change our lives for this. But . . .”
“It’s your mom,” Stony says simply.
“Yeah, it’s our mom. What else can we do? Jace is planning to return home as well.”
“That’ll be interesting.”
“Yeah, with Shay across the street, I have a feeling things are gonna get real.”
“I fear for Jace’s life.”
“We all do.” Neither one of us laugh, even though we’re joking about Shay and Jace. We both know they’re perfect for each other. At least one Randall/Faraday relationship should conclude with a happy ending. It won’t be me and Stony. I’m counting on Jace and Shay. It shocked us all when they didn’t end up together. They were crazy for each other. “So anyway, here I am.” That’s a nervous statement if ever there was one.
“Here you are,” he says.
“Your mom has been wonderful. She brings food over almost every day, trying to entice Mom’s appetite. She barely eats a thing.”
“We’re all here to help. When you need a break, let me know. I’ll come sit with Irene.”
“Mom would love that.” She’s always been Stony’s biggest fan. I’m opting out of the Stony Randall fan club and trying to join the Mia Faraday fan club. I only need one member: Me.
An uncomfortable silence passes and the clock on the mantle ticks loudly in the room. I remember the way Stony used to look at me. There was always a glint in his eyes, a little spark that said, “I’m interested.”
It’s gone now, replaced with cold politeness.
“If it hadn’t been for your mom, would you have returned otherwise?” he asks.
“Nope. I’m trying to avoid this place. I don’t really like a town that doesn’t know me by my real name.”
People have nicknamed me Jailbird and I hate it with a passion.
“I’m sorry, Mia,” he says. He doesn’t ask what the town calls me. He already knows. Everyone knows. I study him sitting in his recliner as if he’s the king of the castle. I have to admit, this house looks good on him. He seems as if he is at peace and I envy him for it.
“I guess you’re wondering why I’m here,” I offer.
“It’s good to see you. We’ll always be friends.”
“But you’re still wondering why I’m here.”
“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate.
I lean forward and look him directly in the eyes. “I came here today because I want to apologize, Stony.” It’s a good start, yet only the tip of the iceberg.
“No need, Mia . . .”
I interrupt him. “Yes, there is a need. I need to find closure. You don’t understand, I can’t let it go, Stony. I’m known around town as the girl who purposely tried to burn the war hero to death because she couldn’t stand the fact that he’s missing a leg. You and I know that’s not what really happened, but I need to know that you don’t hold a grudge against me. Otherwise, I can’t live with myself. Please let me apologize. I need to do this. Please let me.”
I let out my breath. I didn’t mean for that to come out in such an impassioned manner.
“Okay,” he says calmly.
I clear my throat. This is the easy part. “I came here to say I’m sorry, Stony. I’m sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry I caused you pain. I really messed up. I’m so, so sorry . . .”
He interrupts me. “Mia, I know. It was an accident. I’ve always known you didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Please don’t eat yourself up over it. I don’t blame you, I never have.”
I breathe in and out very slowly. I literally feel a weight lift from my chest. I needed to hear Stony say those words to my face—without a jury listening to his every word. He didn’t want me to go to jail and he would’ve said anything to prevent it from happening. I’ve always wondered what he would say without an audience. Now I know. And it’s a huge relief.
“Thank you. I needed to hear that.”
“I understand. Please be happy, Mia.”
Okay, now it’s about to get complicated.
Now. Right now. This moment is my opportunity. Tell him. Tell him everything. Get if off your chest. Break the silence.
My mouth clamps shut. I can’t do it. I can’t admit it. What I did was an accident, but he doesn’t know there is more to the story. He doesn’t know that some of my decisions were d
eliberate and cowardly. He doesn’t know there is more to forgive. He doesn’t know that deep down I’m a horrible person and that I deserved to go to jail. I can’t witness the disappointed expression that will come over his features. It will kill me. I couldn’t bear it if he hated me.
I can’t make myself say the words. Instead I blurt, “Are . . . you happy?” In a hidden tiny black portion of my heart, I kind of wish he’d say he isn’t happy. I kind of wish he was free so we could try again.
At the same time, the bigger, healthier portion of my heart wishes him every happiness because he deserves it. More than anyone I know, he deserves it.
“Yes. Very.”
He puts a lot of emphasis on the word very. My good side realizes I really am happy for him. I really am. It’s a freeing thought and the weight on my chest lifts a little more. “Then, I’m thrilled for you.” I pause. “Where is . . .” I can’t even say her name aloud, it refuses to pass my lips.
“Spencer ran to the store in Sweetwater for a few last minute items. Her brother is on his way for a visit. She hasn’t seen him since the wedding and she wants the dinner tonight to be perfect.”
So we’re alone in his dream home. The thought doesn’t sit well with me. I don’t want to cause problems between him and . . . I can’t say it . . . What’s Her Name.
It’s then I notice the beautifully set table and the heavenly smells emanating from something in the slow cooker. Plus, a delicious smell from the backyard barbeque makes my mouth water. I’m so self-obsessed, none of these things registered earlier.
“Mia,” Stony says, bringing my attention back to him. “Why are you really here?”
“I told you.”
“There’s more.”
He knows me too well. “What do you mean?”
“You have more to say.”
“I needed to see that you were happy, that’s all. I needed to know that I didn’t ruin your life,” I lie. Although this is true, it was absolutely not the driving force behind my visit.
“Are you satisfied?”
“Yes.” But since we’re on the subject, I ask, “Does she make you happy, Stony?”