by Maggi Myers
Isn’t that what I’ve been saying all along? Then why does it hurt so much to hear it coming out of his mouth? I knew this was the reality. I knew it, and I chose to get swept up in it anyway.
“Tate,” I interrupt him before he can continue and break my heart. A heart that I’d been adamantly trying to protect. So much for that. “You don’t have to explain. Really. I understand.” I completely understand, but it doesn’t make my heart ache less. I’ve got clarity, dammit. Shouldn’t I get a free pass on the pain? Sheesh.
“What can you possibly understand? You just cut me off.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard Tate irritated, and that hurts worse than his blowoff. We pull up in front of the hospital and I throw the car into park. I stare at my lap, afraid of what I’ll find if I cave and look at Tate.
“I don’t know what the next few months are going to look like. I’m not going to have a lot of time for much of a life, but the time I do have I’d like to spend with the one person who’s actually made me forget about the fact that mine is falling apart.” He throws his hands into the air, exasperated. “Please.”
I’m not sure if he’s pleading with me, God, Buddha, or some other kind of higher power. Why do I keep presuming to know what he’s thinking? Do I think so little of myself that I can’t fathom anyone wanting to make time for me? No wonder the poor guy’s frustrated; I can’t shut up long enough to get out of my own way.
“I’m s-sorry, Tate,” I stammer. “I just … I … uh …” I have no idea what to say. What is the protocol for a situation like this? Hooray, I’m so glad your dying mother isn’t going to put a damper on things? Or Let me see how long I can pawn off my kid, so we can spend some more time making out?
“You still don’t get it.” Tate’s soothing voice breaks through my self-damning thoughts. My breath comes in short, shallow puffs. I struggle to no avail to maintain my composure, embarrassed to find myself fighting back tears. “I’m going to make it my mission to show you how wonderful you are, if you’ll let me.”
I take a deep breath and pour out my heart, before I can talk myself out of it. “I want you to be a part my life. Any way I can have you, I’ll take you.” I pause for a moment, wanting to get the next part exactly right. I have no idea how to tactfully broach my concern about Lily, about how he might react to her specifically, without making it sound like I have no faith in him. I’m just scared he’ll be intimidated by her needs. Hell, I feel that way most of the time.
Movement in my peripheral vision distracts me. A tall, willowy brunette is pacing outside the hospital doors. Tate turns to see what I’m looking at. At the same moment, the brunette looks toward us and smiles. If the resemblance wasn’t obvious before, her dimples are a dead giveaway. Tate signals for her to head our way and gets out of the car to greet her. I step out too and tentatively head around the hood to meet his sister.
“Tarryn, I’d like you to meet Caroline.” Tate drapes his arm around my shoulders as I reach out to shake Tarryn’s hand. One eyebrow arches high above the other as she takes me in. She looks so much like Tate it’s uncanny.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Tarryn,” I manage to say without stammering. She’s elegantly beautiful with long wavy hair and a big glowing smile. Everything about her is a reflection of Tate, except her eyes. They’re a lighter shade, I think. Not quite hazel, not quite brown, they’re unique, and sharp as a tack as they take me in.
“Likewise, Caroline.” She smirks at her brother. I start to squirm, but Tate’s arm holds me steadily against him. Some sort of silent twin language is passed in the looks the two exchange. The more firmly Tate squeezes my shoulder, the higher Tarryn’s eyebrow goes. “I was just coming outside for some fresh air. Mom fell asleep about an hour ago,” she says, looking back and forth between us with interest. I feel like a trespasser as she fills Tate in on the details of their mother’s evening.
“I was just going,” I say, slinking out from under Tate’s arm. He catches my hand before I can escape back into the safety of my Prius.
“Caroline, wait,” Tate pleads. A subtle smile plays at Tarryn’s lips as she watches the scene unfold between us.
“Please don’t mind me.” She grins. “I was just headed back upstairs, anyway. Tom is waiting for me. Good night, Caroline.” She leans in to kiss her brother’s cheek and whispers something in his ear. With a quick wave of her fingers she’s gone, vanishing back into the hospital, leaving a wake of awkward silence behind her.
“That was bizarre,” I say. “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t feel ambushed.” Poor Tate. I doubt he wants the added stress of explaining to his sister why he was sneaking off to have dinner with some strange woman.
“No, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t realize she’d be stalking the lobby waiting for us to return.” He shakes his head, watching where his sister disappeared through the front doors.
“What do you mean?” I furrow my brow in confusion. “She knew you were going out to dinner?”
“I told Tarryn all about you,” he admits as he absently reaches up and smoothes the space between my eyebrows. “She’s known about you from the start.” He lets his hand drop and tips his face toward his shoes, smiling sheepishly.
“You told her about me?” I ask incredulously.
“I haven’t shut up about you.” He laughs nervously. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised she came down to check you out. We’re lucky she didn’t drag Tom down with her.”
“Tom,” I repeat in confusion. “Who’s Tom?” I’m completely dumbfounded. My brain can’t seem to catch up to the fact that Tate’s been chatting me up to his family. I don’t know why it should be a surprise, though. It’s not like I haven’t bent the ears of Max and Paige, soliciting their advice.
“Tom is my brother-in-law,” he answers. “He’s upstairs, I’m assuming, or back at my house. They’re staying with me for the time being. They live in Wilmington, where Tom is from. His parents are staying with my niece and nephew while they’re here with Mom.”
I’m grateful to know that I’m not the only one who rambles when they’re nervous.
“Who did you say I was?” I don’t want to interrogate him, but I’m instantly curious about how my presence is being explained to the people in his life.
“At first, I told her I met a beautiful and fascinating woman in the cafeteria.” A hint of color tints his cheeks, making my heart melt. “Each time I ran into you, I’d go back and fill her in on how incredible I think you are. That’s all.”
“Oh ‘that’s all,’ ” I tease. “I hope I live up to the hype.” A fresh wave of nerves threatens to sweep me away at the thought of our anticlimactic introduction. I cringe, remembering my lack of finesse. I barely said a word.
“You already do.” He gives me a knowing grin. “She whispered her approval before she bailed.” He laughs at my shocked expression. “I believe she said, ‘Nice choice, T. Don’t mess it up.’ ”
“She doesn’t think it’s inappropriate?” The words leave my mouth before I can think better of it.
Verbal diarrhea. I think there’s medication for that.
“Hey.” Tate brings his eyes level to mine. “She doesn’t think anything of it. She knows we can’t always plan when good things come into our lives. She feels the same way I do—grateful that I’ve met someone wonderful during a time I thought I’d be alone.”
My breath catches in my throat, thinking of Tate enduring his mother’s death on his own. Tarryn has Tom to lean on, but where was Tate going to lean?
“You’re not alone, Tate,” I say. I want to promise him, but I can’t. My good intentions toward Tate are second to being a mother to Lily. Wanting to be there for Tate seems so possible, until you add in the needs of my developmentally disabled child.
“I’m not now.” He gives me a sad smile, and it breaks my heart. “Why do you think I’m so grateful for our timing?” God, I hope he really means that.
He kisses my forehead and walks me around to my
car door. I’m blown away by his willingness to just accept me during such a deeply personal time in his life. He and his sister are open, warm, and every single thing I wasn’t during my own hardships with Lily. Funny how I thought I was the one who’d be imparting the wisdom of experience to him. I have the distinct feeling that he’s going to be teaching me more than I anticipated.
“I had a wonderful time tonight, Caroline. I really needed it, too.” He leans his arms against the car on either side of me, shutting out the noise around us. “Once my mom gets transferred and settled in, I want to see you.”
He kisses the top of my head before he tucks me under his chin. I wonder if he expects me to say no. He probably does, considering how apt I’ve been to push him away.
“Day after tomorrow.” I tilt my head up and kiss the tip of his nose. “It’s Peter’s weekend with Lily, so he’ll pick her up Thursday afternoon and have her through Sunday afternoon.”
He lifts his head, bringing our lips just a breath apart. “Thursday it is.” He brushes his lips against mine in a gesture so sweet, it makes my knees weak. “In the meantime, is it okay if I call you?” he asks me bashfully.
“Anytime you want to talk, call me. Okay?” He nods his agreement.
Pushing off the car, he opens my door. The vacancy left between us is accentuated by the loss of his warmth. It makes me miss him immediately.
“Call me or shoot me a text when you get home, so I know you made it,” he shouts as I shut the door. I nod and wave awkwardly as I drive away. It was a beautiful evening, so why do I suddenly feel like I’m floundering? I check my rearview mirror and find Tate standing by the curb, watching me drive away.
i’m not who i was
Driving back home from the hospital is simply an array of reflexive right and left turns. My brain no longer registers the landmarks between there and home; it’s the exact invariable route it was the first time I drove it with Lily. When I arrive at the house, my key fits in the dead bolt the same as it did before. The house appears as it has from the day we bought it seven years ago. Everything is exactly the same as it was before I left this evening, but everything feels different.
When Peter moved out, a void opened up inside this space. A hole where I believed his presence had made up part of the ambience of our home. After he left, the empty space became a living entity lurking in the hallways. It felt like a menacing presence, a cold spot in the corner of the room that made the hair on your arms stand at attention. I knew it was there; I just tried to pretend it wasn’t and hoped to God it wouldn’t suck me into my television set in the middle of the night.
Now here I am standing in my foyer, and I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything at all, actually. No phantom shadows, flickering lights, or moving furniture. The ghost is gone. This doesn’t exactly serve up much of an epiphany, when you consider the events of the last few months. The true marvel is realizing the haunting wasn’t Peter’s ghost, nor mine. It was the misery the two of us grew so accustomed to setting our standard of living to.
At first I excused it as proof of my survival. If I felt miserable, then surely it was evidence that I was still alive and breathing. A dead soul can feel nothing, wholly numb. Then the misery spread like a pervasive virus throughout every aspect of my life until nothing was left but the bar to which I measured how alive I was by how desolate I’d become. I told myself that trying to absorb our collective pain over Lily’s disability was a tribute to how much I loved Peter, that learning to endure the burden would make me a better wife, somehow.
I can count on one hand the number of times in my life where a series of events triumphantly clicked into place. This is definitely one of those moments, when clarity you didn’t know you were seeking kicks you right in the ass. The despondency I allowed myself to wallow in was not a testament to living. Feeling that kind of anguish on a daily basis was proof of nothing more than how skilled I was at punishing myself for Lily’s condition. Tragic as it sounds, I’m grateful that Peter walked away when he did. If he hadn’t, I’d still be gauging how much life I had left in me by how much despair I felt. I’d still be clueless to my own demoralization if I hadn’t met Tate.
He is unapologetically grateful I stumbled into his life. He doesn’t worry about the fact that it’s the same week he’s putting his mother into hospice. Albeit subconsciously, I expected him to walk away, because it just seemed like too much. How could he possibly reconcile starting a relationship when his mother is dying? How could he want to start a relationship with a single mother of a special-needs child? This has “disaster” written all over it. So why can’t I stay away?
It’s not like we were looking for each other. In fact, it was quite the opposite. For whatever reason—serendipity, kismet, whatever you want to call it—we just kind of happened. Naturally, I panicked and made every effort to discount what was happening. Who wouldn’t? The last thing either one of us needs is a relationship steeped in codependency. My greatest fear is that this connection is born from the desperation we feel about our lives. That once he finally meets Lily, our relationship will fall apart. I’m terrified to go through something like that again. Still, my heart has eclipsed the valiant efforts of my logic, and I’m okay with that now.
Tate’s different; what’s acceptable to him is to hang on to whatever joy he can, despite his mother’s illness. He comes at it from the idea that life is chaotic enough; our feelings don’t need to be. He likes me, and praise cheeses, I like him. That could be enough for right now, if I let it be.
So let it be. Let. It. Be.
I pull my phone from my purse and stare at the screen, wishing for something witty and charming to say. Tate has me seeing a whole myriad of things in a different light, but the one thing that stands out the most: me. He makes me see myself in a way I haven’t been able to before, and I like the woman I’m becoming. I want to throttle her a lot of the time, but I see her value in a way that has been completely lost on me until now. I’m not entirely sure how I got to this point in my life without having a clue who I am, but I’m really glad that Tate has been able to give me a glimpse of myself from his perspective. I would love to tell him that, but trying to fit that into a text message would be difficult. Still, I’d like to convey how much I enjoyed spending time with him.
Me: Made it home … Thank you for a lovely evening.
Tate replies immediately.
Tate: Glad you’re home safe. It was rather lovely, wasn’t it?
Me: Spectacular :) Looking forward to another one soon.
Tate: Me, too … good dream material for tonight ;)
Me: swoon Sweet dreams, then. I’ll talk to you soon.
Tate: Sounds perfect. Sweet dreams to you, too #dreamgirl
Dream girl? My cheeks flood with the heat of my pleasure. I’ve never been anyone’s “dream girl” before. If I have, then I’ve been too daft to know it. The possibility of being Tate’s is almost too good to be true. I really want to be. The desire of wanting to be his dream girl strikes me with such force, it takes my breath away. It scares the living daylights out of me, because I know I don’t have the willpower to walk away if he rejects Lily.
Paige is going to kill me.
secret garden
Air bursts from my lungs in shallow puffs, leaving me dizzy. Tate’s arms secure me against the length of his body; his lips fervently move against mine. A moan escapes from my lips as his knee nudges its way between my legs. His tongue strokes mine, igniting a passion that threatens to burn me alive.
“Caroline,” he groans into my mouth. “I want you so much.” His hands are everywhere, making me ache with heady awareness. I want so badly to feel him move inside me, I swear I’ll die with wanting. His fingertips skim my rib cage as I undulate against his thigh. I can feel myself climbing to the peak of our combined desire.
“Tate, please,” I beg, pulling his shirt above his head. “I need you.”
“Dance, little sister,” he whispers in my ear. Confused, I pull back a
nd look at him. He levels his melted caramel eyes on me and repeats, “Dance, little sister, dance.”
I come awake with a violent start, nearly pitching myself off the couch. My cell phone is glowing on the coffee table, the Stones singing persistently, waiting for me to answer Paige’s call. Frantically, I grab for the phone and cringe when I see the time: 12:05 a.m.
“Hello?” I croak into the phone. Maybe if she realizes she woke me up, she’ll take mercy on me. Yeah, right. She’ll be even more irritated that I was able to fall asleep before calling in the highlights of the evening.
“Don’t you ‘hello’ me,” she shouts. “Do you know what time it is?” I was right; her voice is laced with annoyance.
“Paige, I’m so sorry. I must’ve conked out on the couch.” And was having a rather delicious sex dream that you woke me up from before the big finish. Thanks a lot.
“Save it, sister,” she grouses. “I’ve been sitting here all night waiting for you to call. How did it go?”
That’s a loaded question. If I tell her how well things went, she’s going to think I’m insane.
“Um, well … uh …” I stammer. “Oh, hell, Paige. I don’t know what to say,” I whine. It’s the truth; I don’t know what to say that won’t green-light an effort to have me committed.
“Did he kiss you?” she asks tentatively.
“Yes.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yes, Paige.” I roll my eyes at her line of questioning. Did I like it? Does a bear shit in the woods? “I liked it a lot.”
“Hmm,” is the only response. What the heck is that supposed to mean?
“That’s it?” I complain. “You ring me up to read me the riot act, guilting me about forgetting to call, and all I get is ‘hmm’?”
“I’m thinking, you cow,” she sasses. “Did you at least talk before making out with him? How come he’s single? Is he divorced? What does he do for a living?”
“Whoa, whoa,” I interrupt. “He’s never been married, but was in a relationship for eight years. He’s a photographer—” I start to explain, but it’s Paige’s turn to interrupt.