by Maggi Myers
“I’m just going to ask one thing,” she warns. She levels her navy-blue eyes on me, and I brace for whatever she may say next. “Does he know?”
I busy myself with filling out a label, trying to act like this conversation is not a big deal. Paige reminds me so much of Tate in the way that she can home right in on what I’m thinking and lay it all out for inspection. It’s seriously uncanny, and I’m slightly bummed that Tate isn’t here to meet her. I know that once she meets him, she’ll love him, too.
“Know what?” I stall. It’s weak, I know; I just don’t want to have to defend how I feel or how he makes me feel.
“Does Tate know that you’re in love with him, Caroline?” She lays it all out there.
“I haven’t told him, if that’s what you mean,” I answer. It’s the most honest I can be. I haven’t told him that I love him, but I sense it’s something he already knows. Paige doesn’t need to know that, though. She’s freaked out enough, from what I can tell by the way she’s pacing the floor.
“What else could I mean?” she shouts, throwing her arms in the air.
“Pipe down, drama queen,” I hiss. “This isn’t the place for your theatrics.” I’m an adult, for chrissakes, not some foolish child.
“Caroline,” she says softly, “I’m worried about you. You’ve given your heart to this guy and you hardly know him. Is this a casual thing? Are you dating?”
“No, Paige,” I insist. “These aren’t casual feelings for Tate. We want to see where this goes; we don’t want to see other people. Everything is fine.” I don’t know if I’m trying harder to convince her or myself. I just want to go back to yesterday, when I was with Tate and everything felt possible.
“Does he feel the same way about you?” she asks incredulously.
“Yes.” Paige and I spin toward the voice at the same time. Standing in the doorway with puffy, red-rimmed eyes is Tarryn.
“My brother is crazy about Caroline, whoever you are.” She dismisses Paige with a wave of her hand before facing me. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach when I see Tarryn’s expression head-on. This is not going to be good news. At. All.
“Of course,” I reply. “Paige, why don’t you wait for me in the lobby. By the way, this is Tarryn, Tate’s twin sister. Tarryn, this is my sister, Paige.” They nod at each other, neither sure of what to say. “I’ll be out in a minute,” I call after Paige as she walks out of the kitchen.
“Have you spoken with Tate?” Tarryn’s voice shakes and her eyes fill with tears.
“Not since this morning. What’s going on, Tarryn?” I wrap my arm around her shoulders as she sobs softly.
“She’s gone,” is all Tarryn can spit out as she fights to catch her breath.
Oh, no—Tate! Every angry thought I had toward Paige is lost, replaced with panic to find Tate.
“When, Tarryn? I spoke to him around eleven o’clock, but not since then. Does he know?” I cry with her, unable to stop the flow of tears for the loss of my stranger’s family.
“We were both here with her. Around one o’clock she had another seizure and stopped breathing.” She pauses to catch her breath. “She stopped breathing like last time, except they don’t resuscitate. She was alert one moment and gone the next.”
“I’m sorry; I’m so sorry,” I whisper as we cry together.
“Tate took off before the funeral home came for her body,” she sniffles. “I thought he was going to you; when I saw your car in the parking lot, I thought he’d come back.”
“What do you mean, he took off?”
“I haven’t seen him since they pronounced Mom. It’s been almost six hours. Are you sure he hasn’t tried to call you?” she asks desperately.
I pull my phone from my purse to double-check, and then dial his number to see if he’ll pick up.
“You’ve reached Tate Michaels. Please leave …”
I tune out his generic greeting, trying to think of where he may have headed.
“Tate, it’s Caroline. Please call me; I’m so worried about you.” I look up at Tarryn and shake my head. I can tell from the look on her face that she’s frantic with worry and devastated by her loss.
“Jay and Jennifer never even got to say goodbye,” she whimpers, lost in her grief.
“Don’t worry about Tate; I’ll find him,” I promise, and I have a feeling I know where he might be.
I leave Tarryn to finish tying up the loose ends at St. Joseph’s, and take Paige back to her car. Once I’m alone again, I gun it across town to the one place I’m almost certain he’ll be.
where you’ll find me
The parking lot is so dark when I pull in that I almost miss Tate’s truck parked in the far corner. Relief washes over me when I get closer and realize that it is really his car. I’ve found him, just as I promised Tarryn I would. Now I’ve got to go figure out what condition he’s in.
I close the door gently, unsure of whether he may run if he knows I’m here. I swallow the rising guilt for being here at all; it seems almost like a betrayal to be here encroaching on his grief. I chose this very spot for my own pain because of its secrecy and seclusion. Who am I to deny him the same privacy?
I am the person who won’t let him go through this alone. I will be the person I always wished had come looking for me, refusing to let me push them away from my pain.
I walk through the canopy of willow trees, but no calm greets me tonight. Up ahead I see the soft glow from the lamps marking the entrance to our garden, but I don’t see Tate. Anxious to find him, I find myself sprinting down the path, calling out to him. The longer my calls go unanswered, the more worried I become. I brush past the Casablanca Lilies, the white lavender and moonflowers, anywhere I can think of until I come to the foot of a bordering tree. There, seated on the damp earth, Tate watches me silently.
“Tate,” I cry, and take a step toward him. His eyes stay fixed on my movements, but he makes none of his own. Slowly I kneel next to him and try to gauge his reaction. When he doesn’t flinch or back away from me, I take his face in my hands. “I’ve been so worried about you. I’m so sorry, baby.” His eyes squeeze shut as his breath hitches in his chest. I pull him against me and pray for all of his hurt to bleed into my body. His agony is so palpable, I can feel the fingers of it reaching in and ripping my heart from my chest. When he wraps his arms around me, I’m helpless to do anything but hold on while he silently weeps.
It takes tremendous strength not to say, “It’s okay,” or “Everything will be all right,” because it isn’t, and it won’t be, and suggesting it will is an insult to the magnitude of his loss. When Lily was first diagnosed with a delay, every time someone said, “She’ll be okay,” it dismissed everything I was feeling as her mother. I would’ve preferred to be slapped in the face than told one more time that everything would be all right. I’m never going to do that to Tate.
“Tate,” I whisper as I run my fingers through his hair. “You don’t need to say anything, but I need you to listen to me, okay?” He nods his head against my chest. “I’m going to give Tarryn a quick call to let her know I found you, and I’m bringing you home with me.” His body stills, and I fear that he’s going to argue with me. “You don’t have to be alone, Tate. Let me be there for you.”
He pulls himself out of my embrace, and I steel myself for him to tell me to go home, go away, get out of his space. What I know of pain is how it hardened me, how it pushed me to isolate myself and lash out at those who loved me. It was never something I considered inviting anyone else to be a part of, and I still struggle with not wanting to divulge the depth of my own sorrow to others—even knowing how much better my life would be if I did. It’s a nefarious poison that can steal your life from you if you’re cocky enough to think you can handle it alone.
“She would have loved you.”
“I would’ve loved her, too.” I know I would have. How could I not love the woman who gave me Tate? I wish I could�
�ve known her, if for no other reason than to tell her how very much I love her son. Wherever she is, I hope she knows he’s not alone.
“Let me take you home.”
I hold my hand out to him, and he takes it. Together we leave the moon garden behind—for now.
i may not let go
Just before I pull out of the Robert Waldron Jr. Botanical Park, I send a quick text message to Tarryn to let her know that Tate is with me and that I’ll have him call her soon. I’m grateful when she texts back to let me know that she and Tom are on their way to meet her in-laws and pick up her children. Selfishly, I want this time alone with Tate. I know the next few days are going to be a bombardment of family and friends that I don’t quite fit into yet. The last thing I want to do is make things harder than they already are.
It’s late when we pull up to the house, and exhaustion weighs heavy in the dark circles under Tate’s eyes. I can only imagine how physically and mentally spent he must be. I want to get him inside so he can clean up, have something to eat, and get some much-needed sleep.
A sudden rush of nerves ripples through me when we walk through the door. I feel silly. It’s the last thing that Tate is going to be thinking about, but I hope he feels at home here. Better yet, I want this to feel like home to him.
“Are you hungry?” I ask timidly.
“A little.” He sighs wearily.
“Let me get you a towel, and you can take a hot shower while I fix you something, okay?” I lead him down the hall to my bedroom, where he hesitates. “What’s wrong?”
He shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Will this be weird to you, me being in the bedroom you shared with Peter? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable …” He trails off.
“Yes, it used to be Peter’s room,” I confirm. “However, when Peter served me with divorce papers a month ago, I had all of our old furniture hauled out and redecorated just for me. So technically, this is my bedroom.”
“Oh, thank God,” he says. “I don’t want to sleep without you in my arms tonight.”
I pull him into my room to show him the adjoining bathroom and where to find the things that he needs. A warm sense of satisfaction washes over me as I watch him strip out of his clothes and step into my shower. It’s not all sexual, either. Don’t get me wrong, the sight of Tate’s gorgeous body makes me want to get naked and join him, but having him here in my space feels right, feels whole.
“I’ll be back,” I call out as I walk away.
It feels so domestic and normal, if you remove the hardship from the equation—but you can’t. This love story is never going to be “normal,” but I think that’s exactly why it’s got potential. We both know how cruel life can be, and we’re both learning that you can’t let the hard stuff keep you from living.
I brought back a tray with some soup and a sandwich for Tate, only to find him sprawled sideways across the bed, asleep in his towel. I tucked a blanket around him, wrapped up the food, and padded down the hall to my office, where I sit now, trying to find a way to start this new paragraph. So many emotions are battering my brain you’d think the words would fly off the page. Instead, I find myself plagued by a blinking cursor and nothing to say. I’m restless. I don’t want to go to sleep, because I’m afraid I’ll wake up and this all will have been a dream.
Tiptoeing into my bedroom, I ready myself for bed and climb in next to Tate. His face is turned toward mine, and I’m so relieved to see that it’s peaceful in his sleep. Very gently, I lean forward and kiss his forehead. When I’m confident that I haven’t woken him, I can finally tell him what I’ve wanted to for days.
“I love you, Tate.”
be still my heart
Morning brings a heightened state of confusion along with it. As my brain lifts from the fog of sleep, I vaguely remember telling Tate I love him. I blink against the bright sunlight filtering into my room and fight to string together the details.
I brought Tate home from the moon garden.
I tucked him into bed after he fell asleep in his towel.
I kissed him and told him I love him while he was sleeping.
There’s no panic, no fear, just peace in knowing what’s in my heart and accepting it.
The next thing I notice is that I’m in bed alone. I prop myself up on my elbows and take a look around my room. The clothes I folded for Tate are missing from the chair, making me wish I’d woken up sooner. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and find a note on my nightstand.
Caroline,
Thank you for everything you did for me yesterday. I’m sorry I won’t be here when you wake up; there are arrangements I need to take care of with Tarryn. I will call you as soon as I can.
Love,
Tate.
“Love, Tate.” I really like the way that sounds.
I get up, brew some coffee, and start my computer. Already my mind is churning out the next chapter of Lily Love. I’m eager to sit down and get it outlined, before I forget what I want to say. There’s been no shortage of inspiration, either. Between the highs of burgeoning love, the lows of Tate’s tremendous loss, and the fear of how he’ll handle Lily—I’ve got a lot of raw emotion to draw from. Writing has given me space to process the drastic changes of late. It just so happens that I’ve been able to weave it all into a story I’m no longer afraid to tell: mine. I don’t know what I want to do with it yet; I just want to see if I can finish it. Maybe I’ll query it; maybe I’ll self-publish, who knows. We’ll see.
My phone startles me out of my thoughts, and my heart speeds up a little when I see it’s Peter.
“Is everything okay?” I don’t even say hello.
“Good morning to you, too.” Peter laughs easily. I release the breath I was holding in and relax. “I was calling to see if I could stop by to pick up our membership card to the Science Center. I thought it’d be nice to take Lily there today.”
“Of course,” I reply, distracted. “Stop by on your way.”
“Hey, are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m sorry, Peter …” I hesitate for a minute, trying to decide how or if I should bring up Tate. “A friend of mine lost his mother yesterday. I’ve been preoccupied with that.”
“That’s terrible. Do I know them?” he asks with concern. I know he must think it’s someone we know together.
“No, you don’t know him,” I say cautiously. “It’s someone I met at the hospital, when Lily was in the EMU.”
There’s an awkward silence on the other end as Peter considers what I’m saying.
“Oh.” The hurt is evident in his voice, and I wish there were a way to avoid causing it.
“Peter—” I start to say, when he cuts me off.
“Are you, like … are you seeing someone?”
“Yes,” I say. “It’s still very new.”
“Were you going to tell me?” he asks.
“Of course, but I was going to wait until I decided it was time for him to meet Lily. I would never bring anyone into her life without talking to you first,” I assure him.
“Wow,” he says softly.
“Peter, I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I gotta go check on Lily. We’ll be by later.” Before I can say goodbye, he hangs up.
I don’t blame him; what is there to say? Eventually he will fall in love again, and I know it will sting. We loved each other too much for it not to matter.
I place my phone down on the desk and stare at the computer screen where I stopped to pick up the phone. I outline another chapter chronicling all the details of how Peter and I fell in love and then lost each other. I write it to remind myself that, moving forward, I can never repeat the mistakes of the past.
The doorbell rings just as I’m shutting down the computer. I open the door to find Peter standing on the front step.
“Hi.” I smile at him, “Where’s Lily Pad?”
“She’s in the car,” he replies.
We stand in silence for
a beat, wondering what to say next. I don’t want our relationship to be strained with awkwardness. I want us to be able to talk and be friendly for Lily. It hurts to think that we couldn’t.
“Listen, I’m not going to pretend I’m not surprised or hurt that you’re dating someone else.” Peter pinches the bridge of his nose, a familiar sign of stress.
“Peter, I’m—” I start to say.
“Caroline, don’t,” he interrupts. “I don’t want your apology. I just want you to know that all I ever wanted was for you to be happy.”
“I know,” I reply. “I want you to be happy, too.”
“I know.” He gives me a sad smile. Life has a strange way of coming full circle. Peter and I weren’t able to make each other happy in the long run. You’d think it would bring some relief knowing that we’ve cleared the way for it. I think it’s fair to say we’re at peace with our decision, but it will always be bittersweet.
“Lily’s waiting,” he says. “Can I get our … the membership card?”
I grab the card from my wallet and walk with Peter out to the car. I can see Lily start to bounce in her booster seat when she sees me. She looks so happy, and I hope more than anything that she always will be. I stick my head into the backseat of the car to give her a hug and a kiss. She hugs me back with enthusiasm, and plants a wet kiss on my cheek. She’s unbridled joy, and in that moment, I’m confident that Tate will love her. Who could help themselves?
I hope.
It’s late in the afternoon when I get a text from Tate asking if he can come by. When he shows up at my door, it’s with Shasta daisies and red carnations.
“Thank you for taking care of me.” He smiles sheepishly, but it doesn’t hide his sorrow.
“You don’t have to thank me for that,” I say.
“Tarryn and I spent the morning at the funeral home trying to figure out what to do. Mom didn’t want a memorial service, but it feels wrong not to remember her in some way. Tarryn wants to bring her ashes home with her to Wilmington, which is fine, I guess.” He pauses and hangs his head. “It’s so surreal. I don’t know what to do. I just feel so lost.” I take his hand and lead him to the living room, where we can sit back and talk about the day.