Wanderlust

by A. R. Hadley

  His pride told him he should push her away, do what was best for Annie in the long run, but his heart — his fucking heart — had fallen in love. Hard.

  Cal was startled to see Rosa as he exited his room, having forgotten she was coming. She often popped by Sunday mornings with fresh produce, pickings from the local farmer’s market — seasonal fruits and vegetables she would prepare meals from in the days ahead.

  Cal had left the door cracked a sliver as Annie remained asleep.

  Rosa wiped her petite hands on the kitchen towel and made her way to Cal, the chunky curls of her short, dark hair bouncing with her walk.

  They met at the table while Cal did his best to avoid her infamous stare.

  She pointed her finger toward the door of the bedroom and spoke in a hush. "This one. She loves you." The sternness of her voice cracked.

  He gripped the chair so tight he feared the lattice would crack. He had to stop his eyes from flinching. "What makes you think she loves me?" He swallowed.

  Rosa peered at him, a hand on her hip as she shook her head. "I’m an old lady. I know what love looks like, and I see it in Annie's eyes when she looks at you … this whole time we’ve been here. You can't play me for a fool. I know you feel this from her. I know you feel it for her. Usted no puede ocultar de mí."

  He swallowed again and again.

  "She is leaving. We will be moving soon too.” Rosa tapped her nails on her thigh while keeping her gaze on him. “Do you want things to end this way? You’re going to break her heart. Annie knows you love her even if you don’t say it. So, tell her. No te detengas lo."

  Cal's eyes held a sheen. He could feel it. Fucking ridiculous, he thought as he looked into the distance.

  "I don't think it will ever be enough." He turned back to Rosa, attempting to empty his eyes of the feelings.

  "What won't be enough? What are you talking about?" Rosa became incensed. He could hear it in her tone. "You have more than enough of everything to give her for the rest of your life.”

  "You cannot possibly know … I cannot possibly know all she wants. One day, she will want to be a mother. She’ll want many things she doesn't even understand at her age now." Cal paused, letting his life story resonate within him. “She will change her mind.”

  Rosa grabbed the waist of her pants, wriggled them up her hips, and stepped closer to Cal. She looked up at him, unyielding.

  "You’re afraid of giving this beautiful woman a baby? A strong man like you? A love like this … you should give her everything. You need this love.”

  "I would be fooling Annie, leading her to believe I would … that I would ever have a child. You know me."

  Rosa stood erect. Her whisper grew loud. "No. You have been a fool to lead her on this far then!"

  “I told myself I wasn’t going to do this again. She’s young, with so many possibilities. I’m not—”

  “You’re not what? Opening yourself up? Don’t talk to me about age — no more. This love you feel for Annie is different than it was with Samantha. Annie is different. She will support you. Grow with you."

  “Women change their minds, and one day, whatever’s between us, it won’t be enough."

  "You’re right,” Rosa said, shocking him at first. "No, you listen. It wasn’t enough before, but now you see that it’s different. Now you know it’s different, right in here." Her index finger pushed into his chest. “That is why you could never give Sammie a baby, Cal. Not because it isn’t in you. Samantha was not the one. But it is in you to be a father. A real father. One like you never had. You cannot deny this. It is different with Annie, and you know it. This love is like nothing you have ever seen. You knew it from the beginning.” Rosa snapped her fingers. “This fast. This kind of love … it is scaring the shit out of you."

  "Oh, excuse me. Perdóname, Padre," Rosa mumbled under her breath as she looked heavenward and made the ritualistic sign across her chest.

  "This is more than love.” She turned her attention back to Cal. “It’s more than sex. You feel this with her, yes? It’s more.” The R’s rolled off her tongue.

  Cal's emotions swelled all over his face. Love closed his throat as he imagined the possibility — for a split second — of all he’d denied.

  "I never thought I could love her the way that I do."

  "What are you doing, mi querido?” Rosa said, soothing Cal with her soft, pitch-black eyes while putting her hand on his bicep. "How many more times must I ask you this question? Stop living in the past. This is the life God gave you. It's all we have. Share your life with this woman … in every way."

  Noise came from the bedroom. The toilet flushing, the faucet running. Cal composed himself and stood tall.

  Rosa grabbed his chin. "Love is so hard for you, no? I love you, Calvin Warner Prescott. Don't take that from me."

  Rosa stared into his eyes.

  Cal’s eyes, however, washed clean of emotion even though his throat remained a goddamn knot.

  “Love her, or let her go. You can’t—”

  “That’s enough. Ya has dicho suficiente,” he said, voice shaking. "Suficiente."

  Cal ran his fingers through his hair, let out a deep breath, and pinched his nose. Think. Vacation was over. Think. Damn it. What was the plan? There was always a plan.

  Well, there was a first time for everything.

  He had no plan.

  He didn’t know what he wanted to do or what would be enough, but he did know what he had to do. He always knew. He always had to make hard choices.

  His plan had already been chosen for him.

  Moments later, Annie appeared from behind the door fully dressed. She placed her bag at the desk, eyeballing Rosa finishing up in the kitchen and Cal staring at the cabinetry like it held a solution to a problem. Neither of them were talking, but they obviously had spoken. You could’ve cut the atmosphere with a feather.

  "Good morning, mi querida," Rosa called on her way to Annie, purse on her shoulder.

  "Are you leaving?"

  "Mmmm." Rosa's jaguar eyes danced the way they always did. "Yes."

  "I'm going to miss you." Annie couldn't help but say the words as if it were the last time.

  "I will see you again, child."

  How could Rosa be so certain? A twinkle was in her eye, a confidence, an assurance. What had the two of them talked about?

  "Believe, risk, amor," Rosa whispered the verbs as she pulled Annie in for a hug.

  Her head resting on Rosa's shoulder, Annie continued to pick up on Cal’s tension. He stood in the kitchen, staring now at the photographs on the fridge. Annie absorbed the whatever mood he was in and couldn’t let it go.

  Rosa stepped back, slid her arms to Annie's shoulders, patted them, and sighed. "Adiós."

  "Bye," Annie replied.

  At the front door, hand on the knob, Rosa hesitated before turning toward Cal. "Es suficiente. Tú eres suficiente."

  Annie looked between them as they lobbed the ball.

  Rosa. Bounce. Cal. Bounce.

  He stole a quick glance at Annie before his gaze settled on Rosa. Was there something stuck in his eye?

  Rosa tipped her head at him, then left, keys jingling, hips swaying, ebony curls bouncing — Rosa.

  "I already sent for an Uber." Annie stood at the table. "No need to bother Carl." She didn't want to be in his car again anyway.

  Cal arrived at the table and stood at the opposite end, facing Annie. His eyes were tired, and they did have something in them — a sorrowful luster.

  "My mother is sick, Annie." He dropped his head, then lifted it. "She has Alzheimer’s."

  There was such beauty in his sad truth.

  "She … she's been sick for a long time." He scrubbed his cheek with his knuckles. "God. At least ten years." He swung his head to the right. "I shouldn't have left her."

  Why did it sound like he meant ever? Annie took a few steps toward him, cautious as a serpent. "You didn't."

  "I did. She needs me."

 
"Cal..."

  He jerked his head back to Annie, face awash with guilt.

  "I'm sorry she’s sick."

  "Annie, don't."

  Was this why he never spoke his hurt? He wouldn’t accept kindness or love. My God.

  "Then why did you leave? There must’ve been another reason. And don't say John." Annie waited for a reply to the question she’d never asked and then supplied her own answer. "A woman?"

  He nodded. "I made a bad decision. The only way to rectify it was to put distance between us." He looked as though he’d lost the will to speak. Or live. Like he’d had a tooth pulled without Novocain. "I had a lot on my mind last night. It wasn't fair to you." He inhaled a sharp breath. "Yesterday was Constance's birthday."

  "Baby," she choked out the two-syllable word, it being the first time she’d used the term of endearment for him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  He glanced at the floor and shook his head. "The same reason I don't tell anything." He exhaled. "I was a dick last night … after. I'm sorry."

  She went to him, wrapped an arm around his neck, the other around his waist, and held him, her face against his chest. "I'm sorry your mother is sick." Annie's mouth moved over him. Her tears wet his skin. "I'm sorry."

  Cal stayed stiff for a moment, then he released the tension. "How do you do that?"

  As she lifted her head, he wiped the tears off her cheeks.

  "What?"

  "Put other’s needs ahead of your own without crushing your spirit or losing yourself?" he said as she smiled through the tears. "Believe it or not, that's why I'm about to say this."

  His face looked ashen. Maybe it was better when he wasn’t talking.

  "I think … while you're away..."

  "Yes?" Annie interrupted the silence.

  His eyes zigzagged across the room. "I think you should take some time to think about what you want. While we're apart."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Maybe I'm not what you really need right now. I have a responsibility toward Constance. I don't know how to do both. Be in a relationship and be a caretaker."

  "This is a relationship. I'm not something you just 'do.' I will support you. I pick you up. You pick me up. You can lean on me."

  She’d lost him. He turned away. So, that was it then. The truth. What he didn't want but needed. Someone to show his weaknesses to. Or what he thought was weakness.

  Oh, it wasn’t weak, stubborn man. Had he ever let anyone fully inside his heart?

  "Are you breaking up with me? Is this your polite way of saying, 'Oh, I'm sorry, Annie, but I don't want to see you anymore?'"

  "Annie," he said and turned around. "You are twenty-five."

  "Yeah. And you’re forty-five, Cal," she yelled, practically breathless. He may as well have slapped her across the face. “We've covered this. At the beginning of our 'relationship.'" She made air quotes. "So. What!"

  Cal cocked his head, smiling in response to her temper.

  “Don’t. Smile. At. Me," she growled. “It’s my age, really? After all this — everything. You’re worried about my fucking age?"

  "You have a lot of changes ahead of you. You want to see the world. You should really give this more thought, okay."

  Thought, thought, thought — thinking. No. Not okay. I'm going to vomit. She bent over a chair, palm on the table, trying not to hyperventilate.

  Kicked in the teeth, ready to vomit, and sucking in air through the eye of a needle — that was where the I love you had brought and left her.

  A few seconds later, she caught her breath and stood straight. "We can see the world together."

  "You want to talk about our future? Yes?"

  "Yes!"

  "Can you honestly say you've given meaningful thought to what a future with me would really be like, a man almost twice your age? I don't want children, and when I’m old and retired, you will still be young, vibrant, in your prime. Is this what you really want? Or are you just going off your feelings — right now, this instant? I don't know if that will be enough."

  Rosa’s words pranced through Annie’s head. Enough. Es suficiente.

  "Do you hear yourself?" Children… The lividity registered in the arch of her eyebrows and lines across her forehead.

  "What?"

  "You of all people, apparently, should know what. You know I'm not on birth control. Did you not even think for one second about that since last night?"

  Annie had barely thought of it since last night. Between the I love you and the leaving and now this fight — the semen still plastered to her skin on the ride home had been the least of her worries. But now…

  "Fuck..."

  "That's right. Fuck!" Annie covered her mouth, her palm shaking against her lips. Teeth rattling. Bowels twisted.

  "God, Annie, the only thing I've been able to think about is what you told me after. Why didn't you stop me?"

  "Me? When? When you had me against the wall? When you fucked me within an inch of my life?"

  "I lost myself." He turned and stepped away. "I lost control."

  He doesn't lose himself.

  He is control.

  Standing at his profile, Annie touched his back and searched the side of his strong jaw, looking for a sign of strength. Where was it?

  He did look lost.

  Beaten.

  Exposed.

  "I did too, okay." She’d lost herself. She hadn’t had to think about this shit in so long. Thirteen months of abstinence. And Cal had always been careful until he wasn’t.

  "It was..." Their eyes met as she blew out an exhausted breath. “My period should start any minute."

  He took her hands and folded them into his palms. "I'm sorry. I wasn't..." He shook his head, shame thickening his drawl. "I wasn't thinking."

  "Neither of us were thinking. And now," she said and inhaled, "apparently, it's all we can do."

  Not wanting him to see the impact all his do-you-really-want-to-talk-about-the-future words had had, Annie walked farther into the kitchen.

  But they had had an impact. A crash landing.

  He’d thought that far into the future? Him? Kids and old age… Of course he had. He wasn't shallow or nearsighted, but what an excellent job he’d done at being aloof or immune to serious conversation.

  Rosa had been right — in the short time Annie had known Rosa, she’d learned Rosa was usually right — Annie never should’ve waited so long to tell Cal how she felt.

  Sure, he knew. They both knew. Actions did speak louder than words. But it didn't change the fact that it also needed to be heard and said and confirmed.

  Was it too late now? I'm leaving.

  Damn him. He had a valid point. She hadn't given a lot of thought to a real future. A life. A lifetime? She hadn't thought seriously about having children. God, not even after the scare of last night. All she knew for certain was there was no one to compare Cal Prescott to.

  Impossible. He was one of a fucking kind.

  Could she imagine her days without him? She didn't want to. She didn't even want to ask the question. How long would it take to forget him? Could she ever?

  Mmmm … Cal.

  Folding her arms across her chest, she ran her palms over her skin, over and over, as she contemplated…

  His delicious smell after a hot shower — beachy and cottony clean.

  His lips as they made first contact against her skin, just behind her ear, her thighs — anywhere.

  His tongue, the finest mind eraser she’d ever known. Both harsh and delicate perfection.

  His hands, grounding her to earth in a split second. His fingers, branches of a sequoia tree.

  The crinkle in between his eyes — astounding. Mad, happy, or serious, the vertical lines appeared.

  His ears — yeah, his ears — listening endlessly about anything and everything she had to say, each whim and emotion and story.

  His patience.

  His commands.

  His breath.

  She closed her eyes.
r />   Mmmm.

  His hands and fingers combing through her hair, then pulling it. Always touching it.

  Better than all of it combined...

  His eyes.

  Peering into her soul, knowing her as if he’d always known her, from the very beginning.

  Arms still crossed over her chest, Annie squeezed her biceps, wondering if he was still watching her while she shivered and ached. Always an aching. Wanting to love him. Not wanting to pretend anymore. Pretending was over. Acceptance and laying it all on the line had taken its place.

  "Maybe I shouldn't come back. I bought my flight out. I will need to box up the gallery stuff, though." She was thinking out loud. It was bullshit. She’d planned on coming back to Miami to finalize a few things, but packing up her work seemed futile. Seeing him again seemed an exercise in heartache.

  He wasn't answering or giving anything away, only disappointment. He wouldn't fight. She wanted him to fight for her, not push her, not like this anyway. Push her to be stronger, better, yes. Challenge her, not push her away.

  "So"—she went toward him, a beeline, wanting to shove him or something brutal, and she didn't do violence—"you're pushing me away — for my own good." She shot him an eyeful of courage, the familiar wasp sting inside her gut. Fists balled at her sides, she gritted her teeth but kept a foot or two between them. "Don't. Fucking. Push. Me. Away.”

  And … nothing.

  The air crackled with his stupid silence. Great. He had gone all mute again, except his no-talking thing right now was anything but sexy. Fine. If he was going to push, she would push back. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  "Do you get that I want to be with you? That I want to really know you?”

  “Damn it, Annie, you do know me. Stop throwing that in my face."

  He spoke! “Then, what?" She tossed her hands into the air. "Why?” Her voice cracked consistently now, like that of a boy going through puberty, as the anger dissipated. “How badly have you been hurt? Who hurt you?"

  God. Just look at him. His eyes were wormholes of hurt. She shouldn't have asked because she could discern he didn’t understand. The expert chess player didn't have a move or a plan. He can't accept it. He won't let me in. His face turned white as he seemed to search the open space for an answer, but obviously, he had none.