In Justin’s Facebook picture he was muscled and shirtless with a fighter jet in the background and had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. His status said he was in a relationship—with me.
I wanted to be his again. I knew then how much I had thrown away, but I was afraid we couldn't get it back. There was nothing else I could see because of his privacy settings, and I wasn't ready to friend him, so I clicked away. But, he found me.
He would friend request me regularly, and I denied him, but it made me smile. He would send me messages, just like the written ones he still wrote, only these were more frequent, and he opened his profile so I could see it without accepting his friend request. He still loved me and waited for me after all this time, and he still wanted me. But I wasn't ready to believe it or admit I had a problem, so I ignored him.
Then I woke up in the alley.
CHAPTER 16
I MISSED MORE DAYS of work because I was drunk or hungover than ever before, but I knew cheap jobs were a dime a dozen, and I was a cute girl who could easily get another one if Orlando got sick of my excuses.
I spent more money on booze than anything else but rent—even more than my beloved décor— but I justified it: I had expensive taste in liquor, and I had no family, no obligations, so I could spend my money on anything I wanted. I blacked out at least once a month, but I was always at home, so it didn't scare me anymore. I could justify it all, and I did—every day and week and month.
Lizzie told me to get help and stopped talking to me until I did. Jordan, ever the good guy, told me every time I called him in a drunken stupor—even after he said he found a new girl—that I was ruining my life and needed to face my past. Orlando and the girls at work even tried to do an intervention on me. It didn't work, and there was no meat to Orlando’s threats to fire me—he couldn't fire me; he worried over me too much. Everyone knew I was drinking my life away, but I still wanted to justify and deny it.
Then the alley woke me up or rather, I woke up in it.
I had no idea where I was, how I got there, or what I had done. My purse was gone and my shoes, too. The last thing I remembered was the previous day, after work. I talked a guy into buying me some Johnny Walker and that was it.
That's when I knew my life had become unmanageable and I was powerless over my addiction. Johnny wasn't my friend; he was ruining me. I didn't know how to quit, but I really wanted to that morning. I was freezing, embarrassed, and afraid. I still, to this day, don't know what happened that night. I have absolutely no memory of it. No flashes, no guesses—I do not know.
Being that afraid and vulnerable and lost gave me a reason to want to quit, but I wasn't strong enough to do it alone.
It had been almost two years since I spoke to her last, but I finally I called Aunt Aerin and bawled on the phone. I didn't tell her about the alley, only that I was sorry and ready to get help. She sounded so much older, and I ached for the time I missed with her. I had someone who loved me, and I left her.
She wasn't upset; she was glad to hear from me. She reminded me about the AA and Celebrate Recovery meetings and this time I found one that was close, and I went. They helped me too. The first one scared me but I stuck it out. I was not a churchgoer—hadn't been since Gramma Diaz took the neighbor kids and us to AWANA—but the one I found was in a church. I can't say it any other way: walking in there terrified me:
“God...,” a man said, and then the rest of them joined in, like it was some kind of cult,
“Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can...
And the wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as he did, this sinful world
As it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
If I surrender to His will:
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
And supremely happy with him
Forever in the next.”
It was so simple, and the hardest thing I ever had to do.
I couldn't change my past, my mom, Clayton, or how we grew up. I needed to accept.
But, I could change my future. I just needed courage, and they were there to help me.
And … I missed Justin.
I didn't deny his friend request after that, but I couldn't tell him what I had become. His pictures, like mine, had no mom or dad or spouse or child like other people had; he had friends, there were guys from his base and a girl named Tatum with dreadlocks tagged in several of them but for the most part, he was like me: alone in the world. We were alone together. And he still wanted me; I still wanted him. Would knowing what I had become change his opinion? I was afraid it would, so I still avoided real contact.
I went to meetings, relapsed, thought about the old times, and clicked on Justin's wall. He messaged me and I ignored him, sent letters and I never wrote back—no longer because I was mad at him, but now because I was afraid he wouldn't want me after all I had done to him and the mess I was. I wanted to get better first, then maybe, maybe it would work out.
“I know you're there. I still love you. I just want to know you're OK. Call me, message me, something.
Hello.
Haylee?”
I couldn't.
I couldn't tell him.
Then all at once I realized I could.
I had nothing to lose. This old guy at my Wednesday meeting confronted me on it after I shared my fears at a meeting; cross talk was discouraged when we’re sharing during the group so he came up to me right after the closing huddle.
“The worst he could do is not want you, right?”
“Right.”
“So how is that any different than what you've got now?” he asked, hands splayed wide open.
“I don't know.”
“You do too know! It ain't no different. You're torturing yourself worrying and wondering, kid. Just talk to the guy.”
I had only seen him twice in the last five, almost six years. The old guy was right: I had nothing to lose.
So I did it. In one gigantic message, I poured it all out to him: where I'd been, what I'd done, Jordan, Jon, the escalating drinking, the alley, and my slow walk to beginning recovery. I told him I knew he only meant to help me back then. I told him I knew that he loved me and I hoped he still wanted me. But I also said I'd understand if he didn't want to have anything to do with me. He had a great life, and I had made a great big joke of mine.
He only had one thing to say to all of that:
“It's about time! I'm coming for you right now.”
“Justin, you don't have to.”
“I want to.”
“I'd rather meet you somewhere else.”
“You name it.”
“I don't know yet. I'll figure it out and let you know when I do.”
“Let me come get you, Haylee. I don't care.”
I was broken. It didn't matter, so I said “fine” and panicked. I went to four meetings in a row to keep myself from drinking from the anxiety.
He came the next day, and this time I let him take me in his arms while I cried and apologized and cried more. He was an angel, more beautiful than I remembered, strong and steady and everything I was not. He listened to me blubber, then wiped my tears with his thumbs.
And there it was—the kiss all others had been compared to: his kiss, his lips, his taste, tongue, and smell, the one that was made for me, who had always been mine, who I doubted for the stupidest reasons but who had never doubted me.
He wouldn't let me go for the longest time after that except to pull me away and look at me to be sure I was real. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box, got down on one knee, and proposed to me.
“Haylee, I've waited since we were kids for this.” His eyes were bright and full of joy. “You are
the love of my life. I have loved you for as long as I can remember, and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”
My hands went to my mouth just like in all the movies, and I started crying all over again. I couldn't understand how he could still want me.
“I'm not well,” I cried.
“I don't care.”
“I want to quit drinking, but I can barely make it one day. I try—I'm going to meetings, and I'm avoiding it, but I keep slipping.”
“I don't care.”
“I've been so angry at you.”
“I don't care.
“I...”
He stood up and covered my excuse with his lips. The kiss took my breath away.
“I don't care about any of it. We can work through it. You want to quit, right?
“Yes, but it's so hard.”
“Then, we can work through it, like we always did. All I want to know is if you'll marry me. Be with me forever Haylee.”
“You're sure?”
“Never been more sure of anything in my life,” he said, and I remembered the boyish grin that came with the wink. “C'mon, girl, say yes.”
I nodded, biting my lip. I was afraid to say it.
He hollered and spun me in the air.
“Pack your things; we're out of here!”
“Where are we going?”
“To get married and go home.”
“Washington?” His envelopes had been from the McChord Air Force base since he reenlisted. “You live in Washington now?”
“Yup, they might station me somewhere else before my term is up, but I like it there. They've got planes and Sasquatch too.”
“I know. I lived there, remember?”
“Of course.”
“So have you had a chance to prove he existed?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
We laughed; then he got serious.
“You know I never meant to hurt you?”
“I know, it all hurt so bad. I needed to blame someone. I'm so sorry.”
“I've got you now; you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Except the lost years. I wasted them.”
“We'll move on from here, OK? Accept the things we can't change, right?”
“You know that?”
“Mmm hmm.” He winked.
He put the ring on my finger, and in less than an hour, everything I owned—which wasn't much—was crammed into a rented U-Haul.
Our wedding was quick—I think he wanted to be sure I wouldn't take off again or change my mind. We didn't go straight back to the base since he was granted an extended leave, so we went to Aunt Aerin's. There she was waiting for me, with open arms. I couldn't see how she could forgive me either, but I accepted it.
There was a little church in the mountains Aunt Aerin knew well—it was her own. She asked the pastor to marry us, and he did, on the condition that we take marriage classes when we got back to the base. We agreed—Justin said he had a pastor of his own. I never thought of Justin going to church before then.
I chose a dress from one of the boutiques in town, and Auntie was my maid of honor. We made Justin find somewhere to occupy himself while she dressed me up and put baby's breath in my hair. There were no other witnesses at the wedding but Aunt Aerin and the pastor's wife. Quaint, quiet, mountainous, special.
We honeymooned overnight in town, strolling the old-world themed streets and dancing to accordion music near the gazebo in the town square. The night ended in a lovely five-star hotel. It was the most beautiful room I had ever seen in my life. I didn't know that kind of opulence existed.
Then it was time: after all the years, I was finally a grown woman of nearly twenty-one.
I was the woman he had waited for.
I had come home to him, and the moment was ours.
I came out of the bathroom in a beautiful, knee-length burgundy nightgown. He was on the bed, with his guitar. He grinned at me and shook his head in awe. He was impressed. He serenaded me with our song and I was impressed, his voice was even more magnificent than I remembered. That time, I wasn't teleported back in time. When he played it for me I stayed right where I was, in that moment with him. There was nowhere else I wanted to be—especially not back there.
The song finished, and he rested the guitar against the nightstand. The silence between us hung heavy.
“Come here,” he said walking toward me. “No more waiting.”
“Nope.”
“It feels weird after all the time we couldn't. Now we can.”
“Did you wait for me?” I asked.
“You didn't ask me before.”
“I didn't want it to change my mind.”
“Would it have?”
Ahhh, the tables had been turned on me. I didn't want Jordan there in this memory, but he crept in, but only for a moment.
“I'm sorry, no. I love you, no matter what.”
“Well OK then, I have to tell you something.”
My stomach knotted up. I said it didn't matter, but it did. Whether I intended to or not, I had waited for him, and I wanted him to have waited for me. It was wishful thinking, I knew it was, but I wanted to believe it, and now he was going to reveal that there had been another woman—or maybe more than one. I breathed deep and remembered the prayer: Accept the things I cannot change.
“You're it for me, Haylee. No one else, ever. Only and always you. Just you.”
“Really?”
“Really. My whole life. You would not believe how hard it is to be this hot and say no to all the ladies.”
I laughed; I couldn't help it.
But he got serious again really fast. “But they weren't you, Haylee. When you shut me out, I tried. I tried to let you go, to move on but I couldn't do it. Almost … once...”
“The girl in the pictures?”
He nodded, “But I loved you too much.”
“I loved you too much too.”
We kissed, and his hands slid from face to my shoulders and trailed my collar bone. He slipped off my nightdress, and I stood there exposed in front of him. He looked at me with desire, lust, and love all mixed together. He was hungry for me. I was no longer sure of myself, not that I ever was. He held me at arm's length.
“This is the moment I've waited for, Haylee.” He shook his head, “You are beautiful.” His hands went to me, to touch me. He made me feel as beautiful as he said I was. He made me feel like I belonged in his arms. Then he lifted me into his arms. I thought he would lay me down on the bed and take me right then and there. Instead he took me to the bathroom and turned the water on.
“What are you doing?”
“Shower. Trust me.”
I did trust him, and I was too aroused to question him. I wanted to touch him the way he had touched me. Together we took off his clothes while the water warmed. It was a luxury shower—I wouldn't expect less from a five-star hotel—and the water was warm by the time we were finished. He stepped in and then extended his hand to me. I tried not to look at him; I didn't know why, but I felt silly. I wasn't a girl anymore, but I was shy—and he was obviously excited about the moment.
“What?” He smiled.
“Nothing.” I smiled back looking at him, eyeballing the thing that was not nothing.
“Oh, it's something!”
“Oh my gosh!” I squished my face up. We were having so much fun, but it was all so new and exciting too, and even though I'd known him forever, I barely knew him now—and certainly not as a naked man next to me. My stomach was flipping and fluttering, and I was forgetting to breathe again. I couldn't not smile or look at him or laugh.
He held me in his arms, the water flowing over both of us, warm, inviting. He lifted my face to his and kissed me again. The water sprayed, pouring down between us and beside us. I didn't think it would work at first, especially after he tried to wash my hair and the soap got in my eyes. We laughed as I rinsed the shampoo out; the joyful echo must have struck us both at the s
ame time because he quit laughing as suddenly as I did. It wasn't funny anymore; it was time. The water, like warm rain, made everything seem somehow desperate. Now was our chance to disappear from life as we knew it, from the pain of the past and my runaway mistake. Now it was us—for the first time, we didn't have to pretend to be anywhere but here.
We washed each other. I marveled at his self-control and his youth. His body, fit and maintained from his years of military discipline, was perfect. Maybe there were flaws, but to me, Justin was pure perfection. All I wanted that night was for him to take me and make me his, but he took his time instead. He wanted me, that much was obvious, but he wouldn't have me there. It was a shower—the most arousing shower of my life, but a shower was all. He soaped me up from neck to toe. It was maddening how he made my body feel things it had never felt before. His touch sent shivers over every inch of my skin; I had to force my mouth shut and my eyes open.
With strong, calloused hands, twice the size of mine, holding me, covering me, thrilling me everywhere, he touched me and he made sure to explore every inch of my frame. White streaks of lather cascaded down my back, legs, and torso, caressing me. He was learning the curves of my body, knowing me, falling in love with me all over again. I turned, rinsing my front in the water, and he trailed his hands from my shoulders, into the ridge that led to the small of my back, then around my hips.
He pulled me into him, and I felt him hard against me as he kissed my neck right behind my ear, water flowing into both of our faces. My knees weakened, and I turned back to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck for support. I wasn't afraid of how I looked in his eyes, and even if I had been, all I saw was wonder when he looked at me.
I let him wash me as the water mixed with my tears. It was more than people in a shower together: he was washing the years of abuse, sorrow, regret, anger, and sadness away. He was making me clean, giving me a chance to start over fresh and new, with him, with the one who loved me with an everlasting love and who had never given up on me. He still would not take what I wanted to give; he saved it for the right time—I had to wait just a little longer.
Waiting on Justin Page 21