His eyes quickly glance over at Conner, who is still talking to me, triggering a glimpse of jealousy to roll through his eyes. He glances back at me wearing a mask of distrust and envy. Both of us silently call to each other, but neither one is willing to move. This is the first time I have seen him since I left his house. I knew I was going to have to face him. I just thought it would be in class, not here and not now.
Our world is moving in slow motion as our eyes remain transfixed onto each other. My chest swells, causing my bra to feel tight against it. The only sounds I can hear are my slow, deep breaths and heart slamming against my ribcage. The one thing keeping me grounded to reality is the occasional whiff of Noah’s dirty diaper still penetrating the air surrounding me. A pleading sensation rolls off of Callum, burning me to the very core. My heart is pulling me closer to him. He is what I want and need. I don’t think I can fight it. Suddenly the bubble we are enveloped in is burst by a female’s hand sliding tenderly across Callum’s shoulder.
Shaking my reality back into view, I notice Emily now standing next to Callum. The anger that had been shattered instantly envelops my heart again, slamming the door to my heart once more. The vengeful bile once again creeps through my veins like black blood feeding my damaged heart. Turning towards Conner I notice that he is still talking to me, completely unaware of the hypnotic state I have been in.
“Well Breanna, would you like to?”
Looking at him questioningly I utter, “Would I like to what?”
His pompous expression drops, revealing for the first time a sense of vulnerability, “Would you like to accompany me on a date this weekend?”
I had been zoning out the whole time he had been apparently asking me out on a date. I have been too busy locked in my heart’s true desire, that I didn’t hear one thing Conner had said. Didn’t he even realize that I was not listening to him, let alone even looking at him? Quickly I glance up at Emily, whose hand is still placed on Callum’s shoulder lovingly, causing my anger to intensify. Callum’s eyes are still locked onto me, completely disregarding Emily’s touch. His eyes, though, are now bouncing back and forth between me and Conner, completely aware that Conner is asking me out.
Reality washes over me. Callum is moving on and so should I. Why fight my world anymore? It nips at my heels like an unruly dog. I am not allowed to have what I want. I was born into hell and no matter how hard I try to escape it or change my situation it will always suck me back in.
Turning back towards Conner I utter reluctantly, “Yeah, I will go out with you.”
A pretentious smile creeps across his face, “You mean, yes, I will go on a date with you,” he corrects my grammar.
Irritation rips up my spine, tearing at my flesh. I silently stare at him, trying not to disclose my anger I am feeling for him. It is bad enough that he insulted my son, but then to go and correct my response is unfathomable. His blind arrogance and complete stupidity is amazing. I wonder if he has ever gone on a second date, let alone a first. If he thinks that I am blessed to be able to go out with him, he is living a lie. I only accepted his date because of my present mind set and discouraged situation. My hands begin quivering as I try to fight away the urge to just tell him off. Turning my back on him I begin walking away before I regret my decision.
Yelling back at me, he utters, “Fantastic. I will communicate with you in class about it, then.”
My walk home was spent shaking my head rapidly back and forth, recalling the events of today. Walking into my flat, lying in the middle of the floor is the dismantled crib set. Irritation wraps around me like an old familiar friend. I have spent my whole life being mad and irritated at the world and those who are supposed to love me. The only one who exacted any love for me was repossessed from life, like he was never supposed to be for me in the first place.
Walking over to the changing table I quickly remove the cause of Noah’s smell and discomfort. A sense of relief shines within his eyes as he begins kicking and cooing joyfully. Lying him down inside of his portable crib, I allow him to play. Walking over to my dresser I grab an envelope from my top drawer. Tracing the wrinkled envelope with my fingers I sit dejectedly down on my bed. I begin gazing at the dirty fold line cutting right through the middle of my name like a symbolic sword splitting me in two.
Andrew’s handwriting was always better than mine. He would take time printing each one of the letters in my name with precise placement and technique. I used to have him write my school papers for me because the teachers could read his writing better than mine, which was unique for a boy. Usually it is the girl who has better handwriting. Slowly I take out the long lined paper containing a letter that Andrew had written to me before he died. The pain of that day is so real that it still glides across the surface of my skin like a razor scraping off the epidermis layer, exposing the soft, unprotected dermis layer.
I can remember lying in a fetal position on the floor of our apartment, looking around at all Andrew’s things like he was going to walk through the door at any moment. His change of clothing was still strewn across the floor from the day before. I used to get so mad at him for not putting his clothes away, but on that day I was grateful he didn’t. I remember walking over to his shirt and gently grabbing hold of it, sniffing it tenderly. His shirt smelled of a strong, clean, musky odor intertwined with the aroma of soap and a fading hint of cologne. He always used to wear cologne that enhanced his natural luscious smell. I used to place my nose on the nape of his neck, inhaling him softly while kissing him.
Tenderly I began folding his shirt for him, gently caressing the soft flannel fabric. Walking over to his drawer, I went to place his shirt inside when I discovered an envelope with my name lovingly printed across the front of it. This same letter now rests carefully across my lap. I have only read it one time, and that was the day I decided to accept my endorsement into Cambridge University. I have held his letter many times within my hands when I needed to feel him near me, but have never opened it again. This time though, I need to hear his voice in my head and feel his words touch my soul. Holding his letter in my trembling hands I begin to read his words, allowing myself to hear his voice ringing in my ears.
Breanna,
I have to first start by saying that I am so sorry. I wanted to keep you away from the pain and sorrow caused by the stupid effects of alcohol. I never thought that my father would start drinking because of my mother’s death. He loved my mother more than anything and for the first time I can understand his pain. Breanna, if you were to leave me my heart would be ruined. I would hope that I wouldn’t fall into the depths of alcohol’s arms, but I am lucky I still have you, whereas my father no longer has my mother. Sometimes the haunting call of what we know is wrong is too strong. I hope that you will someday forgive him for turning to drinking. He is a good man, stupid but good. I knew we had to leave his house, because I was not about to have you live through my father’s actions. I love you too much to allow my father to stifle your happiness.
This leads me to my main concern. I saw you hide your acceptance letter to Cambridge University after my mother died. No matter what, you are going to school there even if I have to sell everything I own, promise me. You are my wife, not my maid. You are not here to take care of me. We are to take care of each other and this is my time to take care of you. You deserve this. Though you were dragged through a crappy life by your mother, you have been able to maintain all A’s. You are an incredible student. Me, on the other hand, I suck at school work. You have no idea how wonderful you are. If you could only see what I see on a daily basis, your ego would be huge.
A huge smile spreads across my face, allowing the tears I am shedding to stream into my mouth. The salty stings of my tears roll within me, bringing with it memories of Andrew. I can remember on several occasions I would catch him just staring at me. I would always ask him what he was staring at and he would just simply reply, “Someone who has no idea how wonderful she is.”
My heart is dancing
with pain and joy right now, pain being the dominating lead. Turning my gaze back to his letter, I continue reading through tear filled eyes.
You are the smartest, kindest, and most loving girl I have ever met. I knew that the day this obnoxious girl came knocking on my door, interrupting my video games, asking if I wanted to play. You weren’t afraid of anything, least of all a gangly thirteen year old boy. The moment I looked into your hazel green eyes I knew you had me. I never wanted to be separated from you. And still to this day your eyes and all of you have me. I will go with you wherever you go. We may not have much, but at least we have each other. You deserve the chance to find out how special you are. You have always felt some kind of pull to England. I have no idea why! It is a God awful cold country, but I am willing to freeze my ass off for you. I love you, don’t you ever forget it. I want you to be happy.
He had scribbled through a sentence, trying to block it out. For the first time I try and decipher what he had written then promptly scratched out. Gazing deeply at the long black mark, I try to unearth some magical x-ray powers hidden deep within me. My eyes are beginning to feel the strain when suddenly I figure out the sentence, causing my heart to stop.
If anything should ever happen to me, please go on with your life and find someone who makes you happy. You deserve it.
My heart drops to my toes, leaving my soul feeling empty inside. Andrew’s deep voice rings within my ears and echoes in my chest. A warm sensation wraps around me, enveloping me in an invisible mist. The warm sensation explodes over me as it crawls on my skin, up my spine, taking residence within my mind. On occasion I have heard of loved ones finding letters or pictures after someone’s death explaining their desires if anything were to happen to them. I have heard people call these things tender mercies. Perhaps the person is given a glimpse, allowing them to give these gifts before they can’t. A sense of immeasurable love consumes me as I once again read his words, as if he is giving me permission from the grave, permitting me to fall in love again and be happy. My hand tenderly strokes the paper, gliding across each word with great care. I read his final sentence carefully.
I hope that you will listen to me this way. You are sooo stubborn (and I love you for that), but don’t let your stubbornness stop you from getting what you deserve.
I love you,
Andrew
Gently folding the letter I place it tenderly back in the envelope. Holding his letter close to my heart I begin to expel the sadness pressing down on me. The silence in my flat is deafening. I gaze around at all the tiny furnishings, noticing that nothing in here is mine except a few pictures, some baby things, and my clothes. I had left everything behind when I decided to come here. I can remember not knowing how I was going to be able to afford the plane ticket here, let alone living in one of the most expensive places. I knew I was running to an unknown country, pregnant and poor.
I didn’t know how I was going to keep my promise to Andrew and go to school in England when I couldn’t even afford a city bus ticket, let alone my living expenses. Until a few days after his funeral, I received a call from a life insurance company stating that Andrew had taken out a life insurance policy declaring me as sole beneficiary. They had informed me that his parents also had a policy with them, stating Andrew as their sole beneficiary, thus transferring everything now to me. Andrew not only took care of me in life, but he made sure I would still be taken care of if he should die.
This is the only reason I have been able to go to school here. Guilt rips through me as I stare out at my furnished flat knowing that I am only able to pay for this because of Andrew’s death. I would give this all up, be homeless and starving if Andrew could be next to me again. He was right, we may have been poor, but we had each other and that was enough. Money doesn’t fertilize the joy deep within. It can cause pain, eating at your soul like a poisonous spider slowly devouring you. I opened up my heart to Callum, but money is what separated us and shoved the door shut, forcing the both of us to live in misery. There are so many things between us stopping us from ever coming together. The space between us is filled with pain, loss, deception, obligations, and yes, even Noah drives a gap between us. Though Callum loves Noah now, would he someday transfer resentment towards him, like Callum’s stepfather resents him?
I was doomed from the very beginning. No matter how hard I try to get off my inevitable path, I am flung back on with great force. Walking over to Noah, I gaze down at his sweet sleeping face. His resemblance to Andrew is amazing. He even sleeps like him. Both arms flung up over his head, free from any restraint binding them down. Tenderly I stroke his dark hair, causing him to grunt slightly. His full lips begin forming tightly around an imaginary nipple, making a soft sucking motion. Looking down, I utter softly, “Well, it looks like it is just you and me here.”
Suddenly there is a loud knock at my door, causing a jolting vibration to run through the both of us. Noah twitches violently, but then slowly regains his sound sleep. Hastily I rush to the door so whoever this person is won’t slam on it again, causing Noah to wake up. Trepidation rolls over me as I grip onto the door handle, pausing slightly. Shedding my over-excited imagination off of me like useless dead skin, I proceed to open the front door.
Shock and dismay hit me like a hurricane, nearly knocking me over. Standing in front of me is Charlotte Hughes, Callum and Olivia’s mother. Her small, petite frame fills the doorway like a giant. Her slim-fitting slacks flow seamlessly with her silk button up shirt. She is wearing elegant high heels, making her appear taller than she actually is. Her shoulder length blonde hair is styled impeccably, not a single strand is out of place despite the rainy, wet weather here. Her round, pixie face mirrors Olivia’s perfectly. The strong genetics given from mother to daughter is uncanny. Mrs. Hughes hides her age flawlessly, causing her to look more like Olivia’s sister than her mother. Gazing up into her eyes I am taken back by the sharp resemblance to Callum’s eyes. This is their only similarity. Her liquid caramel color eyes stare right at me, almost solidifying right before me.
“Mrs. Hughes, what a surprise. What are you doing here?”
Her eyes bore deep into mine, ripping at my soul with firm, flat eyes, “Is Callum here?”
Confusion streams across my face, “No.”
“Good, because my dear, we need to talk,” she pushes her way past me, entering my flat with no hesitation.
Leave
Charlotte Hughes stands quietly in the middle of my flat, staring at the dismantled crib set which was Callum’s ancestral crib. Her long, thin fingers delicately trace the large H carved on the headboard. Carefully she dusts off her fingertips as she gradually turns, assessing my small, yet clean flat. The furrow between her eyes deepens slightly as she takes in the size and meager furnishings. It may not be much but it is conducive to my needs. I have everything a young college student and single mother needs. There is a small bedroom, basically a bed shoved into what looks like a large closet; an adequate kitchen, married brilliantly with the living room, forming one great-room. If you were to stand in the center of what is organized as the living room you can see the entire flat just by spinning around.
The furnishings that came with the flat are plain, but comfortable. The mattress, though old, is quite comfy and clean. Growing up I used to sleep on the floor or perhaps some mattress that God knows what happened on it, so this one is perfect. There is a small couch positioned just under the only window in the flat. In front of the couch is a large glass coffee table that also doubles as a kitchen table for me. In the corner opposite the couch is where the crib that Callum let me borrow used to be, but now holds Noah’s portable crib. On either side of the crib are the cherry wood dresser and the soft blue club chair. Mrs. Hughes stops in front of the club chair, eyeing it dubiously. Running her hand along the back of the chair allows me to catch sight of her large diamond ring balanced poorly against her delicate fingers.
“This is an exceptionally nice chair, made of high quality,” her tone hol
ds a hint of skepticism as she eyes me suspiciously.
“Thank you…” Standing in front of the chair she turns facing me, pulling on the upper thigh section of her slacks as she sits gracefully in the chair. “Have a seat,” I add sarcastically.
“I will, considering my son most likely bought this,” she utters enigmatically as her caramel eyes look upon me with a heavy air of distrust.
“Why would you think that? I can afford my own furnishings,” I utter in a flaccid tone, trying to hide my insincerity.
A corner of her mouth pulls up faintly as her head tilts slightly to one side. Her eyes never waver from their intention – me, “Breanna dear, look around…” Her eyes scan my scantily decorated flat. “This is a meagerly decorated flat while this chair and bureau are of a higher quality. Besides, the crib and bureau belong to my son. Do you really expect me to believe they just magically showed up here?” an acidic edge rolls off her high pitched voice.
The duplicity undulating through me shatters instantly, causing my palms to sweat nervously. Walking over to the small couch I sit down, wiping my hands aggressively on the tops of my thighs. My heart slams against my chest as I meet Mrs. Hughes’ eyes dead on. Though Callum’s mom is a petite woman she is very intimidating. She is aware of every little detail and has her fingers on society’s pulse, allowing her to breath in every bit of gossip.
Staring at her confidently, I utter, “In a way, yes, they did just show up magically.”
“I am not easily fooled.”
“Good, because I am not joking.” Straightening my posture to mimic hers, I add carefully, “When I came home from the hospital they were already in here. I did not ask for them or use Callum or Olivia in any way to get what I want. I didn’t want this. Callum also hired a nanny…a Miss McNally. But I am going to be paying for her myself until I can find someone else to watch Noah while I am in class. I am not an avaricious person,” my voice is firm yet flat, holding a respectful tone yet defending myself vigorously.
Never Forever Page 18