by Roya Carmen
He bites his bottom lip. “I’m so sorry.”
I want to cry but I know I’m not going to, not in front of him. “The last thing I said to her was ‘Leave us the hell alone. I just want you out of our lives right now.’”
“Fuck…” is all he says.
“I know…”
“What happened?” He asks. “What were you fighting about?” He’s being nosy, but I don’t mind at all. I’m tired of people tip-toeing around me. Ever since she died, no one ever mentions her. They ask about the kids, about John, about life, but they never talk about her. They’re just too afraid to go there, I guess. Even John — he’s the worst offender. And here I am, talking to a complete stranger about her. I feel like I could tell him anything.
“She never liked my husband,” I tell him. I’ve never admitted this to anyone. No one ever knew about the tension between John and my mother. “She thought he was too controlling. The fight was about me quitting my job. I loved my job, and she thought I should have kept it. But we didn’t need the money, and I wanted to be with the kids… they’re only small for so long.”
He nods. “You’re a good mother” he says. “It sounds like she was just looking out for you.”
I swallow hard. “I know she was. She was just looking out for me, and I basically just told her to fuck off.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it, Gabriella. You didn’t know…” he trails off.
I love the sound of my name on his lips. No one ever calls me Gabriella. My mother was the only one who did occasionally, and I miss it. “Thank you… I know, but it’s hard. I feel so bad.”
“It was a horrible tragedy,” he says. “And it happened at a bad time in your relationship. She knew you loved her, I’m sure.”
I nod. My eyes are wet, and I’m just about to lose it. “I’m so sorry. I’m such a downer.”
He smiles. “You’re not a downer.”
He truly is beautiful, and it’s not just his model-looks — there’s something breathtaking about his soul too.
“I can’t imagine what that would be like,” he goes on, not ready to abandon the subject, not willing to leave me there on a limb with my sorrows, not taking the easy way out. “To lose someone so abruptly. With my mom, I knew she was going. I had two years to come to terms with the fact that she would no longer be here.”
“You got to say goodbye… you’re lucky.”
“Well…” he starts. “Yes and no. When she was first diagnosed, I was already in Europe. I was broke, and madly in love—”
“With your wife… your ex-wife?”
He smirks. “Anyway, I wanted to be with her… Clara, I mean, not my mom. I was so stupid. I thought my mom would pull through. Women survive breast cancer all the time, I told myself.”
“You weren’t stupid… you were young,” I offer.
“If I could do it again, I would have moved back and been there for her, the whole way.”
The pain in his expression pulls at me. I can see how torn up he is about this, just as wrecked as I am. “I understand… if I could go back, I’d tell my mother I love her.”
He smiles sweetly. “Wouldn’t it be great if we could go back in time?”
“It would be,” I agree.
He shakes his head. “Anyway, thankfully, my sister was there for her, the whole way. She took real good care of her.”
“That’s good,” I add cheerfully.
“I did get to say goodbye,” he tells me. “When she really went downhill, my sister called me, and I rushed over. I had a day with her. I told her I loved her, but I’m not sure if she heard me.”
“I’m sure she heard you,” I tell him. “You were lucky to have that day.”
“I was,” he agrees, and he smiles again, and just looks at me, like before.
Silence. Another beat. And another. God, this is intense.
Damn.
I smirk. “Well, uh, it looks like your new Facebook friend is a real downer.”
He laughs. “Yours too.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure I’ll keep him,” I joke.
“Oh, you better,” he says. “Wait...” He looks down at his phone, and next thing you know, there’s a digital cat sitting on his head — it looks ridiculous.
I laugh out loud. “You’re… pretty... silly,” I struggle to say. “Those video chat graphics are hilarious.”
“What?! You like cats, don’t you?!”
I smile. He remembered. “I do. I’m sure you’ve seen my cat, Elsie, on my feed.”
“What do you think of this one?”
I study the tabby cat sleeping cozily on his head. “He’s cute. He’s pretty chill.”
I scroll and tap, and turn myself into a pirate. “Aye, mate,” I cheer.
He chuckles. I love his laugh.
“You make quite the sexy pirate,” he says.
I giggle like a schoolgirl. “I don’t. I look hideous.”
We fall into silence again, but this isn’t a sad and awkward silence, it’s just funny — he still has a cat on his head, and I’m still a pirate, and we’re both grinning like idiots.
“I’m glad I met you, Gabriella,” he finally says.
“Me too,” I say. “Eli…”
Another beat.
“So… where are your kids, your husband?”
Yes, back to reality. Husband. Kids. “My husband is away for work,” I tell him. “And the kids are in the playroom… at least, I hope,” I joke. “I should go check on them.”
He smiles. “Yes, you go do that.”
“Bye,” I say. “It was nice chatting.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “We should do it again soon.”
I nod. “Yeah, we should.” No, we should not. I’m happily married.
“Bye,” I say one last time, and my finger shakes as I tap on the red icon to end the call.
What the fuck am I doing?
He is real. And I am in so much trouble. Loads of it.
And he might just ruin my life if I’m not careful.
Chapter Ten
I’VE INDULGED IN A LATTE with whipped cream today. Maeve and Kayla are chatting away and I try to pay attention but I just can’t focus. I can’t stop thinking about him, about our conversation, his eyes, his beautiful smile.
How did this happen? How did I go from being a somewhat happy married normal mom raising her kids and living her life, to become so confused and tortured, my stomach constantly in knots. A complete mess, really. I’ve lost my appetite and I can’t sleep.
I shake my head. The whole thing is absolutely ridiculous — it was just a few messages, and one conversation, for crying out loud. Why am I making such a big deal out of it? What I need to do is just ignore him, but it’s too late for that – that would be too hurtful.
“What do you think, Gabs?” Kayla is asking. I have absolutely no clue what she’s talking about.
“Uh, sorry,” I say. “I’m out of it today… what were you asking?”
Kayla eyes me with a concerned expression. “What’s up with you? We were just talking about the dinner for the wedding… vegetarian options.”
“Oh… well, I always like a nice vegetable lasagna,” I offer. I’m not much of a vegetarian — I’m a meat eater, through and through. “Isn’t that your expertise, Kayla?”
The doorbell clangs loudly as Corrie finally makes her appearance. She’s a tiny, tiny woman, but larger than life. “Hey, ladies?! What’s up?!”
“Just talking about the menu for the reception,” Maeve tells her.
Corrie rolls her eyes. “Oh, enough talk about the wedding, already. It’s getting a bit old.”
Maeve pulls a face, visibly hurt. “Yeah… sure.”
Corrie settles her rear on the empty chair, completely clueless. She can be the sweetest thing, but she is pretty snarky sometimes, and she has no clue that her words can be offensive at times.
“Geez, way to rain on your friend’s parade, Corrie,” Kayla says, smiling. “You’re just jealous.�
�� she teases.
“Totally,” Corrie admits. “Oh, to be young and in love again…”
“What?” Kayla asks. “You and Jacob are not in love anymore? You could have fooled me.”
Corrie and her husband, Jacob, are in the middle of a separation, but they still keep ending up in bed together.
“Oh, that ship sailed a long time ago,” Corrie admits.
“But you guys still have sex all the time,” I point out. I don’t know why I say this exactly, but she always talks about her sexual escapades — she’s very open that way. I, on the other hand, am pretty buttoned up when it comes to that stuff. The girls probably think John and I only do it in missionary with the lights off. Hardly ever.
“Well, I am at my sexual prime,” she says. “I just have no control these days.”
We all smile and nod. Corrie and her husband had been trying for a while to have children, but no luck. Corrie wanted to consider the next step — fertility treatments, but Jacob decided that he didn’t want kids after all, that it was all too stressful.
Corrie goes to fetch herself a cup of coffee while we dig out our notebooks and pens out of our purses and satchels. My notebook has a reproduction of Van Gogh’s Midnight Café painting on the cover, and gold edged paper — it was a gift from John. Maeve’s is a large notebook with a kitten and polka dots, something a child might doodle in. Kayla’s journal is a hardcover, spiral bound, pink and green, with a bohemian design.
Corrie sets her cup of coffee on the small table, and pulls out her sleek red leather bound notebook — it looks expensive, but I prefer Maeve’s, which must have only cost about two dollars.
“So, who has anything to read today?!” Maeve asks. Out of the four of us, Maeve is the most serious about our journaling club. She always insists that at least one of us read. “It can’t be all chatting and goofing around,” she always says.
I clear my throat. “I… I have something.”
“Me too,” Kayla chimes in.
I smile at her. “You go first,” I suggest. Thank god, I hate being the first to read.
Kayla reads her latest entry. Her voice is so soft and soothing — it makes me want to lay down, fall asleep and dream. Her poetry and ramblings generally center on nature and the earth, and spirituality. She is in sync with the world on a primal level, unlike any of the rest of us are, unlike most of this generation. We’re all stuck to our laptops, devices, and phones. Binging on Netflix, shopping, soaking up our man-made world. How many of us take the time to enjoy the simplest basic elements of life?
Her words are beautiful. This one is about the peace and tranquility of the lake at her family cottage. Every time she writes about the cottage, it makes me eager to go there again.
When my turn comes, I’m a little nervous, as usual. I start off slow, and try to make my words sound as lovely as Kayla’s.
I think of you.
Too much.
When I wake, at breakfast, in the afternoon, at night.
When I lay down my head.
I see you.
Too often.
In my thoughts, in my dreams.
When I look at the sky.
When I listen to music.
When I smile.
You don’t belong there.
In my thoughts.
You don’t fit in my life.
And your colors are too bright.
You make me happy.
You make me feel alive.
Yet my picture has already been painted.
And although you are beautiful.
You are nowhere in it.
I clear my throat, anxiously awaiting their feedback.
“Wow, you are quite the little poetess these days, Gabs,” Corrie teases. “That was great.”
Maeve reaches for her latte. “Yeah, really nice.”
“Kind of intense,” Kayla adds.
Corrie cocks a brow. “So… what was your inspiration?”
Damn, she’s always so nosy. “I don’t know… life, I guess.”
Corrie lifts her coffee to her lips. “It’s not about that Internet guy, I hope.”
“No, no, no,” I say, shaking my head. I’m such a liar — it’s totally about him. But I’d feel really ridiculous admitting that. “It’s just random.”
“Are you still in touch with him?” Kayla asks, curious.
The last time we’d spoken of him was when I showed them the picture of him and his dog. I haven’t mentioned him since. “Well…”
“Well, what?!” Corrie blurts. “You know he’s a fake, right?! He’s just playing you, sweetie.”
She gets to me. The way she says ‘sweetie’, so condescending. Is it so hard to believe that some hot guy might like me? Just because I’m not tiny and blonde like her, and I don’t wear five inch stiletto pumps like her, doesn’t mean…
“Well, he looked pretty damn real when we video chatted last night,” I scoff. The words just come out — I hadn’t meant to spill. Damn, me and my mouth.
Slacked jaws all around. They can’t believe their ears. “You video chatted?!” Corrie says, mouth still hanging — it’s more of a statement than a question.
I bite my bottom lip. “Yes,” I say meekly. I know, stupid, stupid, stupid.
Maeve is wide-eyed. “So what did you talk about? Was he as hot in real life?”
I smile, remembering the conversation. “Just life… and stuff. We were being a little silly.”
Corrie smirks. “Silly… is that what we’re calling it these days? By silly, do you mean sexy?!”
I shake my head. “No, no, no. It wasn’t anything like that. He was a perfect gentleman.”
“Where was John during this little video chat liaison?” Corrie asks.
Sheesh… she’s such a drama queen sometimes, always making a mountain out of a molehill.
“He was at a conference… again,” I say sharply. “And it wasn’t a liaison. We talked about our mothers, actually,” I tell them. “His mom passed away too.”
“I’m not sure this is a great idea, Gabbie,” Kayla chimes in, her tone as soft as always. “This guy is gorgeous, and you are having intimate chats… conversations John doesn’t know about, I assume. Have you even told him about this guy?!”
Not her too. I feel like they’re all ganging up on me. “C’mon, he lives in Denmark, for crying out loud, and it was just a conversation.”
“It always starts with a conversation,” Corrie points out.
“It does,” Maeve agrees.
Ugh.
I know they’re right. They’re completely right. I need to end this.
“You’re right,” I finally concede. “But I need this… this friendship, whatever the hell this is.”
I stare down at my latte, unable to face any of them — what must they all think about me? My heart sinks at the thought of saying goodbye to Eli. I don’t want to hurt him, and I know I’ll miss him. He’s a nice person — this, I know deep in my heart, all the more reason to end this. If I’m not careful, I might just fall in love with him.
Chapter Eleven
THAT’S THE ANSWER. Why am I acting like a love-struck junior high school girl? Maybe I’m bored. Maybe I’m looking for excitement. When’s the last time John and I have gone on a date, just the two of us, without the kids? I can’t even remember.
As soon as he gets home, I steal a kiss before the kids get a hold of him. I let him chat and play with them for a while. He gives them chocolates, candy, and pens. It’s always so exciting when Daddy gets home from his signings — he always has something for them.
The kids are busy with their treats. He winks at me and pulls me in for a hug.
“I missed you,” I tell him.
He kisses me — a quick peck on the lips. “I’ve missed you too, baby.”
“I had this great idea,” I say. “I think we should go on a date… just us two. Fancy dinner, and maybe a movie.”
He grins playfully. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Gr
eat,” I cheer. “I’ll call Alberto’s. Tomorrow night?!”
“Sure, I’m open,” he says. He’s in a great mood tonight. And so am I. We’re great. We’re rock solid. I don’t even know why I’ve been carrying on the way I’ve been. What was I thinking?
I’ve worn one of my sexiest outfits; a little red flowy dress with a scoop neckline, paired with fabulous boots and a black clutch.
I put on the diamond earrings John gave me on our last anniversary, and for the final touch, I dab on some red lipstick to match the dress.
When I step out of our en-suite, John does a double-take and whistles.
I laugh. “You like?”
His eyes are hungry as they slowly trace the curves of my body, from the neckline of my dress all the way down to my toes. “Yes… very much so.”
“You don’t look too shabby yourself,” I tell him. He looks hot actually; dark pressed pants, and a checkered shirt, open at the collar. His golden hair is slicked back, and he’s clean shaven, as usual.
He inches closer to me and pulls me into his arms. He kisses me sweetly on the temple. “Too bad Anna is already here, we could have a little fun,” he says playfully.
I smile. Yes, we could.
“I know. Darn her,” I joke. “We should get going.”
He sighs loudly. “Yes, let’s go.” He kisses me again. “To be continued… I guess.”
My scallops look delicious and I can’t wait to have a taste. His steak is so bloody, it turns my stomach a little. We’re both drinking red, and I already feel the buzz; the heat on my insides, and the blush on my cheeks. We’re talking about the old days — we’ve promised ourselves that we wouldn't talk about the kids or the house tonight.
As we dig into our meals, the conversation moves to his work; the signings, his latest release, and the new book he’s currently working on. Our conversations typically center on him — it’s just the way it is. I don’t have much to offer most of the time. “So I’m painting the Golden Gate Bridge,” I’ll say, “from that photo I took when we were there.” He’ll nod and ask me to show it to him when I’m done. Conversation done.