by Kate Stewart
“Shit happens,” I said with a shrug. “Want some water?”
“Sure.”
Pushing the dispenser on the fridge I stalled, reluctant to let him get a good look at me. Walking over to him, I handed him a glass and made a quick excuse. “I’m just going to go throw some clothes on.”
My father nodded as he continued to inspect my apartment.
Minutes later and freshly dressed in sweats and a hat that I felt confident would cover the bruise next to my eyes, I walked out to join him in the living room. Leaving the ball in his court, I waited as he looked out the window watching the passing traffic. “You like living here?”
“Sure.”
He absently smirked at my answer while he kept his attention outside.
“Dad, what’s up?”
“Are you still seeing Abbie?” When I remained quiet he turned my way. “No?”
I shook my head and he didn’t miss it. He scrutinized me far too closely than I was comfortable with. “That’s a shame. I really liked her. I liked when you brought her home for Christmas. It was . . . nice, different.”
Abbie had made it work for the three of us. She’d spent all day in my mother’s kitchen cooking. My father was right next to her, helping, laughing, telling her stories I’d never heard. As much as I hated it, she was the perfect buffer between us. Just like my mother had been.
“Yes, it was nice,” I agreed.
His eyes zeroed in on my face. “What happened?”
I shrugged, unsure if he was addressing my face or Abbie. I chose to go with the latter. “Didn’t work out.”
“Something you did?”
I nodded sliding my hands into my pockets.
He smirked. “Some days it’s clear that you’re my son. I fucked up with your Mom and often.”
I furrowed my brows. His visit was shock enough, him getting personal was . . . never.
“So, do you need anything?”
His whole body tensed as he looked at me with contempt. “No, I guess not.” Anger radiated off him as he shook his head in a way that said he should have known better.
“I see you’re getting pissed, which is normal, but do you want to help me out here? I’m confused.”
“What confuses you?” He spoke up quickly. “I’m sixty-five years old. I have shit to look forward to. I’m here to check on my son.”
“Because you promised her you would,” I shot back.
“Because I miss my family,” he countered with just as much contempt before he fisted his hands at his sides and spoke low. “I miss her Cameron. And it’s not getting easier.”
“You aren’t happy here,” I admitted. “You’ve never been happy here. You resent me for being here. But it wasn’t my decision.”
“I’m not going to be happy anywhere,” he said gruffly. “It wasn’t just her decision, you know. We decided together to move closer to remain a part of your life.”
“Right,” I said dryly.
“I’m not leaving you, no matter how hard it is for us.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” he said walking toward the front door.
“Dad, I’m sorry. This is coming out of nowhere. I don’t know what you want me to say.” He expelled a breath and paused his retreat.
“I didn’t do a lot of things right. But Christmas with you and Abbie was the first time I felt like things might be okay. It was the first time I felt that way since she died. We had forty years together. I know I won’t move on from that. But I don’t want to miss any more of your life. Because no matter what you think, I was always aware of what was going on with you. Always. I know everything you told her. She was your best friend, but she was mine too. I was a shit father, but she let me off the hook. I don’t deserve the same grace from you and I understand that, but I still want to know.”
“You weren’t a shit father,” I said sucking back the emotion that threatened.
“Let’s not start with lies,” he said softly. “All I have to think about now are regrets. I was an ornament at your wedding and I knew which parent you truly wanted there. I had no idea you were divorcing Kat. I missed your whole marriage. I wasn’t there when I should have been. And I’m sorry. I’ll never be her. But it’s not her promise I’m trying to keep anymore. I miss my son. I want to know. But only when you’re ready and if you want to.” He took one last look at me. “Put some ice on that eye.”
I stood stunned as he shut the door behind him.
I waited a long time for runner’s high. I’d run endless miles for the moment when I felt that adrenaline rush. Confident in my stride it surprised me when my focus became singular and my body fluid in motion, no longer forced, but flying. The feeling was cut short by the realization I couldn’t share it with the one person I wanted to.
Three weeks had passed since Cameron stood outside my door and every day of those weeks had been agony. Not one of those days did I breathe evenly, not one of those nights had I slept more than a few hours. Every step I ran in any direction felt like a step away from Cameron. I wanted to ignore the truth. I wanted to forget whatever it was keeping us apart and be ignorantly blissful again.
But I couldn’t, so my heart bled freely and I ran.
And life wasn’t done with me yet.
No, life was a villainous vampire who refused to let up until I was an empty shell. I spent my days with the dead weight of my heart, holding it tightly to me while I exhausted myself running through Chicago. Every step crushing me while my every racing thought was amplified by the loss of him.
I wandered aimlessly, ignoring my needs, thirsty for only him. I’d convinced myself it was inevitable. I just wasn’t ready for it. And no matter how I tried to cover the wound, it emulated through my whole body. Lost and unable to believe in recovery, I ran, searching for some semblance of order. There were no numbers I could make sense of, no calculations for easy resolve, but numbers never lied.
After a record-breaking six miles downtown, I rode the train without direction, got lost in the reality of others, watching those who I passed and then sinking into myself when I could no longer fathom having a new reality of my own.
The first notes of Hand Me Down by Matchbox Twenty began to filter through my earbuds as I exited the L for another night alone with my tortured thoughts. I hadn’t reached out to Bree, only texting the bare minimum to keep her at bay. I hadn’t reached out to anyone. I wasn’t living, I wasn’t existing, I was paralyzed to those minutes at the foot of my porch.
Forever a fool, I’d thought it was finally my time. I somehow thought I could be the woman to have earned the life of my choosing. But love was a cruel charade of mismatched hearts, and I’d played it long enough. All that was left was the big empty. I welcomed it back like an old friend I secretly despised. At least there, I was safe. At least in that place, I knew where I stood.
The words of the song hit me hard as my face flooded with ironic tears. The rip was too far inside, I couldn’t reach the hemorrhage. It tore wider as I passed Sunny Side. Unable to tamp down my emotion, I was openly crying in the street with my chin tucked in my jacket shouldering the cold and welcoming the numbing chill that kept me running.
A man paused next to me in wait at the crosswalk and I wiped a stray tear away and braved a glance in his direction. Rude as it may have been I nodded as he spoke without a clue as to what he was saying, my earbuds full of the serenade of my demise—Cameron and Abbie’s greatest hits. Desperate to start running, to mask my pain, I took the cue to walk when the man next to me began to move. Out of habit, I looked up and had a previous prayer answered.
You’re a cruel bitch life.
Cameron stood on the other side of the street, his dry-cleaning hooked on his finger at his shoulder, a basketball at his opposite hip, his emerald eyes on me. Blinking furiously, I tried to wash the illusion away and froze mid-step in the middle of the street. Cameron flinched as a cabbie laid on his horn, while the man next to me pounded on the hood screaming that we had
the right of way. Knees weak and heart hammering, I began walking again in Cameron’s direction while he stood in wait, his expression solemn.
You wanted to know if that soul altering love still existed, Abbie. Here’s your proof.
Only a man can make you feel like you have the world one minute and take it away the next. And they only have that power because we give it to them.
Intent on walking past, he reached out and grabbed my coat sleeve in an attempt to stop me, and I rang out a sharp, “no.” His hand instantly retreated, and I met his eyes briefly and my heart plummeted. Unshed tears glistened in his depths and I shook my head.
Tearing myself away—destroyed—I sobbed openly as I sped home. But even behind the safety of my door I was flooded with fresh memories and sank into a puddle behind it. Seconds later Bree appeared from my living room, scorn written all over her features due to my shitty communication. I saw it disappear as she read my face and squat in front of me.
She pulled my earbuds out and gripped the hands resting on top of my knee.
“Abbie, what happened?”
I shook my head, unable to talk. I was too raw, even after so many days of going black. I didn’t have the luxury of being numb.
“Oh, God,” I cried, before she pulled me into her arms and cried with me.
“You look beautiful,” I said to Bree as she traipsed around the hotel dressing room in her vintage wedding dress. A golden butterfly clasp in her hair—a gift from her groom—held up most of her blond locks as the rest flowed in loose curls at the V of her back. It was perfect and perfectly suited for her, just like her groom.
“I’m going to live this bride thing up,” she said as she turned to face me with her hands on her hips. “It’s like prom, but I’m not scared of losing my virginity this time.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“That’s one way of looking at the best day of your life. And you weren’t a virgin at your prom.”
“I was at the one I went to my freshman year, Ms. You’re Judging Me. And I love Anthony. He’s got the best bedside manner of any guy I’ve ever met, a big dick, and today I’m marrying them both. The possibilities are endless.”
I laughed my first full laugh in weeks.
“God, I’m so glad you’re staying in Chicago. I don’t know what I would do if you left.”
She fastened a teardrop diamond earring and spoke to my reflection. “He passed up that job in New York, which would have meant early retirement for me, but I love our life here. He got the shit end of the deal, but he doesn’t care. He’s even living with me in Wicker so I can stay close to you. Thank you for giving him to me.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t give him to you. I introduced you.”
“Same thing. He’s gorgeous and so naughty and perfect. Why didn’t you try for him yourself?”
I plucked a loose rose petal off her bouquet and sniffed it, my eyes threatening to water.
Smell dredges up memory, moron.
“And all I could think of when I met him and spoke to him for the first time was you and how you would get a kick out of his jokes and the fact that he loves to travel. All of the things you would adore about him. It’s weird, right? It was intuition.”
“Well, I’d say it paid off,” she said, turning to look in the mirror.
Not for me.
Intuition was one thing. Confusion still had me reeling. Everything from the moment I stood on that curb at Preston Corp, to the moment I slapped him, and the anger and hurt in Cameron’s features. It was like I’d shot him. Any explanation I could have gotten, I’d screwed myself out of with my anger. And I was still doing it.
“He’ll come back.”
Bree eyed me from the mirror, and I shook my head. “I told you it’s over. There’s no way we’re coming back from that. Any of it.”
“Why can’t you come back?” she challenged. “Why? Because he’s not perfect? He told you he wasn’t. He also told you he wasn’t divorced because of her mental state and kept it from you because he wanted to start fresh with you, not on the end of his horrible marriage. They were your rules.”
“He. Was. Married.”
“She is an addict. And you told me that she did act skittish when you started working for her and throughout. You just got used to her. I work on and with drug addicts every day. Most hide it like professionals. And in case you didn’t know it, there’s an epidemic going on. I’ve called time of death on soccer moms who have had their pain prescriptions taken away and started to shoot up heroin instead. It’s not a fucking joke.”
“I know Kat. I believe that part of it.” I adjusted my dress and whirled on her. “Nope, nuh-uh, we aren’t talking about this today. This is your wedding day,” I reminded.
“And I intend to get married. And it will be perfect, but right now I’m being cruel and distracting myself with your issues so I don’t get nervous. Now, before I go get married, let’s fix you.”
“I don’t want to be fixed.”
“Before you move to finish the final stages of grieving,” she said, turning to look at me, “I only think it’s fair I point out now that this is your man, Abbie.”
Stunned, I looked at her.
“I knew it from the beginning and I am still certain of it, just as I’m sure you’re going to let him go, and it’s going to be the biggest mistake of your life.”
“He was fucking married, Bree. And he was when he slept with me. Am I next?”
Bree walked over the plush gold carpet and stood in front of me.
“Sixty seconds of truth. I mean it, no holding back.”
“Bree, please, I don’t want to be upset.” I’d just gotten to the point where I could function. Work was my refuge, and as much as I hated to admit it, I’d gone right back into spending my nights with Mrs. Zingaro. Nothing had changed. It was as if he had never existed, except he did. His tux was still hanging in my closet. I could still smell a hint of his cologne, a haunting reminder.
“We’re doing it. Right now. Sixty seconds.”
I shook my head. “Don’t. Or I swear to God, I’m going to ruin your wedding photos. I’ll photoshop a dildo in every single one.”
“I’ll marry Anthony again next year and take new pictures.”
“I hate you,” I said as she gripped my hands.
Prompting brown eyes commanded mine. “Sixty seconds starts now.”
“No.”
“Do you love him?”
We were both short in stature, but she may as well have stood ten feet tall. We used the same technique in college to get to the bottom of things. But it usually had to do with whether or not I ate her nana’s baked goods. What can I say? The woman was a goddess in the kitchen.
“Stay with me,” she said, jerking me into the moment. “Do you love him?”
“Yes, so much. You know I do.”
“Do you want it to be over?”
“No. God, no.”
“Do you think he’s a cheating pig?”
I cringed at her words. “No.”
“Do you think he was telling the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s not that type of man.”
“Will you give him a chance?”
“No.”
“Are you ruining your own chances of happiness with that answer?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Times up.”
She gripped my shoulders and squeezed. “Why?”
“Because I’m scared I’ll be wrong again.”
“You aren’t. Not this time. Not about him. Listen to me. This. Is. Your. Man.”
I crumbled in her hold as she spoke on, ignoring my tears. “Luke was an evil bastard who took your innocence and made you feel guilty afterward. You’ll never get that back, and you’ll never be as naïve. You were cautious this time, and with good reason, but you know better with Cameron because this guy just wants to love you. Exchange your baggage and you two will be better for it
. Don’t miss your man on some principle that he was wrong. Hear him out before you make a decision. Or even better, don’t ask questions for once. Trust yourself and reap the reward. You don’t have to know every sordid detail about someone to truly love them. Life changes people in a matter of seconds. We both know that. Who he was a year ago is not who he is today. Maybe you changed him for the better and are hurting him for the worse. You know who you love. You know who Cameron is. You don’t have to know who he was before you loved him. Don’t be so black and white about all of this.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said with a wobbling chin.
“Hurry up, Abbie. It’s not over for you and you’re only hurting your chances by playing it safe.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know,” she said. “Now it’s time for me to get married.”
“Bree,” I said with an emotion-filled voice.
“I know. You love me, you’re happy for me. Blah blah, save it for the toast.”
“Okay. But I do love you.”
“You better.” She took a deep breath and grabbed her bouquet. “Roses are so traditional, don’t you think? I can’t believe I bought into all this hoopla. I expected better of myself.”
“They’re my favorite too. I didn’t know it, though.”
“Oh?” she said, taking a whiff of the heavenly scented stems. “Cameron?”
I nodded, picking up my own bouquet. “Where’s the honeymoon again?”
“I still don’t know because Anthony planned it. He said he’s taking me somewhere I’ve never been.”
A knock at the door had both of our eyes widening.
“Showtime,” I said with a wink.
“I’m coming for you Big Dick!” Bree yelled before I pulled her into a hug.
My mother’s laughter rang out from the other side of the door.
“Keep the blindfold on, baby.” Anthony led his wife through the doorway as we all stood silently in wait.
“What is going on!” Bree asked excitedly. “The jig’s up, husband. The car ride wasn’t long enough to make it to O’Hare and we didn’t even cut the cake! Everyone is going to be so pissed off we missed our own reception.” Anthony guided her outside as we all held in our chuckles.