Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lila
As usual, the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas are a blur. Oliver and I spend more time together, going ice skating for the first time and having way too much coffee. I also spend a lot of time tediously packing up yet again and moving into my new place, to Mom’s utter disdain. Her first visit is filled with scowls and snarky comments. But thanks to Maren and Zoey, we get the place looking pretty okay, buying lots and lots of area rugs and cute decorations.
And air fresheners.
So by Christmas Eve, when my family gathers in the living room of Mom and Dad’s to watch the Griswolds’ Christmas, as is our custom, I’m feeling pretty content if not a little lonely.
Oliver’s understandably gone to Maine for the holiday to spend time with his parents and, despite his invite, I wanted to stay put. There’ve been so many changes. Even though they drive me up a wall and fifteen minutes into our Christmas Eve celebration I want to drink the entire pitcher of eggnog, I wasn’t quite ready to change this tradition.
Maybe it’s Maren’s pregnancy. Maybe it’s because so much has changed this year that I don’t have sure footing. Whatever it is, I’m feeling sentimental.
Cuddling up with Henry and Trixie on the love seat alone, the only hint of Oliver the perfume he bought me—expensive perfume, I must say—I’m cozy, content even.
And then my phone buzzes.
“Oh, is that your hot boyfriend?” Maren sings like I’m fifteen, and I roll my eyes.
“Hush, the good part’s coming up,” Grandma yells. Who knows what part she thinks is good, but I dare not ask.
I look down to see a text, but it isn’t from Oliver.
It’s from Luke.
And it says Emergency.
With that, I’m off the couch and into the kitchen, panic setting in.
***
I’m barely inside the vet office, flicking on the lights, when Luke follows, rushing in with Floyd.
Doctor mode sets in. “Bring him back to room one,” I say, rushing back to get the equipment I need.
Floyd is in Luke’s arms, not looking very well. He’s clearly in distress, not his usual, wily self.
I rush him back, examining and checking for obvious traumas. “You said he hasn’t been eating?” I ask.
“It’s been a few days. I thought he was just under the weather.”
“Has he been vomiting?”
“Yes, and today, it’s been a lot. He’s just not himself, Lila. I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry, I know it’s Christmas Eve, but I didn’t know what to do.” Luke’s voice is shaking with panic. I’ve only seen him this worried one other time.
Luke’s clearly beside himself, worried about Floyd—and for good reason. The cat’s clearly in need of medical attention.
“Stay here, Luke. I’m going to x-ray him. I think he’s got something lodged. Did he eat anything weird?”
“Not that I know of.”
I rush Floyd back to the X-ray machine and, within a few minutes, it’s confirmed.
Floyd needs surgery, and it looks like I’m the only one who can save him now.
***
“Thank you again. I’m so sorry,” Luke says hours later when we’re sitting in the back room, Floyd coming out of surgery just fine. I’ll have to stay and keep an eye on him, so we’re back in the room Floyd is no stranger to. The poor guy is sleeping now, and we’re on the sofa, taking a breath for the first time all night.
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I’m glad I could help,” I say, meaning it. I’m exhausted and worn out, the surgery taking its toll on me.
“I still can’t believe he ate a damn piece of his cat scratcher.”
“It happens a lot, actually. And if the cardboard wedges just right, well, you get this kind of situation. It’s a good thing you brought him in when you did.”
“It’s a good thing you’re such a kind person. Thank you. But I’m sure you have somewhere you need to be. I don’t want to ruin the rest of your holiday.”
I turn and look at him, the curly-haired man from my past who still feels so familiar. Despite the harrowing situation and the exhaustion, I smile, sitting here beside him. “You didn’t. It’s fine. Like I said, I’m glad I could help.”
We settle into the quiet silence. All around, families are tucking in little ones, getting ready for Santa Claus. Christmas carols are being sung and holiday food is being stowed away.
And here we are, a guy and a girl who not long ago shared a life, sitting on a smelly sofa in the hospital wing of the veterinarian’s office, nursing a saved cat back to life.
“Merry Christmas,” Luke whispers now. I turn and grin.
“Merry Christmas.”
We sit in another string of silence for a long time, both weighing the oddness of the situation, both not sure what to say. There’s a familiarity lingering between us, but the tension of the past six months is also lingering.
You can’t tear apart a relationship and then expect things to be the same. You just can’t.
“It seems like Floyd is just trying to bring us together. First, the car, and now this. Crazy cat,” Luke mutters.
I smile. “It is rather weird how we’ve ended up here twice now.”
“Things are a bit different this time, though,” he says, and there’s a seriousness in his voice.
“Yeah, they are. How are things with your singing, by the way?” I ask, wanting to change the subject and genuinely curious.
“Good. I mean, I went back to roofing once my leg healed, so it’s not like I’ve quit my day job. But I have a few more gigs around. I’m booked for a gig in New York in February.”
My face lights up. “Really? That’s amazing! Your girlfriend must be so excited.” Oops. I’ve just admitted to Facebook stalking Luke, because how else would I have known that? Too late to back out now, though.
Luckily, Luke doesn’t question me.
“Oh, we’re not…. Not anymore.”
I feel my cheeks warm. I don’t know why I brought it up. It was completely out of place and inappropriate. I guess I just felt the need to.
“What about you? How are things going?”
“Good. I got my own apartment.”
Luke grins. “Couldn’t stand Lucy?”
“You have no idea,” I say.
“Oh, but I do.”
And it hits me. He does. He has a complete idea. He knows exactly where I’m coming from.
I wait for him to ask about Oliver, but he doesn’t. I mean, it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter anyway.
Another silence creeps in, which is odd because when Luke and I were together, we were never silent. There was always too much talking and laughter. Now there’s just… quiet.
We stare at Floyd, both lost in our individual thoughts. There’s so much I want to say to him, the man who still, in truth, has his fingers wrapped around my heart. I’ve loosened them in these past months, but looking at him, sitting by him, I know they’re still grasping a little bit, even if he doesn’t want them to be.
I sit and I think about everything that’s happened to bring us here. I think about everything that hasn’t happened.
As we sit, staring at Floyd, I think about last year at this time and how, in many ways, Christmas day was the first tear in what would become a huge, gaping shred in the page of us.
***
It had started with a dying guinea pig, in all reality.
The little girl had rushed into Park Lane, clutching the cage with big, streaming tears falling down. Her mother ushered the little girl into my room as I leaned down to examine the emergency patient.
“And who do we have here?” I asked.
“Sparkles,” the small, wavering voice said. “He’s sick. Please help him.”
“Well, let’s just see what we can do for Sparkles here,” I said, my gut clenching. Looking at the love the little girl clearly had for Sparkles and comparing it to the listlessness of the creature, my heart broke. Please God, let me be able to help Sparkles. I don’t want to crush this little girl’s hopes today.
I examined Sparkles, running through the regular procedures and running some tests. After the little girl paced around the room, staring worriedly at me, I smiled.
“What’s your name, sweetie?” I asked.
“Gina,” she said.
“Well, Gina, good news. Sparkles is going to be just fine. He just has a little cold. Have you ever had a cold?” I asked.
The little girl nodded, very seriously.
“Then you know he’s going to be just fine. Your mommy just needs to put a few drops of medicine in his water, and then in a few days, if you give him lots of love, he’ll be just fine. Okay?”
She nodded, the biggest smile on her face.
I stood up to talk to Gina’s mom. “Sparkles just needs two doses of antibiotic a day. Keep an eye on him. If he gets any worse, bring him in right away, okay?”
“Thank you so much, Dr. Morrow. You’re amazing.”
“No problem,” I said, handing the cage over.
“Do you have any little ones?” the mom asked.
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
“Well, you’re great with kids. You’ll be a great mom someday,” she said before leading Gina and Sparkles out to the checkout.
When they were gone, I leaned on the counter.
They were the kind, simple words of an unknowing stranger. They were nothing, really, just a few appreciative words. But they stabbed right into my core.
Because in truth, I’d been starting to hear the ticking of the biological clock. I’d been trying to quiet it, trying to convince myself it was all fine. We had time.
But it wasn’t time I was worried about, really.
It was Luke.
I loved that man with all my heart, loved the life we’d built. He was an amazing companion, the only person who could make me smile when I felt like crying. He was fun and loving. He had a tight hold on my heart.
I knew he’d had a rough upbringing and a negative view of marriage and love. He was straightforward in the beginning.
But being the girl who thought she could save anything, I apparently thought I could save him too. I thought I could save him from his dark views of love, of marriage, of parenthood. I thought I could be the woman to change his mind. I thought he’d get over it.
There we were, though, years later, still unchanged. He still was terrified of the prospect of having kids, still adamant he never wanted to be a father.
He was still adamant we didn’t need a forever commitment or a family to be happy.
“We’re good just the way we are,” he always said, despite my prodding.
And I thought it would be enough. I thought if I couldn’t save him from his views, I could change mine. I should be appreciative of what we had.
I was. Mostly. And then little reminders happened, like that day, reminders of what I was missing.
Reminders of the hole I felt growing inside, the yearning for a child, a family, and for the life I’d always envisioned.
***
“Congratulations!” I said, two weeks after the Sparkles incident when we were sitting around my mom’s dinner table on Christmas day.
Maren had just shared the amazing news. She and Will were getting married.
And I meant the congratulations. I was happy to see Maren getting what she wanted.
It’s not a race, I reminded myself. It’s not a competition. It’s okay that we’re on a different page.
Staring at her ring, though, the wound spread a little deeper and wider. I tried not to look at Luke, tried to keep the smile on my face. I told myself it was fine, that I was happy.
But a few hours later when everyone was grouped off around the house, I came back from the bathroom and overheard the damning words that put the final nail in the coffin.
Because what I hadn’t realized up until that moment was despite my internal arguing and Luke’s words, despite everything, I’d still had hope.
I still was holding out that Luke would change his mind, that we’d get our happily ever after.
A few overheard words decimated that hope and began the ending of our story.
***
“Hey,” his soft voice says, a hand shaking me. I open my eyes, looking up into Luke’s face.
I was asleep on his shoulder. The drool puddle is there again.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say, jumping up from his shoulder, trying to smooth my shirt. “What time is it?”
“Six in the morning. It’s okay. I kept an eye on Floyd. He seems like he’s doing just fine.”
I scamper over to the cage, trying to ignore the fact I just fell asleep on my ex’s shoulder on Christmas. I examine Floyd, who is looking so much better. He’s actually sitting up, looking at me with those beautiful green eyes.
“He’s doing well,” I say. “I think you can take him home today, as long as you keep a careful watch of him and promise to call if there is anything wrong at all.”
“Of course,” he says. “You know I will.”
I smile, turning to look at Luke, thinking about how much has happened between us, thinking about all that’s changed.
And looking at him, I think about all that hasn’t. I think about the way he still makes me feel at ease, makes me feel comfortable in my skin.
I think about the way his gaze looking at me makes me shiver.
I think about the chemistry that’s still there, the longing, and the love.
I still love him.
I shove the thought aside as quickly as it comes. That part of my life is over. We’re over.
“Thank you,” Luke says, standing, taking a few steps across the room, never taking his eyes off me.
For a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. I think he’s going to say he’s sorry, he’s crazy, that he misses me.
For a long moment, we just stand, waiting to see who is going to make the next move.
Slowly, cautiously, I step out of the room, the moment clearly gone. “I’ll get his meds ready,” I say.
“Okay,” Luke replies.
And with one word, the hope is lost again.
***
“I’ve been worried sick,” Maren screams into the phone when I call her after Luke and Floyd are carefully loaded up.
I’m perched on the sofa in the hospital area, too tired emotionally and physically to get in my car and drive home, too tired to answer questions.
But I needed to talk to someone.
“I’m okay. Floyd’s okay.”
“So you spent the night there with him?”
“Yeah. I had to perform surgery, but he’s all better.”
“Not Floyd him,” she says. “Luke him.”
“Yes,” I say.
“And?” she asks.
“And nothing. Nothing happened. It’s over.”
Maren breathes into the phone. “But?” she asks. “I can tell there’s a but.”
I slump back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. “But, it’s so damn complicated. I don’t know why it has to be. I closed that door. I’m happy with Oliver, I am. But….”
“But you’re not over him. But when you’re with him, you still feel those feelings. You still wonder what could still be.”
“How’d you know?”
“Because it’s written all over your face. Because when you’re with Oliver, you’re happy, sure, but it’s a different happy. It’s a surface-level happy,” she says. I sigh.
“Luke didn’t exactly make me deep happy.”
“Not all the time, no. You had your rocks. You had your issues. But, I don’t know, Lila, it’s like you cared about those issues because he made you so happy, you know? When you were good, you were really, really good. He rounded you out. I don’t think you can just let that go.”
“I don’t know what to do, Maren. When we broke up, I thought it was right. Everyone thought it was right. Even you said so yourself. But now I don’t know.”
“Love isn’t easy, Lila. You know that. No matter what you choose, there’ll be a struggle and sadness. So I guess you just need to think about what pathway has the best chance of making you happy, which path is worth the sadness for the end game, whatever that might be.”
“What should I do?”
“I don’t know, sis. I do know you need to make up your mind. You need to think about what you want and who makes you happy. And then, you need to go after it no matter what, no holding back.”
“I love you. Merry Christmas,” I say, meaning it.
“Love you, too. Now get your butt over here. Mom’s having a fit about you not being here, and I truly can’t stand another second of it.”
I grin. “I’ll be there in a few.”
I hang up, still staring at the ceiling, still confused as hell.
Because for every hard moment with Luke, for every crack in our relationship, there was an equally good one.
I drift through memories, thinking about all the sweet, passionate moments, the thoughtful gifts, the tender embraces. I think about our walks for breakfast around town on our days off and our trips to see all my chick flick movies. I think about our Valentine’s Day when we snuggled on the sofa, ordered two pizzas and drank vodka until we were so drunk, we thought Finding Nemo was hilarious. I think about how he knew every detail of me, knew when I was ready to break before I knew it myself.
I swirl in the magic that was us, that could still be us, if we’d just find a way to put down our pride, to settle our differences, and to find a way to make this work.
But it all feels exhausting, unsteady, unsure.
And just when I’m thinking about how messed up life truly is, my phone lights up.
It’s Oliver.
I’m tossed back into limbo, a hellish state of feeling guilty for being stuck between two men—and wondering how I ever let this happen.