Alex
She’s out the door before I can reach her. It’s not like I know her name, so I can’t call out after her. Shit. She seems like she’s in a hurry. Stop. Just… stop, and wait for me. Please.
“Wait,” I call out, not knowing what else to say.
She stops, her back to me, and stands there for a moment. She doesn’t turn around right away and part of me is desperate to run up and grab her hand, pull her toward me. I need to see her face, to make sure she’s okay. But I don’t want to startle her or make her feel threatened. Turn around, love. I wait, heart racing, blood pumping, as she straightens her shoulders and turns her head. Finally.
“Hi,” she says, uncertain whether to walk toward me or stay where she is.
Well, she’s not running. That’s a good sign. I take a step forward and she watches carefully, her eyes hidden behind her sunglasses. I take another step. She moves only to turn her body to face me.
“Hey,” I reply when I’m finally standing right in front of her. She smells delicious, like sunshine and citrus. She swallows hard then looks out across the street, for what, I don’t know. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.” God, I sound desperate. And who knows, maybe I am. A smile tugs at her lips as she looks back at me.
“Same here. I want to thank you again for…”
She stops herself before she finishes, like the memory of that night tortures her. I know what it does to me, so I can only imagine how she feels.
“You’re welcome.” I don’t make her finish. She doesn’t have to relive it for me. I just want to take her in my arms and hold her there. I can’t stand the thought of her walking away again.
“You should probably go. You don’t want to keep her waiting,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper as she nods her head toward the coffee shop window.
What? Who? Huh? Ohhhhhh. Heidi. Fuck. She thinks we’re together.
“So, you’re stalking me now?” I tease, trying to ease some of the tension in the air. Why is she so nervous? You don’t have to be afraid of me, sweetheart.
She smiles. “Pretty sure you’re the one who ran out here like a crazy person after me. I’m just here for the coffee,” she jokes back.
“Typical stalker response,” I reply, with a cheeky grin. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She has dimples. How fucking cute is that?
“Besides, I barely even recognized you. With the new look and all…” I narrow my eyes in question and she reaches forward, running a hand over the top of my head, stopping on the back just above the nape of my neck. “You got rid of the curls.”
I’m frozen in place, feet nailed to the ground, held captive by her touch. I don’t want to move for fear she might pull her hand away. I don’t think she realizes what she’s doing to me right now. But I do. My body does. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I clench my jaw to keep the low growl from escaping my throat. I can’t help myself. It just… happens. I reach forward and take the rim of her sunglasses, pulling them from her eyes. I need to see her. I need to touch her. I rest them on top of her head then run my thumb over her now healed brow bone. She closes her eyes for a split second, taking in a deep breath. When she opens them she quickly drops her hand to her side, and I almost pout at the loss of her touch. I trace my thumb down the side of her face to her jaw as she exhales slowly then looks away again.
I move my hand from her face, tucking it in my pant pocket to protect myself from the urge to lock my fingers in her hair, pull her forward, and kiss her stupid. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to see how you were healing.” Dammit. Way to fuck it up, Romeo.
“It’s okay.” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and I clench my fist in my pocket. It’s taking everything I have not to touch her again. “I’m all healed up, thanks to you. The doctor said it could have been worse if you hadn’t found me.” Her eyes go distant then fall to the ground, like she’s remembering something painful. Desire turns to curiosity, then to anger, as I imagine what she must have gone through- what she must still be going through. She clears her throat and looks up at me with a weak smile. Then she pulls her sunglasses back down over her eyes and straightens her shoulders. I’m starting to learn this must be a focus mechanism of hers. As if she’s positioning herself to conquer an obstacle, either mental or physical. “But, I’m a lot more careful now. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
“It always happens again, love,” I tell her, more concern in my tone than I meant to express.
“I should go,” she says, and my heart falls to my stomach. I have completely botched this up. I’ve been waiting weeks to see her again. Now she’s here, and I’m scaring her away by bringing up secrets she’d rather keep hidden. She hasn’t even walked away yet, and I miss her already.
“She’s not here with me,” I blurt out, not even sure why. I just needed to say something, anything, to keep her here a minute longer. She tilts her head, pondering what the hell I’m talking about, then smiles when it hits her.
“So, you make a habit of sharing your table with lonely women, then?” She says, referring to the first time we met. “Well, aren’t you just the perfect gentleman?”
I shake my head and laugh. “She’s here with my best friend.” I nod my head to the window. Nick has returned to the table and is currently tucking a lock of stray hair behind Heidi’s ear. She watches them with the same look in her eye that I do, like she’s longing for what they share.
“I really need to go,” she repeats, her voice drenched in a sadness I know all too well. She looks back at me and shrugs. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she doesn’t really want to leave. She wants to stay here and sit with me, let me touch her again. The way Nick is touching Heidi. The way I want to touch her. Something, or someone, is pulling her away. And the thought that it’s the same someone who hurt her, tears me up inside.
“Wait… I never got your name…”
She tosses her coffee cup in the trash can on the sidewalk and peeks over her shoulder as she walks away. “Emma. My name is Emma.”
Emma
Not that I want him to be alone, but I’m surprisingly relieved to hear the gorgeous blonde sitting across the table from him is here with someone else. I want to ask him his name too. I want to go inside, meet his friends, and watch him laugh again as we all indulge in a lazy afternoon. His smile is infectious and his laughter contagious. I want him to walk me out, his hand gently resting on the small of my back, then give him my number. Then I want to check my phone before bed, hoping to find a text from him telling me how much he enjoyed today. I want to feel his soft touch against my skin again. And again. But it doesn’t matter what I want, because none of those things can ever happen. I take one final look around, praying Bastain hasn’t followed me. Then I keep moving forward, walking the two miles back to his dealership, wondering what if. What if I actually had a choice? What if I didn’t have to spend the rest of my life paying for my mistakes? What if there’s more to my life than I’ve made myself believe? What if I left?
“Hi, mom. It’s me.”
“Em? Is everything okay?”
I call my mother once a week. We text every day, but the phone calls- those are reserved for Sundays after church. Today is Wednesday, and I find myself needing to hear her voice. I don’t want her to know I’m upset. The scratch in my throat must have given me away. I’m trying to hold it together, but it feels like I’m falling apart. I feel like my life is made of sand, and no matter how hard I try to take hold of it, the tiny grains keep slipping through my fingers. My mother has always been the mold to help put me back together. She’s my voice of reason, my bright side.
“I feel lost, momma. I don’t know what to do.”
I can almost feel her arms wrapping around me as she rubs my hair. The sound of her voice seems to calm the storm around me, even though she’s miles away. I’d give anything to be near her again, to have lunch at her country club with all her church lady friends, and help her with her flowerbeds on a Saturday afternoon. I moved from Tampa to Miami when I graduated from college. The company I worked for at the time had offered me an opportunity I couldn’t turn down. My future was bright, and we were both excited about it. I promised I’d visit her and my dad as much as I could. Then, after that fateful Friday night over five years ago, I became indebted to Bastain. He became my world. Everything and everyone else disappeared. She’s never understood why I feel the way I feel. I don’t expect her to. I don’t expect anyone to. It’s not something you can understand until you’ve lived it, until it’s happened to you.
“Oh, my baby girl, what’s going on?”
How do you tell your mother you’re questioning every decision you’ve ever made over the past five years? How do you admit you may have made the wrong choice? How do you tell your mother the man you gave up everything for has betrayed you in ways you never thought he would?
“Bastain and I… We aren’t… He isn’t…” I can’t tell her everything. I can’t let her worry from so far away. “I think I made a mistake, mom.”
I hear her sigh on the other end of the line. “Emma, honey, people fight. Couples argue. That’s the way love works.” No, mom. Not like this. This isn’t the way love works.
I’m not one of those daughters who calls her mother every time something doesn’t go her way. Bastain and I have had plenty of arguments, and I have never called my mom for advice. I’d rather wear my mask and pretend everything is just fine and dandy than call unwanted attention to our relationship. I’m a walking Facebook status- lying to the world, pretending to be happy when behind the screen I’m a complete mess. It’s easier this way. I don’t have to talk about things I’d rather not talk about, or confront feelings I’d rather not feel. But lately it’s getting harder and harder to breathe beneath all the secrets I’ve kept hidden. I’m fighting for air. I need to find my lifeline before it’s too late.
“I don’t think I love him anymore.”
There. I said it. Out loud. And I immediately wish I could rewind the clock and take the words back. I hate myself for saying them, for feeling them. I want to love Bastian. I want that more than anything. Maybe if I give it some time the feelings will come back. Maybe he’ll realize he made a mistake the night he hurt me at the party, and he’ll change. What if he doesn’t? What then?
“Then it’s time to let him go,” she says, matter of fact, in that insightful way only she knows how.
“I need your help. I can’t do it alone.”
“Yes, you can, dear. I promise you can. I raised a confident, strong young woman. You may think you’ve lost her, but I know different. I hear more than just the words you speak. I know. A mother always knows. I know why you’ve stayed there all these years. I know why you feel obligated to him. And if you think that doesn’t take strength, you’re sadly mistaken. You’re stronger than you know, Emma. Now, you’re a smart woman. You know what you need to do. I’ll pray you find the will to do it.”
“What if I can’t?”
“You can. You will. You’re not doing either one of you any good by pretending. I know you think you’re helping him, but you’re not.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m not helping him. Maybe all I’m doing is reminding him.
After I got off the phone with my mother, I went to a local real estate agency. My mom told me if I found the will to leave, she and my father would help me financially until I got on my feet. Cameron Inc. offered me the position I interviewed for, starting immediately, so getting on my feet shouldn’t take long. I asked Cameron to give me a week to make the decision, giving me time to come up with something to tell Bastain- if I decide not to leave.
Unfortunately, it takes more than a signed check from your parents to lease an apartment these days. You need references, a solid employment history, and a verified salary of three times the monthly rental rate. I don’t have any of those. So, it’s back to square one.