Chapter Twenty-Nine
Windsor
It’s been a week since Morganna gave me the wrinkled envelope containing something that is supposed to change my mind about Maverick. It’s sealed and she’s told me she didn’t open it. I haven’t opened it. I leave it inside my desk drawer at work because I don’t trust myself with it at home. I don’t want a piece of paper to sway my mind.
Maverick and I have been texting back and forth during the days, and he seems better. Morganna said he’s better, too. That he had a coming to God moment where he realized how much he was throwing away. He’s eating, going into work, and functioning on a level consistent with that of the old Maverick.
I told him I wanted some space to sort through my feelings. If I’m going to keep him at arm’s length, I need to figure out how to put a damper on my freaking libido and my heart. I feel guilty even admitting this to myself, but it’s unfair to Nash. This time is supposed to be his to prove himself. To have my ex-boyfriend meddling at every turn is just wrong. See how twisted that sounds? If Nash wasn’t in the picture I think I’d still be hesitant to jump feet first back in with Maverick. I feel like a skittish cat…in heat. I miss him.
Hannah’s voice blares through the speakers. “Your mom is on line three!” The jarring buzz scares the crap out of me.
“Thank you,” I say, pressing the intercom button down.
I pull up my e-mail to make sure I haven’t neglected to e-mail her back or something. I’m not sure why else she would call me at work. Our relationship is shaky at best, and I haven’t even told her about Maverick. It’s a conversation more complicated than I’m willing to have right now. I hit the red blinking button and tap on my blue tooth headset.
“Hey, Mom. What’s going on? Is everything okay?” I get it all out of the way in one swoop.
“I’m fine, honey. I have some company over and we’re just sitting down to tea. Funny thing, you’re the person we’ve been talking about.”
“Jesus, Mom. Don’t gossip about me with your cranky friends. Isn’t five back? Don’t you have husband-pleasing duties to perform? I’m at work,” I whisper shout. I’m pleasantly surprised she sounds sober and she’s drinking tea instead of vodka. Who knows, maybe she has vodka in her tea. Isn’t that a thing? Maybe I should ask Maverick.
“Well this guest only has wonderful things to say about you. He came all this way to apologize to me for putting my daughter through a rough time. How gentlemanly is that? He also scared the living shit out of Bill. I doubt he’ll leave again in the foreseeable future. Isn’t that nice, Windsor?”
The room seems to be spinning as I process her words. I lay a hand on my head and take a deep breath. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mom. Should I be happy Mr. Apologizing-scary-gentleman scared the shit out of your husband?” I hear muffled, supremely male giggling—if that’s even possible.
“Windsor,” he says my name. Or makes love to it. I’m embarrassed he spoke it like that in front of my mother. That’s a feat in itself. It’s merely a name—my name dripping from his lips.
I sigh, trying to collect my thoughts. Why the hell is he at my mother’s house. How am I supposed to react to this? “What are you doing there, Maverick?”
“Well I think your mother explained it quite nicely. I have amends to make…with many people. You are the first one of course. Think of it like my six step program if you’d like,” he explains. I hear him ask my mom for more tea and another photo album.
“Do not look at the ones from middle school. I swear I will rain dark, acid blood down on you right now if you so much as peek at those horrible albums,” I threaten. “And isn’t it twelve steps?” He laughs and continues a dual conversation with Kathy and me at the same time. They banter back and forth about me, and my trials and tribulations when I was an unruly teen.
“She just finished telling me the story about the Pimp and Ho party you attended in tenth grade, complete with a detailed description of your prostitute costume. I have to say, I never thought you’d dip that dark. I want to see that,” Maverick whispers and I know for certain my mother didn’t hear that comment. He pauses a few beats and then says, “I’m sorry again, Windsor. This is the beginning of my restitution trail.”
Although I’m still baffled that he’s sitting in my mother’s kitchen, gleaning more knowledge about me than any one person should have, my heart flutters. With Maverick it always does, even when it isn’t supposed to. Because that’s what love is. Your heart beats along frantically and compassionately for that individual, even when the same person rips it out of your chest. Funny how my fluttering heart reminds me why I need to keep my distance.
“What exactly are you doing?” I ask quietly.
He breathes out a long sigh. “I’m proving to you that some things don’t have to make sense. They’re just right. You think we’re wrong for each other, but we’re not. I can’t lie to myself anymore and you shouldn’t either. And I also need you to realize you don’t want to be my friend.”
“I do want to be your friend,” I reply. I also want to jump your bones and make sweet blissful love to you at the same time. So much for not falling feet first into the Maverick pool.
“And that’s what I need to fix. Wait until you see what I have up my sleeve. I’m going to be the man that deserves you. Deserves more than friendship with you. I fucked up, Win. I’m sorry I wasted so much time. I’m going to make up for it now. I have to go. Kathy and I are going to play Bunco with her friends. Oh, and Windsor?” I’m afraid to respond. What else can he one-eighty me with?
“Yes?” I hold my breath. Silence.
“I think you look sweet with braces and glasses.”
“Ugh.”
“You have to be in the same room to rain dark, acid blood on me. You headed this way? I miss you.” He laughs. I lean my forehead down on my desk.
I groan. “Bye Maverick. Look out for Carla. She’ll rob you blind.” Well, she won’t rob Maverick blind, not in one day at least.
“I’ll see you soon.” He clicks off the line. I’m left sitting at my desk with a gaping hole of guilt. I have to be up front with Nash as soon as possible, before whatever crazy thing Maverick does next affects all of us—like a big, happy dysfunctional family. The confusing thing is right next to that guilt is a huge well of sheer happiness. He’s making an effort. More importantly, he’s pulled himself out of the swirling grief hole. I’ll do whatever it takes to facilitate his healing process because I know how important lifelines are. The thing about lifelines though, is if you jumble them up enough, they fail.
I sort files into perfect stacks in order of importance on my desk and fill out online forms, stamping my electronic signature like a notary on speed. I distract myself with work while I gain the courage I need to dial up Nash.
When we first started dating back in my early twenties he would always tell me how fun and adventurous I was. We fell into a routine very quickly and I know the exact moment our relationship took a nosedive, and not just because I know when he started cheating on me. It’s because I remember when I, myself started feeling bored. I sat on the couch in my frumpy pajamas wondering if it was too early to go to bed on a Saturday night. Nash went out that night without me. And I didn’t care.
The irony about the situation now is that I’m acutely aware of how much my leaping-no-holds-barred relationship with Maverick changed me…and that’s what’s drawn Nash to me again. Who should I give the credit to? Maverick for changing me? Or Nash for pointing out my flaws to begin with?
My plant, which never stood a chance in fiery hell, is wilting in the corner. I look at the brown leaves morosely and decide it’s time to throw it away. With that depressing thought, I finally dial his number.
When he answers in that chipper, businesslike tone, I falter. “Hey Nash, it’s me.”
“Hey, Winnie. What’s up?” I hear him winking at me. It’s all in his tone.
I decide honesty is the best policy. “I can only be your friend. I think even from the beginning I knew I wouldn’t be able to be with you again. Or at least, how we were together before. And it’s not because I think you haven’t changed, because you have and that’s sort of it…because if you were the person you are now back then—well then everything would be rosy and we’d be married right now. We’re not though. I said I would try, I said I would be open to the possibility of more, but I can’t lead you on anymore. We’ve both changed. Even as right it feels to be with you and as comfortable as it would be, I don’t want that anymore, Nash. I never did, really. Sometimes shit things happen for a reason and they don’t make sense until later,” I ramble. Maverick said almost the same thing to me.
Nash’s end of the phone is dead silent except for his steady, even breaths. “It’s him. Isn’t it?”
“He is the sole reason you’re attracted to me again, Nash. Someone else instilled that indescribable quality that draws you to me. Isn’t that the least bit disturbing or disheartening? I’m not even sure I can be with him either. Or if he even truly wants to be with me. I have no idea, but I’m telling you what I do know. You’re a good guy now, Nash…but,” I trail, choking on the generic words I can’t force myself to say.
He finishes, “But I’m not the one for you. It’s okay to be honest. I half expected this sooner. At least you don’t hate me anymore. I can sleep at night knowing I tried to get you back. And if you do end up with a guy, it should be the one who broke my nose as punishment for wronging you. I’m here for you if you need someone, Win. Always,” Nash promises. I don’t doubt him for a second. I still wince.
I sigh. “We’ve repaired us enough to be friends? Like real ones that call each other when they have mom problems or tax questions?” I joke. But deep down I’m serious. Repairing this kink in my life means a lot to me. For it all to be for naught would be horrible.
He chuckles. I picture his smile in my mind. It’s sweet. It gives me a straight-up platonic vibe. “Of course. Though I’m sure Kathy will be upset she doesn’t get to plan another wedding,” he says, teasing me right back. My mom loves him. But, I’d fathom a guess her current Bunco partner is feeling the love, too.
“Planning gives her hives anyways. Thanks for being understanding.”
“It pains me to say this, but thank him for me.”
I blanch. “Thank him for what?”
“For bringing out the best in you. In record time, no less. I guess I never could quite do it.” His voice cracks. Instead of saying anything else, he hangs up. If he’d asked I would have told him I couldn’t be with him, because I never loved him. Not the way I was supposed to. He didn’t love me either. Our relationship died when it was supposed to. It went down in a flaming rush of gory destruction, because something else was coming together. Good things fall apart so better things can come together. And you know what? Even if I’m never with Maverick again, he’s changed me. I didn’t even drag my feet or submit kicking and screaming. It just happened. I think that’s the best kind of change there is.
*****
He just asked me for your clothing sizes and what time Gretchen gets off work, Morganna’s text message reads. I roll my eyes and look to the sky. A few seconds pass.
Ping. Another text from her. I told him.
Of course she told him. Maverick only talks to me about our friendship. He talks to my friends about everything else. I haven’t told him about my decision to sever the pseudo relationship with Nash, but something leads me to believe he probably knows. He knows everything. I haven’t Googled, but I think it’s a SEAL thing.
I send Morg a message. If you’re just going to tell me everything anyway, just tell him to ask me.
You unappreciative stodge. Be that way. Stay in the dark. Did you open it yet?
I giggle. I wonder if she has Phillipe texting for her as per usual. He’s rolling his eyes at word choice. No I didn’t open the envelope. I told you. I’m not going to. If you want to give me details so badly tell me why he needs my sizes. P.S. I’m here.
She responds, Didn’t tell me.
I push open the front door to her house and lock it behind me. She never leaves the doors open unless she’s expecting someone. The large foyer is devoid of all clutter, the marble floor immaculate. The only sign a woman lives here is a pair of sky-high heels off to the side. They were obviously kicked off upon entry. I slide off my own heels and head for her office.
“Hey Windsor. Morganna is in her room.” Phillipe’s light voice echoes in this fortress of a house. I make small talk with him for a few minutes. It’s obvious he’s been staying here constantly. His bare feet and lounge pants speak volumes.
I turn and head for the stairs when he takes a personal call on his cell. I wonder how his boyfriend feels about his boss’s needy status. My feet squish into the plush hallway carpet as I approach the huge French doors at the end.
I take a deep breath and push into the room. Morganna is sitting in the middle of her California King sized, four-poster bed. The dark wood envelops, hiding her. I set the bag of take-out on a table. “Is this monstrosity really needed?” I swing around one of the posts and land on the bed next to her.
“Stone liked it,” she says, petting the blankets around her. She has on a pair of black boy shorts and a ratty college t-shirt. Her face is completely bare. She’s stripped of Morganna Sterns. Now, she’s just a woman who lost her husband. The sadness in her eyes diminishes when she falls back to lie on the bed. “Plus I can sleep sideways, upside down, or regular,” she explains. Honestly, it just looks lonely.
“Your room is a mess,” I admit, glancing around at clothes, bottles of water, and makeup shit everywhere. It truly is wince worthy. This is the new Morganna—the one that was born of Stone’s death. I’m still getting used to it. To the rest of the world she’s the same bull nose. Which is how she wants it. She shrugs. I pick up a drawing sitting next to her on the bed. It’s Stone’s lobster tattoo. She takes it from me.
“I’m trying to get all of his tattoos drawn by the artists. You know…so I don’t forget.” I think she wouldn’t mind forgetting this one, but I nod and give her a small smile. My chest tightens. How do you remember and let go at the same time? Is it some precarious method of blocking certain things and grasping onto others? How do you choose? I’d want everything.
“Maverick is trying to get you back, Win. By now you’ve realized that. Before he died…Stone told me you were the one that would give Maverick a life. He’s only ever had things. A great career, all the material possessions a guy could ask for, he’s good at things, but he’s never had what you give him. Stone believed that people’s lives intertwine for reasons out of our control. I always told him that was nonsense, just as Mav did, but can’t you see that it’s not? It’s real. I know he hurt you. I know Stone’s death turned him into a different person, but you have to let the person he used to be speak for him now. That’s the fair thing to do,” she says staring at the ceiling. She catches a tear that leaks out of the side of her eye. Propping both of her tiny feet up on a bedpost she laughs. She sounds maniacal. But I don’t care because it saves me from responding.
I lie down next to her and stare up. “I’m afraid to ask what’s funny.”
“The swirls on our ceiling had to be repainted three times. They weren’t geometrical. It drove Stone nuts.” It sounds just like something Maverick would do. They are like the same person.
“Stone was nuts,” I say, laughing. She grabs my hand next to her on the bed. We stare at the white swirls, both trying to find a lopsided swoop.
She whispers, “He was. Wasn’t he?” The silence stretches on and on, and it’s comfortable because this is Morganna moving on. I feel it. She’s taking pieces of him and locking him away in the part of her heart that will always belong to him.
She tightens her grip and says, “You should go home now. Enough time has passed.” I shake my head. I’m swamped, can you bring me some dinner? My ass.
“I should have known you didn’t want to hang out with me. What did he do now?” I ask. I turn my head toward her. She’s still staring up, lost in thought. She looks at me, tears rolling off her nose.
“I always want to hang out with you, but I have no idea. Only that I needed to thwart you for a little while so he could perform another step of his master plan.” She walks me to the door and down the hall. I ask her if she knows what the last step of his grand plan is, but she just smiles. I’d shake her if I didn’t feel so sorry for.
I remind her of the time her college ex-boyfriend wanted to take her to a farm for a date. It was her worst date ever. That was a surprise. She isn’t budging, though—insisting I need to go along for the ride. Phillipe is waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs. He’s holding out the pair of Morg’s shoes.
“Clean up your mess, you hag. My boyfriend will be here in ten minutes. So, you may want to put on some pants,” he says, eyes roving her nearly naked body. “And maybe a bra while your at it.” Morganna laughs, snatching her shoes.
“I’ll just put these on and call myself proper,” she jokes, dangling the designer heels off her fingertips. Phillipe shakes his head. That exchange just took place. What. The. Hell. I look wide-eyed to my friend. She throws her arms out to the side. “What? He’s off the clock at five. The rest of the time he’s just my friend. I hate being here alone.”
I would, too. It’s big. But the Morganna transformation just took on a new, unexpected facet. She’s changing more than I can comprehend. I throw on my own shoes and walk to the door.
“Don’t be scared, Windsor,” Morganna says—standing in the middle of the marble foyer, in her underwear. The shoes she’s clutching are the only remnants of the old Morganna—her old life. “Let him love you. It’s worth it every time. No matter what happens. They never make the same mistake twice.” Her tone is pleading. Like her life hangs in the balance. My heart pounds out at a frenetic pace for Morganna…and her loss.
I tell her I won’t be scared and that I’ll do everything she says. Not because I’ll actually do it, but because the sight of her right now, holding those shoes, is enough to spike the air with loss…and I don’t want any part of it. I’d say anything to get away.
When I slide behind my steering wheel, I just sit there a couple of minutes calculating everything that could go wrong…or right if I do this. I slip my hand into the side of my briefcase and pull out the envelope. Clicking on the overhead light, I flip the smooth paper over a few times and watch my name written in tiny block letters appear and disappear. I tear it open because I just want to get it over with. I can do this. I want to read this. The only thing that’s kept me from it before is fear. I unfold the top flap and then the bottom. My throat constricts when my gaze lands on certain words. I read it.
Windsor,
From the very second I looked at you, I knew you were different. Not just because you were the hottest fucking woman on the planet, but because of what you made me feel without even trying. I never thought to ask for more out of life other than what I was already given. Asking for the perfect woman was out of the question. I mean how much luck can one man have? But there you were, like a freight train with a heart of gold and a body made for speed. I wanted you. There was a difference between you and every other woman I’ve been attracted to. I wanted you to want me back.
Initially I thought you’d be this unobtainable goal, but then I realized you weren’t unobtainable…not really. My brain just labeled you that way because it saw the fucking DANGER signs posted around you. “Slippery slope. Will fall into fucking oblivion.” Or something like that. I never listen to fucking warnings. Maybe I should have and perhaps you wouldn’t be reading a grave letter right now. I don’t regret going after you, Windsor. You’re the best detour my life has ever taken. You are merely the best thing. That’s an all-encompassing statement.
I can’t write you this letter like I’m already gone, because I’m not. I’m still thinking of you and picturing you in my mind and living my life one day at a time to get back to you. To hold you. To kiss you. To love you. So while I may be dead as a doornail when you read this, I sure as shit wasn’t when I wrote it. I can still feel your lips on mine. I know what my name coming out of your mouth does to me. I’m aware that I’ve left the likes of the Hope Diamond out for the taking. Maybe it’s naïve to think because I love you so much no one else will touch you. Maybe not. You give me hope in a fucked up world.
I want to give you everything in life. Everything and more because that’s what you deserve, Win. Not just material possessions either. I know that shit doesn’t mean anything to you. I want to give you laughter that never ends, understanding, acceptance, gratitude for taking a chance on the wild card, love…oh, boy do I want to give you that. I’m not sure that I know how to love you properly. All I know is that you have all of my love and somehow it grows each and every day. It fills me up until only you consume me. Things have consumed me before….my career and the rush of a fast-paced lifestyle, the glory of being a SEAL, but Windsor consumption can’t be compared to anything else.
It’s not going to be me to give you those things, because I’m gone. My chest aches thinking about it. Heartache beyond death is possible. It’s right here—In these words. Fall in love and don’t be afraid of anything. Life is too short to calculate everything. Don’t settle for anything less than perfect love. The person might lack certain things, or be some crazy asshole, but if the love is perfect that’s what matters. Everything else is just white noise in the background, lulling along the emotions. Sometimes you just have to leap without looking first. Take a chance, Win. Always. Always. Always take the fucking chance.
I will love you forever and then some. It’s your hand over my heart, not mine. I won’t break rules and say goodbye. I’ll say live like goodbyes don’t even exist.
T.H.