Birdy, RHODES—Let It All Go
Pentatonix—Say Something
Mo—Unsteady
My jaw clenches and I grip the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white as the leather creaks from my grip before I come to a stop. My eyes narrow at the red light that shines bright, willing it to change so that I can get the kids to their art class and be out of there as soon as possible.
I haven’t spoken to Harmony since Sunday; since the hospital.
What I said may have been harsh, but she wouldn’t understand how that set me off. How it brought back so many memories. Memories that I don’t want to have to relive.
Natalia’s face and Harmony’s are blurring together; flashbacks twirling together and playing in my mind like a movie trailer. My eyes burn from lack of sleep and my head hurts from not being able to relax.
It’s taking a toll on me, and I don’t know whether it’s because I ran—again—or whether it’s my body and brain’s way of telling me that maybe Harmony and I aren’t meant to be.
Maybe what we had should stay in the past? Maybe that’s all we’re ever going to be?
The whole weekend feels like it went to crap, and I honestly don’t know what to do, how to act or what to say about it all.
I shake my head at myself, taking a deep breath and pressing my foot down on the gas pedal when the lights change to green.
“Daddy?”
Izzie’s small voice wraps around me and I wait a beat before answering her. “Yeah, pumpkin?”
I flick my gaze to the rearview mirror, watching as she turns to Clay and whispers, “You ask.”
Clay rolls his eyes, puffing out a breath and I turn my gaze back out of the window. Neither of them say anything for several moments. The silence in the car becomes deafening and I can’t stand it a moment longer.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my brows coming down on my forehead as I frown.
“Are you okay, Dad?” Clay asks, his voice sounding so much more mature than the eight-year-old that he is.
“Me? Yeah, I’m fine.” I plaster a smile on my face, showing my teeth as I move my eyes back to the mirror.
Izzie smiles and nods before turning around and facing the side window, counting the trees out loud as we pass them and getting to thirty-six before she stumbles on her counting.
Clay on the other hand, he doesn’t look convinced, but I know that he won’t say anything in front of Izzie. He’s protective of her, he keeps quiet so that she’s none the wiser, and however sad that is, right now I’m grateful for his conscious effort of protecting his sister in that way.
I take a left turn onto the road that Harmony’s studio is on and my breath stutters in my chest.
It’s been six days; six days since I last saw her smiling face; six days since I last saw the light that shines in her eyes when she looks at me.
Several times I’ve wanted to run back to her and tell her that I’m sorry—again—and that I shouldn’t have been so harsh toward her. But then her words ring loud in my head on repeat “You need to stop running. You can’t keep doing this every time something reminds you of her.”
How could she say that? How could she think that I can switch it off so easily? There will always be things that remind me of Natalia: I have two beautiful children that are a daily reminder of her, I look into the same eyes that she had every time I meet Izzie’s gaze.
She doesn’t understand. She never will. The blood, her face, all of the shouting to try and save her; and then there was the newborn baby that I held in my arms that suddenly needed me.
My breath catches in my throat as I pull into the first open parking space, turning the engine off and closing my eyes as I try to gather myself. I’m not ready for this: not ready to see her and talk to her.
My head and heart are at war, and right now my head is winning without a doubt, but there’s not a thing that I can do to change it.
“Dad?”
I nod when Clay calls my name, knowing that he’s asking more than that one word.
Pushing out of the car, I open Clay’s door and get him out safely before walking around to Izzie’s side and catching her as she jumps out of the open door.
“You’re so good at catching, Daddy!”
“Thanks.” I laugh and tickle her as we walk up the path toward the doors, my breaths becoming short bursts. But I don’t let it show, I put the mask on that I’ve been so good at wearing this last decade and shut off all of my emotions. I’d rather feel nothing at all than everything.
I pull open the door, setting Izzie down as soon as we step inside. My gaze flits around the studio as the atmosphere wraps around me; comforting me but putting me on edge all at the same time. I don’t deserve to feel that way: not now, not ever.
“Have a good session,” I tell Izzie, giving her a cuddle and kissing the top of her head before she skips off into the main part of the studio.
I turn back to face Clay, about to tell him the same but he shakes his head and tilts it toward the door, signaling that he wants to talk. I frown, confused by his actions but shrug and follow him back out of the door.
“Dad?” He huffs. “I know that you’re not okay.”
“I—” I plant my hands on my hips, blowing out a breath before crouching down in front of him. “Sometimes things happen when you’re an adult, sad things that you need time to process.”
His face screws up. “When I talk to Leonie, she makes me feel better. Maybe you should talk to her too?”
I smile warmly at his concern. “I need some time to think, that’s all, buddy.”
“But…” He looks behind me, his eyes widening at something before he continues. “Why are you sad? Is it the painting of Mom and Izzie? Because I love it.”
“No, son.” I pull him against my chest, wrapping my arms around him as I breathe him in. “It’s not that and it’ll never be anything about you or Izzie. You don’t need to worry about me.” I pull away, framing his face with my hands. “I’m the adult, you’re the child. It’s not your job to worry. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
He stares at me for several seconds, his gray eyes that reflect mine filling with relief before he dives at me and wraps his hands around my neck, squeezing tightly and then letting go before he walks back through the door. I follow him back inside and watch as he walks over to where Izzie is sitting, already drawing a picture.
“Tristan?” Harmony’s voice has my back straightening, my nostrils flaring and my hands clenching into fists.
I know that I should turn and look at her, talk to her and say something—anything—but I can’t; I can’t bring myself to do it. I shake my head, turning around and opening the door. Maybe she is right, maybe running is what I do best? But right now, I’d run a thousand miles to rid myself of the turmoil that I’m feeling inside.
It’s been thirteen days since he walked out on me in the hospital and six since he ignored me in my own studio while dropping off the kids. My heart aches, my emotions are frazzled, and I’m struggling to stay above water. Why I’ve let him do this to me again, I don’t know. No, I do. I love him, I always have and I always will.
I suck in a deep breath as the bell above the studio door rings and someone calls out “hello” into the space. I paste a smile on my face and walk out of my office, greeting the first two adult art class attendees.
I’m not fully present though. I pour each one a glass of wine and even though I normally don’t drink in these classes, I pour one for myself too, drinking a few gulps before topping up my glass to take the edge off and allowing myself to relax.
My senses are on high alert as we sit around, waiting for the next arrivals. Every time the bell rings, my head snaps toward the door, a lump in my throat forming at the thought that it could be him.
Through the pain of him not being able to work through his past with me instead of against me, I smile as I remember the first time that he came to the adult art class. I was so mad at him.
I snap myself out of my memories and clap my hands, ready to start the class, not wishing to dwell on it any longer when I have work to do.
I immerse myself in the colors of the paint and the stroke of the brush, joining in with the idle chitchat from all of my clients. I should be teaching them something in the grand scheme of things, but tonight I can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve had a few glasses of wine and I can feel the light buzz they’ve given me, making my thoughts a little wiry.
After the class is finished, I don’t bother to clean away everything from the night like I normally would. Instead, I stomp my way up the stairs to my personal studio and put a new canvas on the easel in the place of the portrait of “Baby F”—or Frankie as I’ve secretly named him.
I’m lost in the painting for a second and my finger brushes down the surface of the canvas over his cheek, but it’s not the same, it’s rough. Nothing like the soft skin of the real Frankie.
I swallow and place it on the bench in the middle of the room and walk back over to the easel, determined to channel all of my emotions and put them to good use. I pick up the paintbrush that’s ready and waiting for me and squirt a palette with a few splodges of paint.
My hand stills in front of the canvas. For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to paint.
The paintbrush drops from my hands and I stare at the blank canvas in front of me, feeling the anger about the whole situation with Tristan and me bubble up all over again.
Taking him to the hospital and sharing the innermost part of myself was a way of trying to make up for not talking to him about Izzie’s birthday painting; an olive branch of sorts so that he didn’t feel like he was the only one that ever felt like they were drowning. I wanted to work through all of our trials and tribulations together, as a team. But he’s shut down on me.
I don’t know why I was waiting for him to walk through the door. He ran away once, and ever since we started to see where this went, he’s done it time and time again. I understand that he’s been through a lot, but so have I. I guess wanting him to turn up was wishful thinking; wishful thinking that will only drag me under like it did all those years ago when he left me the first time.
“Tristan, where are you taking me?” I giggle as he guides me by my hands out of the car and my feet hit gravel.
“It’s a surprise,” he answers, his hands pulling me farther out and I hear the sound of the door shut behind me.
“No fair.” I pout but I can’t help the grin from spreading across my lips. “Can I at least take the blindfold off?”
“Not yet.” He chuckles and the sound of his laughter has goose bumps prickling my skin. There’s always been something about the sound of his laugh that I love; the way it’s so carefree but deep, the baritone rumbling through him.
“Fine.” I feel the terrain underneath my feet change from gravel to soft grass and I smile because I instantly know where we are, but I don’t say anything as I don’t want to spoil the surprise.
We walk a little farther, trusting him to lead me and keep me from falling down any rabbit holes that could be scattered around. I can feel the sun beating down on my face, warming my skin, and the slight breeze that lifts my hair so it tickles my shoulders. With the blindfold on, all my senses are heightened, so when Tris stops and brushes his fingers lightly over my shoulders, I shiver.
“I’m going to take it off now,” he whispers in my ear.
I feel his hands come up behind my head as he undoes the blindfold, and I shield my eyes as the sun blinds me for a moment before I blink a few times to get my eyes to adjust. As soon as they do, the handsome image of my long-term boyfriend comes into view. He still makes the butterflies flutter in my stomach and my mouth go dry whenever I look at him, and I can’t imagine a day that that will ever be different.
He smiles at me but it looks a little strained, or perhaps I’m reading him wrong because it changes into a wide grin as he steps aside and reveals a blanket scattered with assorted foods and a bottle of champagne.
“What… When did you have time to do this? We were together all night.”
“I’m afraid I can’t reveal my sources.” He smirks and I shake my head at him, a smile pulling at the corners of my lips at the sight of it in front of our tree.
From the first time we found this tree, we dubbed it ours. The branches of the willow dance as the wind catches them, swaying gently and causing shadows to form on the grass below. The wind starts to pick up and the sun is hidden by a few gray clouds that roll in. He walks backward as he pulls me toward the picnic at the base of the tree and takes off his lightweight jacket, wrapping it around my shoulders.
“I wanted an afternoon, just you and me at our tree.”
I smile gratefully at him. “Looking for brownie points, huh? What did you do?” My question is a joke but he flinches and looks away, making me second guess myself. “Tris? Is everything okay?”
“I… Yeah.” He doesn’t sound so convinced as he turns his gaze back to me, his eyes shining with something that I haven’t seen before. Is that regret? Why—I don’t— “Come on.” He smiles wide again, crouching down and picking up the bottle of champagne. “Let’s get this baby opened.”
I hesitate, wondering if I imagined the strange look in his eyes because the smile on his face is one I’m so used to. I paste a smile on my face and smooth down my yellow summer dress, sitting down next to him and taking the glass he offers me.
He holds his out in a cheers and I clink my glass against his. “What are we celebrating?”
“Us.” He doesn’t say another word for several seconds, making me squirm. “We’re celebrating us,” he says, his voice a mere whisper now.
The smile on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes—a telltale sign that something is most definitely wrong—but I don’t question him. He’ll tell me when he’s ready; we’ve always been honest with each other.
“To us.” I raise my glass before taking a sip, the bubbles fizzing up my nose. I cough and he laughs, handing me a napkin. “Thanks.”
He leans back, putting his hands behind him, causing his biceps to ripple with the movement, and I can’t tear my gaze away from him. From the first moment I saw him, I thought he was a pompous rich boy; another entitled person that would take what he could from this world without working for a thing. But he isn’t that person at all, he’s far from it.
“Do you remember the first time we met?” he asks, almost as if he can read my thoughts.
I raise a brow at him, a smirk lifting one side of my lips. “How could I forget? I practically painted you the color of a rainbow when I tripped and my paints went everywhere. You weren’t happy.” I laugh at the memory.
His eyes widen and his face becomes animated. “But I was a sexy rainbow.” He smirks.
“That you were.” I sweep my eyes over his angular face and down his muscular arms. “What changed?”
“Hey!” He moves so fast that I don’t have the chance to get away before he’s on me, pushing me down and pinning my hands above my head on the blanket. My breath catches in my throat as he stares down at me, his gaze intense as it flits between my eyes and my lips.
My lips part as he moves closer, pressing his to mine in a sweet but gentle kiss. He pulls back slightly, staring down at me—searching for something—so I push my head closer, wanting more, but he pulls back, moving off me suddenly.
He sits next to me with his knees pulled up, his forearms hanging over them as he looks down between his legs.
I sit up, the jacket slipping from my shoulders and I stare ahead into the gray sky. “Something’s bothering you, you can’t hide it from me. I know you wanted this to be a nice afternoon but… you’re kinda harshing my vibe.” I try to joke but he doesn’t smile or glance my way.
“I…” He huffs out a breath, picking up his champagne glass and downing the fizzy drink. “I wanted us to have a fun afternoon, just you and me, being together.”
“And here we are on an afternoon together. So, what’s wrong?”
He shakes his head, jumping up and pacing in front of me. I watch him walk back and forth as he mumbles something to himself, his hands clenched at his sides. “Why?” He keeps repeating that word over and over again.
“Tristan, you’re starting to scare me now. Come sit down and eat, someone put a lot of effort into all of this.” I pop a strawberry into my mouth, the sweetness of its juices making me smile. But it doesn’t ease the bad feeling I have creeping into every part of me.
“No.” His voice is low, but the tone is thunderous and it has my head springing up to face him. His eyes mist over and he closes them.
When he opens them back up, I almost gasp at the look he gives me. The gentleness to his eyes that he’s always had is gone, and in its place is something that I don’t recognize, or like.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“I… What do you mean?” I stand up, trying to touch his arm but he tears it away from me violently.
“Don’t touch me.” He steps away, pulling his shoulders back and narrowing his eyes at me. “I don’t want this.” He points between us. “I’ve never wanted this.”
The blow he delivers feels physical and I stumble slightly until I recover myself, realizing the fact that he won’t even look at me. “Where’s this coming from?” He shakes his head and looks at our tree. “You’re a liar.”
Drops of water land on my face as I stare at him, the dark rolling clouds coming in fast, reflecting my mood.
“I am.” He shrugs. “I’m a liar because I told you that I loved you, when I don’t.”
“You’re a shitty liar, you always have been.” I try to keep my emotions under control as I ask, “Why are you doing this me… to us?”
“I’m not doing anything. I’m fed up of playing this game with you and decided to be honest for once.” He looks away, not a drop of emotion on his face as he pulls out his cellphone, typing away, the clicking of the buttons echoing around us.
The rain gets heavier, blasting down on my skin with so much force that I wince.
“Honest? You wanna talk about honesty? How about you tell me what’s really going on.”
He doesn’t look up as he says, “I told you, I don’t—”
I cut him off. “Look at me!” He shakes his head slightly and I feel the rage running through my veins. “Look at me when you’re trying to break my heart!”
My chest heaves as hot, angry tears flow down my face, mixing in with the rain. Why is he doing this to me? Everything was perfect.
He looks up, throwing his cellphone down onto the grass and storming toward me. His large hands enclosing around my face. “Is this what you want! Huh?” Drops of water slide from his hair and down his face, his eyelashes sticking together as he stares at me with that same blank look.
I try to shake my head but I can’t move because his grip on me is so tight that it feels like he’s trying to hold onto what we have.
“No, this isn’t what I want. And I don’t think it’s what you want either.” My gaze flits between his eyes, searching for a break in his facade. “What I want is for you to take back every shitty thing you’ve said. Tell me you’re not doing this to us.”
His grip tightens momentarily before he lets me go, making me sway backward. I try to catch my balance but I lose my fight and fall, my ass hitting the wet grass. “I’m sick and tired of being a liar. I’m doing this because I’ve had my fun and it’s getting boring. I don’t want this… I don’t want you.”
I open my mouth to say something but he takes a step forward. “People like you don’t deserve to be with people like me. Go back to your side of the tracks. You don’t belong here. You don’t fit into my life now. You were a bit of fun while I was in college.” He shrugs, the emotionless way he says it making it hard to catch my breath. “But now it’s time for me to live in the real world... a world where you and I don’t exist.”
My hand flies to my chest, trying to hold myself together as my sobs grow almost animalistic. He takes one last look at me before he starts to walk away. “Tris…” I reach out for him but he doesn’t turn around, continuing toward his car. “Tristan!”
“We’re done!” he shouts back to me, opening his car door and not looking back as he gets inside, the rain pelting down with so much force that it’s hard to see. I hear the engine of his car roar to life before he drives away, taking my heart with him.
The memory subsides and I slowly come back to the present. I realize that I’m sitting on the floor with my back against the wall, tears streaming down my face. I used to be such a strong, happy-go-lucky person. That was until that day.
After he left me there, I tried to contact him. I tried to message, I tried to call… I tried everything. But he never once answered any of them and I wasn’t allowed into his parents gated house.
I tried to contact Nathan and Natalia, but I guess now I know why they wouldn’t talk to me too. I don’t blame them, they were his friends before mine, they all grew up together. At the time, I felt like I was being punished for being so happy. How can we go from a night of passion and fun, to him throwing me away like I was nothing? But I obviously didn’t learn, because here I am letting him do it all over again.
I wipe the tears from my face and stand up, racing down the stairs to get to my cellphone before I can change my mind. I won’t be the way I was after he left me the first time; I don’t think I’d survive going through all that again. I need an explanation. I’m not letting it go without a bigger fight this time.
I press call on his contact number and wait, the ringing on the other end making my stomach churn. Come on, be a man, Tristan. Pick up.
When it runs to voicemail, I pluck up the courage to leave a message, even though in my frenzied state I know it won’t make any sense.
“How could you leave me like that with no explanation? We were good for each other—no—we were great. Our relationship was envied by everyone around us.” I take several deep breaths. “What happened, Tristan? What did I do so wrong that made you toss me to the side like I didn’t mean anything to you?” I sob, the heart-wrenching sound echoing in my small office. “You chose her. You chose her over me and that breaks my heart. I can’t feel anymore sorrow toward you and your beautiful kids than I already do, but it still hurts that you chose her.” I know my time will be up soon so I hurry my speech along. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that... I’m done. I can’t be that person that’s so easy for you to throw away. I’m not dispensable, Tris, and it’s time I realized that. But… please still bring the kids to art class, I don’t know if I could stand not—” The beep cuts me off and I slam my cellphone down on the top of my desk, sliding into my chair and hanging my head in my hands.