Chapter Ten
I had no idea what I believed anymore or where I stood. A door had been opened, a line crossed, and I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. I knew I’d let it happen, had been a partner to it, had even pushed for it. How easy it would have been to call my mother or my older sister when Matthew’s phone had gone to voicemail.
But no, I’d called Christian.
In the time it had taken him to drive to our house, I’d agonized over that decision, what kind of mistake I was making, and its ultimate effect on my daughter. Did I still believe he would harm her?
Then when he’d knelt before her, his worry and tenderness enough to engulf us both, enough to chase away my baby’s fears and assuage the panic pounding against my chest, I’d thought, No. He never would.
It wasn’t difficult to trace it back to its origin, to the moment I’d sat beside Claire and she’d made me question everything I’d held onto for so long, everything I thought I understood.
I shook my head and tried to focus on work, only to tense when a too intimate hand ran down my upper arm and rested on the small of my back. “Hey, Elizabeth, Anita asked me to finish up for her today. Do you need any help with anything?” Scott leaned over my shoulder and looked at my computer screen. He was so close I could feel his breath against my neck.
I shrank forward, the movement minute. With mouse in hand, I clicked through the daily closing procedures, brought up my reports for the day, and pressed print. “I’m just finishing up here.” I handed him the small stack of papers, ending drawer, and key. “Here you go.”
Scott was my friend, and I smiled at him in a way to indicate that was the only thing he was. His green eyes glimmered with misunderstanding. He’d been bold of late, his touch no longer a hint of desire, but overt want. He examined the documents for what seemed like minutes when it should have only taken seconds—stalling.
Shifting my feet, I tried to remain patient under his scrutiny of both my work and my body while he stood inappropriately close. All I wanted to do was rush out, grab my phone, dial Natalie, and ask her how the day had gone.
Today had been Christian’s first day to pick Lizzie up from school.
“Looks good, Elizabeth,” Scott said as he nodded and took a step back, still lingering.
“Great.” I glanced around, hoping for an easy escape.
“So, uh . . .” He looked back at the papers in his hands before looking back at me. “Do you have any plans Friday night?”
I grimaced, wishing he would stop continually putting me in this position, the one where I had to let him down. He was starting to make things uncomfortable between us.
“Scott . . .” I sighed and looked away, pushing my bangs from my face in exasperation.
“Elizabeth,” he pled low as a whisper. “I’m tired of waiting.” His dipped his eyes, searched my face. “Please, just . . . try.”
“I can’t.”
His voice raised a fraction in frustration. “Why not?”
“Please, Scott, you’re my friend.” Don’t ruin that, I wanted to beg.
He stepped back and huffed before he turned and left me staring at his back as he stalked away and into the break room.
I placed my hands flat against my counter, sighed, and flipped off my computer monitor while I wondered why I couldn’t force myself to say yes. It was just dinner. Why did it have to be such a big deal?
In the break room, I gathered my things from my locker and powered my phone, anxious to be in the privacy of my car so I could make the call. Tension filled the room, radiating from Scott as he trained his attention ahead, brooding as he refused to look my way. Selina offered a small understanding smile, a sympathetic shrug.
“Night everyone,” I called as I slung my purse over my shoulder and rushed from the room, through the lobby, and out into the cool evening air, the sky gray with overcast. I breathed it in and wondered when things had become so complicated. Walking along the side of the building, I studied my feet, counted my steps, and tried not to think of Christian and his pain that had echoed through my house, called to me, almost caused me to cave.
It was pointless. He pursued me in my thoughts and dreams—waited against my car.
I froze when I saw him, a deep ache stirring in my stomach.
He leaned against my trunk, slouched with his hands deep in the pockets of his dark gray suit, his focus intent on the spot where he dug the toe of his shoe into a small divot in the pavement.
“Christian?” I called, startling him, and his anxious face whipped up to meet mine.
In two seconds, I crossed the lot and stopped a foot away from him. “What’s going on?” My first thought had been worry for my daughter but knew I would have heard from Natalie had something been wrong.
Christian sat up taller, crossed his arms over his chest, and jerked a hand through his hair as he bounced in agitation. His demeanor caused the ache in my stomach to swell, transform, and rise in apprehension. The doll he’d given Lizzie lay beside him on the trunk of my car, and he picked it up and handed it to me. “Lizzie left this in my car today. I thought she might miss it.” He feigned calm, though the tight creases at the corners of his eyes served to belie it.
I studied the toy with narrowed eyes as if it held some sort of answer. I looked back at him. “Christian?” It was obvious the doll had nothing to do with the reason he sat against my car.
He groaned and ran his hand through his hair again, the movement causing it to fall in his face.
“I had a fight with my dad.” He quaked as he spoke the words, appearing as if his world had been rocked, shattered.
I shook my head, trying to process why this seemed so pivotal.
“I quit,” he clarified with a tight nod as if he were trying to convince himself that his action had been the correct one.
He quit.
Tears sprang to my eyes and I stepped away. “You’re leaving?” slipped from my mouth, slow and hurt, more an accusation than a question.
I couldn’t believe he would do this, not after everything, after I’d welcomed him into my home. I was such a fool.
Christian appeared confused, which then bled into the same sadness he’d watched me with for the last three months. “God, no, Elizabeth. Of course not.” That sadness thickened as he watched me come to comprehension, watched me wipe away tears of perpetual distrust and then the ones that followed that fell with the relief that he was staying.
“I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes shone deep with the promise, intense as they seemed to search mine for understanding—for acceptance.
I bowed my head and closed my eyes as I clutched Lizzie’s doll to my chest. Would there ever be a day when I would believe, when I’d stop waiting for him to leave?
I lifted my face to find his. “I’m sorry, Christian.”
I regretted my assumption, my knee-jerk reaction, and wished I could take it back and put the focus back on him. Once I finally stopped thinking about myself, I realized he’d come here for a reason. He needed support and comfort as he confided in me that he’d quit his job.
Since the day I’d met Christian, I’d known that working for his father had been what he’d strived for, what had pushed him further, made him work to be the best. While I never agreed with the reasons behind it, I knew how important it was to him.
And now he’d walked away.
I felt like a complete jerk.
Christian cringed with my apology, blowing air through his nose while he shook his head. “Don’t apologize to me, Elizabeth,” he commanded softly as he looked back at me in what appeared complete understanding, his grievance only with himself.
Taking an unsure step forward, I looked up at him under his partially bowed head. He had slunk further down against my car, his hands shoved even deeper in his pockets as he kicked at small pebbles with his shoe.
“Are you okay?” I asked carefully, searching his face.
Frowning, Christian pursed his lips as if he were asking himself the same question.
Finally he shrugged and offered a feeble, “I guess,” though it was clear he didn’t believe it any more than I did.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Richard Davison was probably the least kind, most difficult person I’d ever encountered in my life, but Christian had always just dealt with it. I couldn’t imagine what would cause him to throw it all away now.
A fiery anger flashed across Christian’s face as he held his jaw rigid. “No, I think I’ll spare you those details.” He released a heavy breath, slumped his shoulders and he stared at his feet. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I’ve spent my entire life working toward a place in my father’s firm, and now . . .” He looked up at me, lost.
I wrestled back the urge to comfort him, to bestride his legs crossed at the ankles in front of him, to wrap my arms around his neck, and to promise him it would be okay.
Instead, I shuffled a little closer and tapped the side of his shoe with the tip of mine. “Hey,” I urged softly, “You’ll figure it out. It’s going to be okay.”
He glanced down at our feet and then back at me with a frown still marring his mouth. “I’ll never make as much working in another firm as I was for my father.” He looked at me as if he were waiting for my reaction, how I felt about this news.
“Is money really that important to you?” The question came out low, probing, as if his answer meant everything—as if it would somehow change something inside of me.
Because almost six years ago, his answer had been yes.
He shook his head, so slow, the movement filled with comprehension of the root of my question. “No, Elizabeth . . . not anymore. I just need you to know things might be different now.”
Once again, Christian blurred the lines of who we were as my mind finally caught up to why he was here, where his concern laid.
He wanted my approval as if we were a family and there was a family decision to be made.
The step I took back was slight, almost imperceptible, but enough to place some distance between us before I completely lost myself in this man. I swallowed down some of the emotion, desperate to lighten Christian’s distress and at the same time desperate to distract myself from the need I felt to reach out and comfort him.
“Are you asking me for a loan, Christian?” It came out rough, ill timed, though I couldn’t help but giggle over how ridiculous my attempt at cheering him up sounded.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he chuckled through his nose. “You never know, Elizabeth, you never know.” A full smile broke through as he looked up at me, his expression relieved. “Thank you.”
I smiled back at him softly, it becoming harder and harder to hide the love I’d kept for him for so long. I chewed on my bottom lip and nodded, wishing I could offer him something more than another exhausted goodnight, Christian.
“Goodnight, Elizabeth,” he whispered, his eyes warm as he stood up. He reached out in a small wave before he turned and got into his car parked next to mine.
I couldn’t move as I watched him go.
“That’s the reason you won’t say yes?” I jumped when the harsh, hurt voice hit my ears. I twisted to look over my shoulder to find Scott standing near the wall of the building, shaking his head in injured disappointment. “You’re taking that asshole back, aren’t you, Elizabeth? After everything he’s done to you?”
I gaped at Scott, his face flushed with anger and disbelief. I swallowed down my urge to defend Christian, remembering how many times I’d maligned Christian as I’d cried on Scott’s shoulder. Did I really expect him to think well of Christian now?
“No.” I shook my head, quick to counter Scott’s assertion. I knew what it must have looked like to him—what it had felt like to me.
“No,” I said again to convince both Scott and myself. I wasn’t taking Christian back. I couldn’t. He’d caused me too much hurt, and I’d never survive another broken heart like that.
“No?” Scott asked, his tone skeptical, challenging, “Then have dinner with me.” He pushed away from the wall and stepped forward. His voice lost its bite as he implored, “Just once, Elizabeth. If you don’t enjoy yourself, then I promise I’ll never ask again.”
I wanted to tell him to go to hell, to ask him how he thought he had the right to manipulate me this way.
Instead, I gave in. I persuaded myself that it was only dinner, that it wasn’t that big of a deal, that there could never be anything between Christian and me again—and I told Scott yes.
~
The full-length mirror in the corner of my bedroom mocked my stupidity as I stood before it smoothing out the white blouse and black skirt that fell just above my knees. I was anxious, agitated. My thick, blond waves had been transformed into a mound of curls, my eyes lined and lashes coated, and a thick sheen of clear gloss was smeared across my lips.
“You look pretty, Mommy,” Lizzie said. She sat with her legs crisscrossed on my bed and grinned while she watched me get ready.
I smiled halfheartedly back at her through the mirror and slipped my feet into a pair of black pumps, fighting off another wave of guilt.
As the last three days had passed, realization had slowly seeped in, acceptance of the real reason I’d agreed to this date. For two years, I’d been successful at dodging Scott’s affections, at putting him off, and in one weak moment at Christian’s feet, I’d panicked. I’d felt the need to prove to myself that I was stronger than the surging emotions I felt for Christian, stronger than the need for him that was threatening to boil over.
Now I readied myself for a date I didn’t want to go on—prepared myself to lead on a man who’d only ever cared for me and been my friend.
The doorbell rang. Lizzie jumped from my bed and flew downstairs in anticipation of her father.
I grabbed a light jacket and my purse, my hands shaking as I shrugged the coat onto my shoulders. Ill at ease, I sighed and glanced one last time in the mirror before forcing myself to leave my room.
Hovering at the top of the stairs, I watched Christian kneeling in the foyer with our daughter in his arms, his face buried in her hair. For the first time on a Friday evening, he was not wearing a suit but rather jeans and a T-shirt, a stark reminder of his choice to leave his father’s firm just days before.
Taking a shuddering breath, I descended the stairs, tentative and slow, as if my subconscious believed if I were quiet enough, I’d go unnoticed, my compulsive, irrational actions overlooked and unseen.
Of course, Christian looked my direction. His face spread into a timid smile, his eyes appraising as he took in my appearance. “Hey, Elizabeth.”
“Hi.” I held onto the banister, reticent to take another step. I felt so exposed, as if he could see right through me and decipher my intentions.
“You look really nice.” His face flushed with the compliment, self-conscious, but he pressed on. “Are you going out?”
Maybe he could.
Swallowing, I nodded and took the last step onto the tiled foyer, my mind working for a way to explain myself, a way to justify what I was getting ready to do. Another part of me insisted I didn’t need to give him an account of myself, but somehow tonight that line of reasoning felt wrong.
Before I could answer him, there was a light tapping on the front door that sat only partially closed. Scott peeked through the crack, pushing the door the rest of the way open with a small bouquet of handpicked flowers in his hand.
“Hey,” Scott said almost breathless when he realized what he’d just walked in on.
While I felt Scott surveying the room, wary of its occupants and the distinct tension that had just set in the air, I couldn’t even look at him.
My attention was on Christian. His face paled when recognition dawned, and his eyes flashed to mine, grieved, and then fell to the floor. His hands shook as he stooped in front of Lizzie and helped her into her thin coat.
“You ready, sweetheart?” he murmured to her as he used both hands to free her long hair that was trapped inside her jacket, his tenderness for our daughter unaltered in his distress.
It was clear Lizzie was not immune to the intensity of the room, of the sadness in the quiet of her father’s voice, or my discomfort for causing the whole situation. Her focus darted between her father and me, her worry salient.
I took a step forward and placed a hand on her shoulder as I leaned down to her. “You have a great time with your daddy tonight, Lizzie. I’ll be home before you are.” My words were meant as a reassurance for them both, an attempt to pacify my daughter’s concern and a promise to Christian that I would be back.
“Okay, Momma.” Lizzie took her father’s waiting hand, and he led her out without a parting word. Christian paused for a passing second when he encountered the smug demeanor Scott wore. Every slanderous word I’d said against Christian played across Scott’s face, a gauntlet thrown. It was as if Christian watched it fall to the ground, an unreciprocated provocation, unarmed for battle, his feet treading my sidewalk in surrender.
The heavy breath I released was not in relief the way Scott interpreted it.
“You’re not kidding,” Scott said as he stepped through the threshold. His expression was sympathetic as if he felt bad for me. “That was really . . . uncomfortable. You’re a saint for putting up with all of that.” He waved toward the sidewalk in the direction Christian and Lizzie had just departed, as if he understood everything, how I felt, how hard it was to watch my daughter leave with the man I loved every Friday night and act as if it didn’t affect me.
His assumptions roused a spark of bitterness, an irritation with him for goading me into this date. But I knew I couldn’t blame him for this. This was my mistake. Yes, he’d badgered me into it, pestered me until I’d given in, but that was only because I’d never been clear with him. So many times I’d told him we could only be friends, though my reasoning had come weak, given with a false hope that maybe in the future I’d be ready, even though I’d known I’d never be. I’d just never wanted to hurt my friend’s feelings.
Scott handed me the small bundle of purple, pink, and white flowers, which I thanked him for and took to the kitchen to place in a vase of water. I used that moment to regroup, to remind myself that it was only dinner. It was only dinner.
By the time I’d placed the vase in the center of the table and locked the door, Christian was about to get into his car, having already buckled Lizzie in the back. This time his eyes didn’t fall. They burned into me, blue anguish following me to the curb where Scott was parked on the street, unwavering as Scott settled me into the passenger seat of his black sedan.
Did this hurt him as much as he’d hurt me? Could he feel anything close to the devastation I’d felt the night he’d thrown me from his apartment? His expression told me yes, at least some of it.
I found no satisfaction in it, no triumph in his misery. Instead, I wanted to call out to him that I was sorry.
“Ready?” Scott asked as he dropped into his seat and started his car.
Forcing a smile, I lied with a nod, hating the person I’d become.
~
I ran upstairs, rushed through the buttons of my blouse, the zipper on my skirt, and kicked out of my heels, trying to shake off my guilt.
It didn’t work.
I was a terrible person, plain and simple.
I’d used my friend.
Digging through my dresser, I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Aggressively, I pulled a brush through my head full of product and ironed in curls and twisted my hair into a loose ponytail, wishing the action could somehow erase every memory of this night.
Scott had been so eager, excited even. He seemed sure I’d finally crossed that bridge and I would be his at last. It had been there in his eyes, in the way they gleamed when they’d wash over me, in the light brushes of his leg against mine under the table—in the kiss I’d avoided with a jerk of my head, the one that had landed in rejection against my jaw. I’d felt it then, standing at my doorstep, the way Scott withdrew his unreturned affections, his hands still firm in their hold on my shoulders while he tore the rest of himself away.
His eyes had been kind, lacking the reproach they should have held when he stepped back and uttered an apology. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I shouldn’t have forced you into this.”
I’d choked on his apology, angry that I’d caused him to feel the need, and insisted that I was the one who should be sorry.
He’d shifted in discomfort and tried to hide the wounded look on his face, as the idea of us became a firm disenchantment in his mind.
He’d shrugged in indifference and said, “It’s okay.” We both knew it wasn’t. We both knew what I’d done.
He’d left with embarrassment on his face and a halfhearted, “See you on Monday.”
In my bathroom, I scrubbed the makeup from my face, blotting out the last bit of physical evidence of this self-inflicted fiasco.
Five seconds later, the doorbell rang, and it almost sent me spiraling to the floor in confusion. I no longer knew up from down, what I wanted and what I should run from, what to fear and what to embrace. When it rang the second time, I realized Christian probably thought I hadn’t yet made it home.
I rushed downstairs, my bare feet landing with a heavy thud with each step I took. I fumbled as I raced through the locks to open the door.
Christian seemed surprised by the sudden movement, even more so when he took in my disheveled appearance, my pajamas and frazzled hair, I could only guess the expression on my face to match.
Lizzie danced in, her voice a sweet melody, singing praises for her and her father’s night. She crooned about how they’d made dinner together at his apartment, shared it while they counted the lights of the boats floating out upon the water, how she wished I could have been there to see it.
The entire time Christian stood in my doorway, his face flat, mouth slack in surrender.
I leaned against the edge of the door, gripping it for support as I prepared to cross another line. “Will you stay?”
His eyes flitted over my face, searching, seeking answers that neither of us had. The only thing I did know was I wanted him here with Lizzie, with me—that I couldn’t bear to watch him walk away, that I needed him to stay—that I wished I didn’t fear that need so much.
“Please,” I said, all but begging.
His brow furrowed when my plea seemed to break through his numb defeat. His hands pressed into fists at his thighs, his mouth trembling as he looked over my shoulder, probed my family room to find it empty. His eyes bore into mine, molten anguish. “I hate this, Elizabeth,” his words abraded, his breathing labored. “It shouldn’t have been like this.”
I had no words in response to that truth. I only widened the door and stepped back in inferred summons.
Please.
Even if it were only for tonight, I wanted to pretend that it wasn’t like this, that he hadn’t hurt me and in turn, I didn’t have to hurt him—that I hadn’t hurt Scott in the process.
I wanted to pretend as Christian relented and stepped through the door that he wasn’t unsure of his welcome. Pretend as we dimmed the lights and the animated fairy tale sprang to life across the screen that we didn’t look at each other with uncertainty, rattled nerves, and pounding chests. Pretend as the three of us gathered on the couch that we did it every day and that it was normal for Lizzie to sit between us snuggled into her daddy’s side to share a bowl of popcorn and a blanket spread over our laps. Pretend that together we’d seen this movie a hundred times just as Lizzie and I had, that he’d been there when we’d seen it the first time more than two years before. Pretend that later this thirst would be slaked, that Christian would lay me down, that I would be his and he would be mine.
The way it should have been.
But make-believe could only get me so far, and I knew it was time I measured my strength and resolved how far I’d allow my heart to go.
I glanced across at him. His arm was draped over Lizzie’s shoulder and he played with strands of her hair. His attention was not on the television but on her, attentive to the way her face lit up in laughter, the way she sang along, the way she hid her eyes when the film turned dark even though she already knew the result and her hero would live. He leaned down, nuzzled his mouth against her hair, and looked up at me as he held her close.
And I knew I wanted him a permanent a part of my life, not as lovers, but in a partnership for our daughter, for him to take a place as a part of this family.