So I had a panic attack. Big deal. I’m sure I’m not the first woman reclaiming her life, and let’s be honest her sex drive too, that has freaked out. There are probably divorced women all over the place throwing men out their back door the second their kids come home from a visit with their dad.
As true as that might be, it didn’t stop me from feeling guilty. How crazy is that? Logically, I know I didn’t do anything wrong. My kids were safe and with their father, the only other person in this world who loves them as much as I do. I was free to do whatever I wanted. Free to be me Layla Milano, the woman and not the mother with crazy hair that wears her clothes inside out most of the time. I forgot how it felt to be desired. How to let go and just be.
I also forgot how to share myself with my kids and a man. Instantly, I hurried to turn off the Layla Pipe drew out of her shell and switched back into Layla the mother. I listened to my babies recap their weekend, giving me all the highs and lows. We spent the entire day together and every time Lee was mentioned, I changed the subject. It wasn’t until we were having dessert on the back deck that I remembered the ices he insisted we bring back for the kids and I felt guilty all over again.
He was nice enough to think of my kids and I was reaping the benefits of his good heart. I thought telling them Lee bought the ices would ease my guilt but all it did was open the floodgate. As my kids fired question after question, I realized they were not only fond of Lee, but that they missed having him around. It made me wonder how they might receive him as the man in my life.
I was jumping ahead.
One weekend together and here I was planning the future.
Crazy I know, but I can’t seem to help myself.
I’m not wired like a lot of the women today. I didn’t get divorced because I wanted to sew my oats. Jumping from one bed to another isn’t my thing.
I want one man.
One good man.
He doesn’t have to be perfect; he just needs to be patient and respectful of the fact that my kids and I are a package deal.
Is it ridiculous to think Lee might be the guy?
The one good guy who accepts me and all that comes with me.
Maybe, but I won’t know if I don’t give it a chance.
Certain my kids are sleeping for the night, I sneak out the front door and trek across both lawns. Reaching Lee’s front door, I ring the bell and wait for him to answer. It takes a while and I find myself glancing at the watch I don’t have wondering what time it is. Figuring he’s asleep, I go to turn around as the door opens.
My smile appears instantly and I don’t hesitate as I close the distance between us. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I push him inside and press my lips to his. He’s slow in returning my kiss and after a little probing he parts his lips and welcomes my tongue. The taste I’ve come to know, come to crave, is tainted by aged whiskey. It reminds me, aside from a beer here and there, Lee hasn’t been drinking much. I start to pull away as he pushes his fingers through my hair and kisses me harder. Placing my hands on his chest, I push him off me and take a step back, quietly assessing him.
“What’s the problem?” he asks.
“I’m not sure,” I mutter, cocking my head to the side. “Have you been drinking all night?”
His beady eyes narrow before he disregards my question and steps inside the living room. Following him, I watch him sink into the worn couch and pour himself another drink.
“Want one?” he offers.
“No, Lee,” I say, walking around the couch. I take a seat on the coffee table next to the half empty bottle of booze and watch him knock back another shot. Reaching out, I take the glass out of his hand and meet his glare. “I want the truth.”
“Careful what you wish for, killer. The truth ain’t always pretty.”
“What happened?”
“You, you happened,” he growls, leaning back against the cushions. “This isn’t going to work, Layla,” he continues, pointing to the space between us. “You and me, we don’t fit.”
Shock wears on my features as his words punch me in the gut and I stare at him blankly. I tell myself it’s the alcohol talking, but drunken words are sober thoughts.
“We don’t fit,” I repeat, numbly.
“It was good, killer,” he says, reaching forward to pat my knee.
He pats my fucking knee.
Like I’m a fucking dog that performed a new trick.
Like I should be rewarded with a treat for my efforts and sent on my merry fucking way.
“You bastard,” I growl, rising to my feet.
“Layla,” he starts, extending his hand.
“Don’t,” I shout, pulling my hand back. My eyes widen as I begin to make sense of it all. The timing, the drinking, it all makes sense. While I was trying to place him in my life, he was already running from mine. The carefree weekend we shared was fine, but the moment my kids returned home, I wasn’t enough. Or maybe I was too much.
“It’s because of my kids, isn’t it? They came home and you realized I’m not like every other woman you’ve stuck your dick in. I’m not half your age and just looking for a good time. I’ve got real responsibilities, people that rely on me. Children that need me.”
“It’s not that, Layla,” he barks.
“Oh no? Then what the fuck is it? Why the sudden change?”
“Look, I’m not the man for you. I can’t be what you and those kids need.”
“How would you know what I need if you never asked?”
“You need someone who can take care of you, who can take care of them. Someone who is going to love you like you deserve to be loved. A man who will look at those kids and not wish they’re his, because in his heart they already are,” he argues, leaning his arms on his knees. “You need a family man and that ain’t me.”
“So that’s it? It was fun while it lasted but you’re done,” I shriek.
What about me?
What if I’m not done?
Shouldn’t I have a say in what I want?
“You’re a special breed, Layla. They don’t make them like you anymore. You’re not looking for fun, you’re looking for someone to share your life with. Someone who will stick. It doesn’t matter how much I may want to be that guy, I’ll never be him. I won’t attach myself to you and those kids. I won’t fucking do it.”
What he says with words doesn’t match what he conveys with his eyes and I try to understand what’s happening between us. I’ve been at the end of a dying relationship and it doesn’t feel like this. There’s too much here, too many unexplored feelings begging to be free. When a relationship is over it’s because it’s been tried and tested. The people involved have fought the good fight and failed. That’s not what this is. This is fear. This is doubt. This is knowing you’re on the brink of experiencing something extraordinary. Something that will change your future and rewrite your past.
This is Lee being a fucking coward.
“For fuck’s sake, Layla, don’t look at me like that,” he hollers, rising to his feet. Brushing past me, he walks toward the window. Standing in front of it, he points to the box perched on a chair. I spot the red shoes that he normally keeps at the door and watch as he turns back to me.
“I attach myself to things, to people. Even when I don’t mean to and then I fucking lose them. One way or another whether they’re ripped from me or discarded like a piece of trash—I lose them. It’s something that’s happened to me since I was sixteen years old and something that will continue until I’m in the dirt, but this weekend…this weekend forgot all that. I forgot the biggest truth of all. You, you’re kids, it’s all fucking with my head. This…” He says, sweeping a hand down the length of his body, “…this is who I am. Not the guy who spent all weekend pretending.”
“You know what I think?” I ask, stepping closer to him. My eyes drift to the shoes and back to him. “I think you’re fucking lost. I think you don’t know who you are or what you want. More than that, I think you’re the biggest coward I’ve ever met. You’re so afraid of losing the people in your life you throw them away.”
“That’s not true,” he argues.
“Sure it is,” I spit. “Those people, the guy and the girl from the ice place…those people care about you. I saw the way they looked at you, it’s obvious they miss you and you barely acknowledged them. You ran from them just like you’re running from me and that’s fine,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. Tears sting my eyes but I’ll be damned if I shed any of them for Lee or any other man. No, my days of crying are over.
“Truth?” I ask.
He lifts his eyes to mine.
“What’s one more blow,” he replies.
“I’m glad you did this. Hell, I’m even thankful. At least my kids won’t have to look at your back when you walk away because I won’t let them get close enough to see.”
“Layla.”
“Stay away from them and stay away from me.”
“Killer—”
“You need God, Lee,” I interject, turning my back to him.
I don’t look back either.
I hold my head high and remind myself of the undeniable truth that rejection stings no matter the age. When you’re younger, you think the world is going to implode. You cry and wonder how you’ll go on, if they’ll ever be another and all that ridiculous bullshit. But when you’re older, after you’ve lived enough life and learned from your past, you know rejection is also a blessing.
You realize you don’t want anyone in your life who doesn’t want to be there.
You don’t beg them to stick or ask them to choose you because you know you’re worth more than that.
You are worth more than any man’s doubt.
I am worth more than that.