THE LAST WEEKEND OF summer, and instead of being out hitting the final party circuit, here I sat like a chump camped out in front of my television in my grey sweatpants. This all seemed vaguely familiar.
Alone. Alone. Alone.
This time the reason for my loneliness, it was all my own doing. Pain flooded my heart, and the ache was excruciating. I missed Harlow.
There was a loud buzzing noise coming from somewhere inside the house. I had no idea where my phone was, because I hadn’t seen it since last night.
Grabbing a bottle of Jameson, I climbed the stairs. It was day . . . one . . . five thousand without Harlow. Shuffling towards the shower, I saluted my bed with the middle finger along the way. I hadn’t slept in it in days. Not when I’d come to the sobering reality that she wasn’t coming back here, possibly forever. Everything lingered with her scent—honey and peaches.
“Grady, you need to let her go.”
“She’s hurting and she needs time to think.”
Ella’s words echoed over and over in my head. Thinking back to that night so many times, it haunted me, but I thought being honest with Harlow was the best thing. I knew it was a risk telling her that I never wanted to get married again. I didn’t anticipate her reaction, and I should have, that was my mistake. The matter should have been handled differently.
Had I led her on? The possibility was real and I had to live with that and maybe live without her.
I never wanted to hurt her, ever.
“Mr. Grady,” Thora said, from the kitchen. “It’s Friday, payday.”
I pressed my palms to my eyes. “What?”
“Friday, payday.”
“Oh, okay.” I stood up from the couch. “You didn’t wash my sheets, did you?”
She shook her head, and continued putting my groceries in the refrigerator.
After I retrieved the envelope marked with her name from my safe, I walked back into the kitchen. “Thanks for taking such good care of me, Thora,” I said, handing her the money.
“Mr. Grady, it is a pleasure to work for you,” she said, tucking the envelope into her bag. “You know, love is a tricky business,” she continued. “But if you cannot live without her, you need to tell her how much she means to you. You are young and in love, be happy.” She slapped her palm to my face. “Go get your lady.”
The task of getting my shit together and Harlow back into my life was a daunting one. Getting Daniel Craig to agree to two more Bond films was far easier. Since that night, I made several attempts to call, text, and message her via Instagram, none of which were returned. I had run out of options.
In between work and polo practice, I checked her favorite places hoping to accidently run into her. The North Harbour Coffee Shop was becoming my second home, but Harlow seemed to be avoiding it like the plague. I drove by Afton’s place every day, but I never turned into the driveway.
“James, quit being a pussy and go talk to her,” Alex shouted, his voice vibrating through my Bluetooth speakers.
“I’m pretty sure that your wife advised me to give Harlow some space.”
“Do you love her?”
“Your wife? Of course, I love Ella, it’s only a matter of time before she leaves your sorry ass for me,” I joked. Apparently, I had no filter today. I could almost hear the sound of Alex ordering a tactical team to my exact location, kidnapping me and bringing me to some secret compound, and inducing various forms of psychological torture. He’s probably cleaning his gun as we speak.
“I’m going to give you a pass on that little joke, James, because I know that you’re in a fucked-up head space and not completely in control of your mental faculties.”
“Got it.”
“So, the question on the table—do you love Harlow?”
“Yes,” I replied, as my hand glided over the steering wheel. I turned into my driveway and then punched the button to lift my garage door.
“Then that is all that matters. The rest will work itself out.”
I slid out of the driver’s seat, disconnecting the Bluetooth from my car. “I don’t know,” I said, blowing out a harsh breath. “She wants to get married and I can’t see myself going down that road again. Harlow doesn’t want to waste her time with someone who is never going to give her what she needs. I can’t say I blame her.” I tossed my keys on the counter and sifted through my mail. An invite to the 3rd Annual Elizabeth Atkinson Foundation for the Arts Celebration caught my eye.
“James, I’m going to impart some wisdom,” he declared. “Just because it didn’t work with Heather doesn’t mean a marriage won’t work with someone else.”
Unconvinced, I stared at the invitation mentally flipping through memories of my ex-wife and our failed marriage. Moments of clarity smacked me hard. I walked towards the window in my living room and stared out at the ocean waves. Heather cheated on me. I honored the vows we took and gave her everything she wanted. There was nothing I could have done to stop her from cheating.
“Love, hell, even marriage—it’s not about who you see yourself with—it’s about who you can’t see yourself living without.”
“Yeah,” I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’ve heard that somewhere before.”
But was it enough? Was I enough for Harlow without the official vows of marriage?
“Go get your lady,” he advised. “Don’t overcomplicate the matter. Life’s too short. If there’s a sliver of hope that you’re open to the possibility of marriage, you need to consider it. Don’t lie or manipulate the situation to get her back and don’t tell her want she wants to hear. Say what you mean, and mean what you say.”
“How did you know that Ella was the one?”
“There wasn’t one moment that hit me and said, ‘Alex she’s the one don’t let her go.’ It was a series of moments. When I’m weak, she’s strong. Hell, even when I’m not weak, she’s strong. When I looked at my life and Ella wasn’t there, it was like I couldn’t breathe. She’s my light, and I’m a better man when I’m with her.”
I refrained from making a smartass comment. There was a real possibility that Alex had a set of wires with my name on them—charged and ready to shoot ten thousand volts of electricity into my body. For his own amusement, he’d probably attach them to directly my balls.
“That sounds about right,” I agreed.
“Next time you want to have a heart to heart, James, let’s do it over beers. Don’t call me like I’m one of your fashionista gal pals.”
“Noted.”
I ended the call, turning my attention back to my very empty house. The emptiness that I once craved no longer made sense. Don’t get me wrong, solitude had its benefits, but isolation was another story altogether.