Текст книги "Jagged Love"
Автор книги: Nicole Simone
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
Dear Andrew,
California is a gold dusted mirage in the middle of a sprawling dessert. Palm trees reach as high as the sky and waves lap against the seashell-strewn beaches. I arrived in San Diego as planned, but kept driving until I hit Los Angeles, or more specifically Santa Monica. There is a creative energy here that you would thrive in. Art is everywhere. Painted on the walls, the sidewalks, and even hanging off telephone wires. I can imagine us buying a bungalow and growing old and wrinkly together here.
Although my pockets are empty, my soul feels full. Each morning, I wake up and bike ride to a small diner that has been there since the 1930s. The food is cheap and the coffee is stale but there is something about it that reminds me of home. Words flow from my ballpoint pen to the stained pages of my journal while the sunny afternoon sun beckons. The stories aren’t very good, or even memorable, but they are stories nonetheless. I don’t know if this is my calling in life, to be a writer. For right now that doesn’t matter. I’m grabbing onto my happiness where I can find it.
Yesterday a man with your color hair caused my heart to flip while hope surged. I almost ran up and flung my arms around his neck. When he turned around though, that’s where the resemblance stopped. To say it was a huge letdown would be an understatement. There are fourteen voicemails from you, one each day I have been gone. Thirteen are unlistened to. During a lapse in weakness, I closed my eyes, scrolled randomly and pressed play.
“Haven….” You paused as if you were waiting for me to answer. When I didn’t, a sigh brimming with regret shuttered across the line. “There are a million things I want to say to you but all the apologies in the world won’t be enough. I messed up and I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my life. Just know this: I’ll always love you. Always.”
Tossing the phone aside, I curled my body into a ball as guilt ate away at my insides. I have a confession to make, Andrew. Your fraternity ring was what made this road trip possible. Before leaving Detroit, I hocked it at a pawnshop. The sleazy storeowner gave me close to a thousand dollars which, combined with my savings, was just enough. I’m not proud of what I did but you will get every last cent back, promise.
My anger toward you dims each day, however, the betrayal doesn’t. It sits like a heavy stone in my stomach. Nonetheless, I’m grateful for all the blessings you gave me during our short relationship. Sumiko owes her sobriety to you. She is currently at a rehab center in Santa Barbara. Once her court ordered two months are up, I invited her to live with me. Sumiko said she will think about it, which is better than nothing.
I don’t know when I’ll see you again. Santa Monica’s salty ocean air is the balm over my wounds and I have decided to stay here for the immediate future. Figure out who I am and who I want to become. Typical twenty-three-year-old soul searching. There is one thing I’m certain of though: I don’t regret meeting you, Andrew. You are the best and worst thing that has ever happened to me. The best because you showed me how to fall in love. The worst because you got exclusive lifelong rights to my heart. I’ll never love anybody like I loved you.
It has been 336 hours, 2 minutes and 1 second since I left you kneeling in the snow.
Haven
Three Months Later
Locking my door, I bounded down the steps to where my beach cruiser awaited. The baby blue bicycle had a basket in the rear for my groceries. The fog blanketed the streets as it did in the early mornings. My co-workers didn’t understand why I wanted the six a.m. shift but this was why. In Los Angeles, nobody got up before the sun rose. I had the normally congested city to myself. Plus, the weather reminded me of the gloomy winters back home. Peddling the measly ten flat blocks to the coffee shop, eighties music blasted through my headphones. After my road trip had ended, the obsession for cheesy love ballads only grew. Tina Turner hit one of her high notes as I pulled up in front of Cafe Solo. Painted a soft pink, the Spanish style building had two planter boxes underneath the windows, overflowing with succulents. Fredrick, the owner, had a deep affection for California architecture. Speak of the devil; he sat at a table near the bar, a shot of espresso and a half eaten croissant in front of him. Shrouded in darkness, the cafe didn’t open for another thirty minutes.
Flicking the lights on, Fredrick glanced up and smiled. “You should learn to appreciate the darkness.”
This was our routine every morning. I replied with my standard response. “Nothing good comes out darkness.”
“From darkness comes…”
“Light,” I said. “I know.”
Fredrick wiped the crumbs off the table into his wrinkled palm. Nearing eighty years old, he looked decades younger. I hadn’t seen him in anything other than a three-piece pinstriped suit and a silk necktie since I’d started working at Cafe Solo.
Fredrick had become a surrogate grandfather. He took me underneath his wing, providing a place for me to live and work. The tiny apartment above his garage would ordinarily rent for fifteen hundred a month but he’d cut me a deal, saying I reminded him of his granddaughter. She lived back home in Cuba with Fredrick’s daughter and he only saw them twice a year. Fredrick’s and my lack of family bonded us together in the first place. A regular at the diner I frequented, we got to know each other and forged a bond. Grabbing a rag, I cleaned Fredrick’s table of his dirty dishes. He waved the Los Angeles Times in the air.
“I read your article,” he bellowed. “Pure genius.”
I blushed. “I wouldn’t call it an article. It’s a blurb about my friend’s band.”
“Still, not everybody can say they wrote for the Los Angeles Times.”
“Guess that’s true.”
In my spare time, I also worked as a freelance journalist, something I fell into by chance. Los Angeles was a city of connections. Everybody knew everybody and had at least one valuable friend or family member in their back pocket. My co-worker Morgan’s father owned an independent art magazine. By accident, I’d left my journal lying open and she’d read my short story about the stolen sun. Morgan encouraged me to submit it to her father’s magazine. I did and it was accepted. The past couple of months, assignments had been steady, which was extra income to send to Andrew. I stuffed the checks in an envelope without a return address. Although, he hasn’t cashed a single one, it’s the principle of the matter.
“Why are you frowning?” Fredrick asked. “Thinking about the boy again?”
“Nope,” I lied.
There wasn’t a day that had gone by when Andrew didn’t enter my thoughts. For the past three months, he had called once a week and left a voicemail. Camilla wasn’t mentioned but her voice was once heard in the background. It was like having a scab ripped off. I didn’t understand why Andrew kept calling if they were together. Emotional cheating was still cheating. Nonetheless, I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t miss those phone calls if they stopped.
Dumping the dishes in the sink, I wiped my hands on my apron. Fredrick opened the cash register and began to stock the drawer.
“When my wife died, I thought I would never love again. She was my soul mate, my companion and best friend. What I came to find out though is that each love is unique,” Fredrick said.
“How did you get so incredibly wise?”
“That what happens when you turn seventy. A lifetime of experience catches up to you.”
“Seventy is the new twenty,” I joked.
Fredrick grinned while he counted the stack of bills he was holding. Dating and or loving someone else was a far ways off. It wouldn’t be fair to get in a relationship when your heart was reserved.
My hands twisted the dishrag into a knot. “Hey, are you sure it’s still ok if I leave for three days? I know Morgan wanted to go to that concert.”
“Of course. Your best friend’s wedding is more important than a concert. Go, enjoy, and breathe in some clean air.”
“Thank you. I’m leaving tonight and we will back in time for my shift on Tuesday.”
Fredrick slid a glance my way that said I was being crazy. “No you won’t. I’m forcing you to take a vacation. Four days without work won’t kill you.”
“I like work,” I pouted.
“No you like being distracted. You have gone five hundred miles per hour since you arrived in Los Angeles. Pump the brakes.”
Fredrick spoke the truth. I hadn’t had a moment to breathe or think, which was the point. Soon after I’d gotten the apartment, Sumiko moved in with me and then promptly moved out. She said I was cramping her style. Whatever that meant. She found a three bedroom sober living house in Detroit to share with a couple of other girls. We started a weekly phone call on Sundays to catch up. So far, she hasn’t touched a drop of heroin or alcohol.
“Fine, I’ll pump the brakes,” I conceded.
“Good. Can you make the sure espresso machine is cleaned before you leave today though? Morgan always forgets.”
I saluted Fredrick and turned the closed sign to open. The craziness began soon after.
Mallory and Clint decided to elope in Santa Cruz with the reception held in their parents’ friend’s backyard. On the way up there, I swung by the airport and picked up Monica who had become one of Mallory’s close friends as well. My absence had forced them together.
Although it would have been faster to drive the 405, I wanted to see the splendor that was the 101. The highway butted up against the white sand beaches, totally worth the extra two-hour drive.
Monica rolled down the window. “I love you, California!” Breathing deeply, she turned her face toward the sun and smiled.
Laughing, I forgot how brutal the winters were in Detroit. This must be heaven for Monica. The salty ocean air whipped her hair around her face but she didn’t seem to notice. Surfers shed their wetsuits behind towels and propped their boards against VW bugs and trucks alike. Eye candy at its finest.
Monica repositioned herself in her seat. “I’m jealous you live here.”
“Then move down and become my roommate. There are plenty of clubs you can work at here.”
“Yeah, but Detroit is my home. I grew up there and frankly, I can’t imagine leaving.”
“It’s easier to leave then you think.”
She looked at me from the corner of her eye. “You didn’t leave. You ran.”
“True, I ran faster than you could count to three. There are too many bad memories in Detroit. My mother and Andrew have tainted it.”
“I think you’re giving your memories too much weight.” Anticipating an argument, she held up her hands. “Don’t yell at me. I’m simply stating my opinion.” She yanked her chair backwards and shut her eyes. “Wake me up when we get there.”
“You are going to miss out on the beautiful views.”
“Fine. Wake me up in an hour.”
It didn’t take long before her breathing regulated. Monica had the unique ability to fall asleep anywhere. When we’d lived together, we had to do our laundry at the mat across the street. Monica would drift off in one of those hard plastic chairs while I twiddled my thumbs in boredom.
In the silence, Andrew’s face drifted in front of my gaze. My heart constricted in my chest and I punched the radio on. Right now wasn’t the time to get weepy. I had to concentrate on the twisty highway that was a sheer drop off the side. Rock’n Jill, the radio host, did nothing though. Nor did the eighties power ballads. Andrew’s and my relationship played like a romantic comedy montage with a fiery ending. Damn it! Monica shouldn’t have planted this seed in my mind. Now its gonna bug me on top of the thousand other thoughts that already do. Looking over at her, drool puddled in the corner of her lips. I smacked my hand against her headrest.
She jerked awake, startled, which turned into anger when she saw the car was still in one piece. “What the fuck?! I thought we got into a fender bender or something.”
My eyes narrowed. “You have no right to say what you said.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If you had my memories, they would hold a certain amount of influence over you too.”
Monica dragged her palm across her face, exhaling. “Really? That’s why you woke me up? I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Well surprise, surprise, you did.”
“Look, both our childhoods were crap. My mom is dead, my dad is in jail for money laundering and the only person who watched out for me was my grandmother, who at the ripe age of ninety also died. Granted, I didn’t have the horrible experiences you went through but it hasn’t been easy. I could always rely on you though. You are my family, Haven.” A smile played on her lips. “My sister from another mother, but then you also left. You said it’s because you wanted to get a fresh perspective, however, I just don’t believe that.”
“Why do you think I left then?”
She shrugged. “I’m not a psychologist.”
Annoyance oozed like vapor through my veins. “Take a wild guess.”
“Fine.” Monica crossed her arms and tucked her chin to her chest, her signature-thinking pose. After a lengthy silence, she finally spoke. “I think you left because you are afraid of turning into your mother when really you are following in her footsteps.”
I nearly collided with the car in the oncoming lane. “I’m not a drug addict and/or a loveaholic!”
“Hear me out.” Monica waited for my knuckles to loosen on the steering wheel. When they did, she continued. “Your mother hauled you around different cities because of the men she dated, correct?” I nodded. “I think she partially did that not because of the money but because she was seeking a connection.”
“To drugs?” I clarified. “She was a seeking a connection to drugs.”
“No she was a seeking a personal connection and attempted, although badly, to give you a sense of home. The thing is she was partially successful. You have Sumiko, me, my grandmother, Mallory, and you did have Andrew.”
“She didn’t give me any of that—only Sumiko. I cultivated those friendships and connections myself.”
“Maybe, but your mom always came back to Detroit. If she didn’t, we wouldn’t have met and Andrew wouldn’t have entered your life for better or for worse. I understand getting a fresh perspective, but you can do that by going on a vacation. Like your mom, you are seeking a home, somewhere to belong. You thought you’d found it with Andrew and when that went up in smoke, you left. The thing is though—a home isn’t a place, it’s where your friends and family are and amongst the breakup drama: you forgot Mallory, Sumiko, and I are still there in Detroit. Whenever you are ready to return, we will be waiting with open arms.”
Fairy lights strung through the hundred-year-old oak branches lined the walkway. An arch comprised of flowers welcomed the guests into the backyard. A four-piece band and tables clothed in white linen hung to the floor. Due to a wrong turn, Monica and I were late. We’d missed the part of the wedding where Mallory and her now husband were introduced to the crowd as Mr. and Mrs. I was banking on Mallory’s euphoria to overlook our faux pas. Monica made a beeline for the buffet table while I hung back. A substantial amount of people crowded the dance floor, surrounding a glowing Mallory. Her ivory-white wedding gown enhanced her curves and looked more beautiful than it did on an iPhone screen. The wonders of technology had allowed me to be at the dress fitting after I’d moved to California.
Mallory’s husband twirled then dipped her to thunderous applause. Upside-down, she caught my eye and grinned like a manic. Back on two feet, she rushed to toward me.
She threw her arms around my neck, giggling. “You are here! I can’t believe it. I was so worried that you wouldn’t show up for some reason.”
“Of course I’m here. I wouldn’t miss your wedding.”
“You did miss the beginning.”
So it hadn’t escaped her. “Monica was in charge of Google maps, which was an awful idea FYI. She got her lefts and rights mixed up. We ended up on this guy’s thousand-acre property. Thankfully the owner pointed us in the right direction.”
Mallory dismissed my excuse with a flick of her wrist. “Whatever it doesn’t matter. Nothing exciting has happened yet, besides my uncle getting drunk and attempting the splits.”
“That sounds… painful.”
“It was. He is currently icing his crotch on the sidelines.” Her gaze flittered to a paunchy older man, his feet propped up on a chair. “Poor thing realized he wasn’t twenty anymore.”
Monica joined us with a plate full of food. She munched on a chicken leg as if she was at the state fair. “What are you guys chatting about?”
“The demise of our twenties,” I responded.
“Oh yeah, totally sucks.”
Mallory laughed as she grabbed my hands. Jumping up and down, she let out a whoop. “I’m finally married! Can you believe it? I have been waiting to become Mrs. Mcloy since we met. He is so utterly perfect and is going to be an even more amazing husband.”
Her joy was contagious. I found myself leaping into the air with her while Monica stared at us like we had three heads.
Mid-bite, Monica’s eyes grew wide. “Shit.”
Mallory and I stopped leaping. Mallory followed Monica’s gaze to somebody over my left shoulder. Their expressions grew pale.
When I went to turn my head, Mallory screeched. “Don’t look! I’m so sorry, I totally forgot to tell you.”
“Are you kidding me?! How did you forget?” Monica yelled.
“I don’t know. I got lost in the wedding planning then the caterer canceled last minute. It slipped my mind, ok?”
Their panic was beginning to freak me out. “Will somebody for the love of God tell me what is going on?”
Mallory’s hands steepled in a praying position while her eyes begged for forgiveness. “You are going to hate me but I had to. He launched my career as an artist. My sketches have been flying off the shelves and I have my first gallery opening next month.”
“I’m incredibly proud of you Mallory but who is….” Suddenly, it hit me like a thousand pound Mack truck. She was referring to Andrew. Andrew was at the wedding. “How?” My tongue twisted as I fought to find the words. “Why? Really? Where?”
Mallory’s sight lifted. She mouthed another apology before swishing back into the crowd. Monica was about to do the same when I grabbed her arm.
“Don’t you dare leave me,” I bit out.
“Hello, Haven.”
My body locked up and my grip loosened. Monica slid away faster than a panther, abandoning me with the man who’d obliterated my heart. I knew I had to turn around, but there was a difference between knowing what you’re supposed to do and being able to do it.
“I’m guessing since you haven’t returned any of my voicemails, I’m the last person you want to see but….” Irritation edged into his voice. “Damn it! Will you just face me?”
The sensation of moving through syrup enveloped my limbs. My head turned first, followed by shoulders, and then my feet. Andrew appeared exactly the same he did three months ago, except the signature sparkle in his eyes was lost.
“Happy?” I asked. “I’m facing you.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“Yes it does, because you are married. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.” A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne. I grabbed a flute and downed it one gulp. “Speaking of marriage, where’s your wife?”
Andrew had a matching expression of misery on his face. He dug his hands into his pockets and sighed. Even to my own ears, I sounded like a bitch. That couldn’t be helped though. Seeing him again brought a confusing mixture of love and resentment to the surface. I hated the fact after all this time he still had that effect on me.
“We got divorced,” Andrew said.
His confession tilted the earth off its axis. My heel tripped on an imaginary rock and I sent my hands foreword to cushion my fall. Right before my face ate the grass, Andrew’s arm snaked around my waist. His signature woodsy scent hit me square in the gut.
“I got you,” he murmured. “It’s ok.”
It wasn’t ok. Nothing was ok. Andrew was divorced or at least said he was. I didn’t know what know that meant or if it meant anything at all. His dark eyes captured mine. The feeling of being back in his arms again turned my brain off and my hormones on. I knew it wasn’t the correct response, but my body huddled closer into his embrace. The warmth from underneath his shirt burned my skin, sending a trail fire between my legs.
Andrew’s gaze flickered with residual affection. “My sweet Haven,” he murmured. “I have missed you.”
I pushed him off, my head reeling. I’d played and replayed the moment Andrew and I would meet again over and over in my mind until it merged into my dreams. It got to the point where I looked forward to falling asleep. Only then my restless soul was at peace. However, divorce didn’t cure our broken relationship. Andrew had withheld the truth from me when he made me believe he was an open book. I didn’t know whom the real Andrew was and that twisted the knife to the bone.
“Is that another one of your lies?” I sneered. “Because if so, I don’t want to hear it.”
He winced as if my barb literally struck him in the heart. “Fuck, Haven. This is not who you are. You are not this mean, bitter person and the idea that I’m the one who turned you into this shadow of your former self….” He shook his head, unable to complete the sentence.
“Don’t give yourself too much credit.”
The lid flew off Andrew’s anger. I took a step backwards as his face contorted into a mask of anger. “Do you want to know what a lie is? This!” He gestured to me. “This cold, heartless bitch act is a lie, because our love was real as the grass underneath our feet and the clouds floating above.” He smacked my hand against his chest where his heart resided. “It still is,” Andrew whispered. “I love you, Haven, always and forever. I will not give up on us until you are mine again.”
Tears pricked underneath my eyelids. “You already gave up because you never fought for me in the first place. That day I left you kneeling in the snow, you know what you did? You went back to your wife and played house. Those once a week phone calls were a half-baked attempt and we both know that.”
“As soon as you left, I went upstairs and pulled out the divorce papers that had been sitting in my drawer for months. It was a long night. Tears were shed, past regrets were thrown, but in the end, Camilla signed on the dotted line. She realized the man she fell in love with wasn’t the same man standing before her.” Andrew unveiled a thin manila envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to me. “Open it.”
With shaking hands, I ripped opened the seal. Inside was a two-page document. On the last page scrawled their signatures, stating their marriage was no longer binding, dated three and a half months ago.
My resolve was weakening, however, on the outside I remained strong. “If you guys are divorced, then why did I hear her in the background of one your voice mails?”
Andrew’s eyebrows scrunched together. “When?”
“January fifth, a week ago.”
Awareness dawned in his gaze. “That wasn’t Camilla. That was my sister. She was staying with me during Christmas break. By the way, my family still asks about you. How you’re doing, what you’re up to, and most importantly, what an idiot I am to have lost you. ”
A hint of a smile tugged at my lips at the idea they had my side, not their own flesh and blood. My head and heart at odds, confusion churned in my stomach. “Fine! You are divorced, but that doesn’t change the fact you withheld information from me.”
He held out his hand. I glanced at his calloused fingers, remembering how when interlocked with mine, it felt as if anything was possible. That together we could conquer whatever was chucked into our paths. Reluctantly, my hand grasped his palm. An electric current traveled down my arm to my toes.
Andrew chuckled softy. “It’s good to know our chemistry is still in tact.”
“There has to be more to this relationship than chemistry, like trust for instance.”
“Haven, I fucked up and ruined the best thing that has ever happened to me. What do you want me to do? Fall to my knees and beg?”
About to do exactly that, I quickly grabbed his elbow and hauled him to his feet. “No, I don’t want you to beg.” Scrubbing my hands over my face, frustration trickled into my veins. “You show up here, looking all handsome with divorce papers and lines straight out of a Jane Austin novel. Lines I have heard from you before. Why now?”
“Because it wouldn’t have been fair to you otherwise. For six months, I’d buried myself under my work, trying to escape the pain of losing my wife and unborn child. Then you entered my life like a freight train. Those three weeks I spent with you filled a gap inside my heart and I fell for you—hard.
“However when you left, that hole ripped open again and I returned to the broken man I once was. Haven….” He cupped my cheek in his hand. “I wanted to give my whole self to you like you did with me. Since you left, I’ve spent my time going through the grieving process I’d denied myself. Once the light at the end of the tunnel appeared, the person I wanted to be waiting for me was you.”
“You hurt me Andrew,” I whispered, my eyes flooded with the pain and suffering he caused. “I don’t know if I can give you my trust again. It’s as if the person I thought you were doesn’t exist.”
“You’re right, that person doesn’t exist anymore and neither does the woman I met nearly four months ago at The Roasted Bean. We both changed but I’m hoping you will allow me a do-over because the people we are now have the chance at an everlasting love story.” Andrew wiped away the tears that sprung free from my eyes. “What do you say?”
Throughout life, you are presented with moments that take you down a million different paths, but choosing one over the other will not deny you a rainy day. When it pours though, you want somebody to stand by your side and provide the umbrella. Andrew was that somebody. I loved him and denying our second chance at being together would be one of my biggest regrets.
The broken pieces of my heart were sewn back together as a smile spilt open my cheeks. “I say yes, a million and one times, yes.”
Andrew showered my face with kisses that had me laughing with joy. He swung me off my feet and whooped. “I’ll move to Los Angeles, I’ll move to Timbuktu if that makes you happy!”
“Nah, I think its time I go back home—to Detroit and to you.”
