Well, I wish I could say the same could be applied to my own life. Because I feel like I’ve fallen off a cliff, been kicked through the mud and been tortured and there’s no sense of hope or a happy ending in sight.
Of course, all these blows I’m taking, well, they’re right in my heart. But that’s where they count, that’s where they hurt the most. And it’s kind of ridiculous, here I am, nearly two months later and I’m still this raw, gaping open wound when it comes to Bram. The rest of my life has some ups and downs. I live with Kayla still while I’m constantly searching for an affordable apartment. It’s actually not so bad, and while I know Kayla really appreciates the rent I pay, I know I’m also cramping her style. I mean, Kayla likes to have her fun and more and more she stays out at whatever dude she’s seeing’s place.
So I know that having me and a five-year-old girl in her place isn’t exactly ideal but she knows I’m working on it. My job at the Lion has been going well enough. I mean, it’s a lot of work that I’m usually not interested in, and James can be a real bitch of a boss sometimes. But it gives me money and my savings account has grown and grown. Even if everything inside me still feels like it’s constantly collapsing and rebuilding itself, I’ve got some form of security for the both of us.
I’ve also been concentrating on my designing more and more. I’ll spend hours at the sewing machine in the mornings and at night. Being creative is great fuel and I have to admit, it feels good to be pleasantly distracted. Sometimes it’s the only way to keep my mind from thinking about Bram.
Which it does. All the time. And I’m ashamed to admit it, even to myself. I don’t talk about him with Steph or Kayla and when I do see Linden, I notice he’s careful not to bring him up either. There have been a few close calls though. Once I heard he was coming to the Lion with Linden, so I went and hid in James’s office for an hour, pretending to work on something. All very mature, I know, but at the moment I care so much about keeping my heart alive that I’m shielding it from everything in sight.
I just want to stop feeling this deep, cold hole inside me when I wake up and realize I’m alone. I want to stop imagining what it’s like to have Bram hold me in his arms when I’m sad or run his hands over my body when I’m not. I want to pretend I never had that connection with a man who made me feel wild and free and full of life. I want so much that I can’t have.
And so, I trudge onward, that hero in the story, even though I haven’t done anything brave. I’m just another broken-souled person on this planet, waiting for time to pass. I don’t feel that undercurrent of “everything will be all right.” I don’t see how I can possibly have a Happily Ever After, that would mean things have to go back to the way they were and how can I ever forget the pain that follows me everywhere?
“Cheer up, buttercup,” Steph says to me. I can’t help but wince at the word. It reminds me too much of that damn yellow couch.
We’re sitting in a booth at the Lion. Ava is across from us and coloring away in a coloring book. Lisa called in sick and I had to work, so I had no choice but to bring Ava in. Luckily James is pretty good about that and she usually just hangs out in the back office with me. Steph is on her lunch break and wanted to have a drink. Lately I’d been leaning on my friend a lot, so I figured I owed her one.
“Sorry,” I apologize to her.
“Don’t be sorry,” she says, peeling the label off her beer. “I just hate seeing you look so sad. You know, now. And all the time.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her, and watch as she takes the label all the way off then starts picking at the sticky bits that remain. “You and Linden having problems?”
She stops and looks up at me. “Huh?”
“Sexual frustration,” I say, nodding at the bottle. “It’s why you’re peeling off the label.”
“Oh,” she says. She pushes her beer away, looking at it in surprise. “No. No, Linden is Linden, you know? If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s – ”
I raise my hand. “Please. Just stop.”
She shrugs and then picks up her coaster, starts twirling it around. And around. And around.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, noticing her foot is tapping on the floor as well.
“Hmmm?” She looks at me. She says it rather absently but it’s a little too absently.
“You’re acting like a nervous wreck.”
“Mommy,” Ava says in a lilting voice. “I drew you a bugosaur.”
She proudly displays her coloring book. She hasn’t even colored in the pictures that she’s supposed to, she’s just drawn green and brown blobs in all the white space. Blobs with legs. Bugosaurs, I guess.
“Thank you, sweetie,” I tell her and she goes back at it, tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth.
“Nicola,” Steph says uneasily.
I give her a look. “What is it?”
“Are you still in love with Bram?”
Where the hell did that come from? I can feel my face go white as I wonder if I was speaking all my thoughts out loud earlier. “What?” I can’t help but gasp. I look over at Ava and she’s watching me, frowning and pouting a little at the mere mention of his name.
“Do you love him?”
I blink at her. My heart thuds against my ribs, as if to remind me that it’s still beating.
“Oh, Steph,” I start to say, searching for words, for a way to deflect. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple,” she says, her eyes boring holes into mine. “It’s the simplest of questions. You either love him. Or you don’t. There are no maybes in love.”
Whoa. Steph is being deep. I don’t even know what that means. I don’t want to get deep. I don’t want to dive down there and pull out what remains of him from far inside me.
“I…”
She’s staring at me. Ava is staring at me.
And I can’t lie.
I sigh, slowly, softly. “Yes. I love him.”
Just saying those words makes my heart seem to exhale.
“Good,” Steph says, smiling smugly to herself.
“Good?” My eyes nearly bug out. “Why is that good? It’s bad. It’s terrible. I don’t want to love him. I want to be free of all that and move on.”
She wags her brows at me, that stupid smirk still on her face. “Love is good, my friend, love is good.”
“What is wrong with you?” I punch her lightly on the arm. “Why did you ask me that?”
She takes a long swig of her beer and says, “Do you know what the worst way to start a sentence is?”
“I farted!” Ava yells with a big smile. “That’s the worst way.”
Steph nods her approval at Ava and then looks back to me. “Do you know what the second worst way is?”
“What?”
“Please don’t hate me,” she answers and for a moment her smile fades and she flinches, as if I’m about to punch her in the face next. “And seriously, Nicola, please don’t hate me.”
She looks over at the door to the Lion and my eyes follow. There, outside in the sunshine, is the familiar silhouette of a man. He opens the door and steps inside.
I feel like I’m sinking and rising at the same time.
I feel like I definitely hate Stephanie right now.
It’s Bram and he’s walking toward us and I’m gripping the edge of the table so hard, I may actually break it in two.
She leans into me, whispers in my ear, “I’m sorry. He had to see you and I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t meet with him.” Then she quickly gets out of the booth, exchanges a quick look with Bram as she walks past him and out the door.
“Nicola,” Bram says, his throaty accent jarring me to the core. He stands in a sharp navy suit just a few feet away from the table, hands at his side. His face, that beautiful, handsome face, is the most serious I’ve ever seen on him.