21 Shades of Night, page 381
"It's not funny," I said, feeling heat creep up my cheeks. "It was the worst fight we've ever had."
"So, what are you going to do?" Laura asked.
I looked up into her familiar brown eyes and felt calmer than I had a few minutes prior. She always knew the right question to ask–always knew how to best sort through all the bullshit–without hitting me over the head with it.
"Haven't really thought about it yet. Everything with my grandfather has been kind of distracting."
"How do you feel?"
I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. "I don't know," I whispered.
"Do you still love him?"
"I don't know."
She raised an eyebrow at me, the careful, manicured line of it the perfect emphasis. Laura had been my best friend for twenty years: she didn't need much explanation to know my thoughts.
We fell silent as we waited for Ben and filled the time with small, busy tasks: setting the table, opening a bottle of wine and preheating the oven, just in case. After twenty or so minutes of amicable silence, I heard Laura clear her throat. I turned to face her, distracted from my task of wiping down the counters, and was surprised to see such a worried look on her face.
"Is something wrong?" I asked.
"It's...well, listen. If you don't, well, if you don't love him anymore or if you aren't sure, it's better for both of you to end it. Don't put yourselves through the pain of dragging it out. It's going to hurt no matter what, but one is definitely worse than the other."
Her words surprised me, to say the least. Laura was rarely so serious; she had an overwhelming tendency to be the peacemaking comedian. I watched her face, waiting to see if anything else would surface. After a few moments of silence, I nodded at her. There'd be time to think about her words later.
Ben came in through the back door then, carrying two pizza boxes and a white take-out bag.
“What happened to cooking dinner?” I asked, as he set them on the table and opened them with a flourish.
“Like I’d like you cook us dinner for your birthday. Not happening. Besides, I read online this is the best pizza in town.”
I grinned. It was the best pizza in town. "Sounds perfect. Did you get the cheesy bread?"
Ben nodded as he motioned to the white bag. “With extra sauce.”
“I hope you got extra cheese, too,” Laura said, snagging the bag off the table. “The bread is really just a delivery device.”
Ben shook his head as he hung his jacket on a chair. As we made up our plates, our conversation shifted to the inevitable: work. Laura filled me in on a possible promotion and some big case she was working with a partner. Ben piped up with the occasional lawyerly comment from time to time and made sure the wine kept flowing.
I took a long drink and smiled, toasting myself for having survived the day in one piece. After finishing my first slice of pizza, I let out a small sigh.
"Feeling alright, Allie?" she asked.
I nodded. "Better than I have in ages."
She clapped her hands together and gave me a toothy grin. "Then I vote we continue this impromptu gathering by eating cake and opening presents!"
"Can we play Pin the Tail on the Donkey too?" Ben asked, as he stood from the table and began clearing away the dishes.
"Only if you're the donkey," she shot back as she brought a few wrapped boxes over to the table, including the one Ben had brought. I stayed in my seat as they bustled about the kitchen; Laura opened a bakery box while Ben took out small plates and forks. Cake was all I could handle: singing and candles were out of the question.
* * *
HOURS LATER, AFTER Ben had left and Laura had turned in for the night, I curled up on my bed with Ben’s gift. I grinned, full of happy exhaustion, as I ran my hands over the soft blue cloth cover of a very worn, early edition of one of my favorite books, The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. I opened to the middle and breathed deeply of the yellowed pages, heady with the aroma of dust and ink.
I flipped back a few pages and a small note card fluttered out of the book. I picked it up and flipped it over, reading the simple message:
Happy Birthday.
The note, in Ben's scrawled cursive, sent a strange pulse through my stomach. Butterflies indeed. I kicked myself for it.
The contentment garnered from the impromptu birthday party slowly evaporated. I set the book on the nightstand, as my mind was drawn back to the usual repertoire: my grandfather, work, Colin, my grandfather, Ben. After shutting off the light, I crawled into the cocoon of my old feather comforter, but it did nothing to calm the thoughts rocketing through my brain. I was wide awake.
Chapter 8
MY TASK LIST was a multi-paged monstrosity that grew each day. In the days since Laura had left, I’d worked my way through the cabinets in the kitchen, the old papers scattered about my office and donated no less than three bags of clothes to a veterans’ group. The piles of junk in the garage loomed closer and on the ninth day of summer, it was time to tackle the mess.
I wrenched the broken garage door up on its track and surveyed the dusty, musty space. The remnants of my grandmother's life were stacked along the back wall: neatly labeled boxes containing everything from old kitchen gadgets to baby clothes worn by my mother and aunt. Along the right-hand side, and in the rafters overhead were haphazardly stacked boxes of books and photos, travel mementos and old letters. His workbench wasn't in much better condition. This clutter had been the earliest sign of my grandfather's illness.
I grabbed a pair of work gloves and dug in. I cleared through most of the things along the back wall with ease, pulling containers and sorting them into “keep“ and “give away”.
By the time I'd cleared through the first stack of his belongings, I had settled into a comfortable, mindless zone. When my hands brushed over a stack of notebooks, I nearly tossed the whole pile, before my blank brain picked out the curious leather binding of a thin, hand-bound book.
I flipped it open, curious about the contents. The paper was thin, with faint blue lines running horizontally across the page. Only the first twenty or so pages were filled in, with blue ink and a hand that seemed familiar. I perused the pages, but none of the text made any sense. The letters were scrambled, and though I picked out a French word or two, I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Was it something of my grandfather's? Or perhaps, some strange journal that my mother had kept after she'd fallen sick? I checked the first few pages carefully and determined from the handwriting it must have belonged to my father. It had been twenty years, but it was the same script that had filled the first ten birthday cards of my life. Further questions surfaced in my mind: why was it here? Who had kept it all these years?
The last time I'd seen him was etched permanently in my mind. I had turned ten about a month before, and they'd commemorated the occasion by having a massive fight about his job. Instead of going out to dinner like they'd promised, I was dumped off unceremoniously at my grandparents' house. I didn't see them for two days. They showed up with a few suitcases of my mother’s and my things. A small truck brought the rest not long after. We never went back to the house they owned again. My father left for a business trip and when he came back, he told me that he wouldn't be coming home.
"We'll still see each other, Boo. Every chance I get. This is just the best thing for everyone right now." He'd planted a quick kiss on my forehead, and tousled my long, tangled hair. "You help Papa and mémère take care of your mother. She's going to need you to stay strong."
I remembered hiding in the garage after he left, sobbing until there was nothing left to cry out. It was the last time I'd cried over him, but the memory of his last words had stayed with me. I'd been strong for her, and when my grandmother had thrown every last item of his in the trash, I'd been right there to help.
Whoever had hidden this book had done so without my grandmother’s knowledge. I was so curious to read what was in the journal that I longed to cancel my night out with colleagues. But I knew it would take me longer than an evening to unravel its mystery. I crossed the room toward the old workbench and tucked the book on a high shelf. It would have to wait.
* * *
WHILE I’D WORKED in the garage, I’d felt the tension creep its way into my shoulders and back. I decided on a long bath instead of a shower and settled on the edge of the tub to start the water. The soothing rush of it was hypnotizing and as I sat on the cool porcelain, the aching tenderness eased. Already, steam had begun to fill the air. I swirled some bath salts into the water. Then, I walked over to the shelf behind the door and flicked on my iPod dock. Steady, slow blues began to tumble out of the speakers and I smiled for the first time that day.
My thoughts turned to Colin. We had danced to that song on a frigid night in his apartment, after the old radiators began to fail. His soft, thick hair was dirty blond in the winter and his blue eyes were perpetually teasing. I recalled him as he'd been: the square set of his jaw, the strong lines of his cheekbones and lips. He was all angles; the planes of his face were smooth and defined. He was taller than me, but so was everyone. He loved to hold me, loved to touch. It had taken me ages to get used to it.
He was quick to laugh, quick to make others laugh. I had been drawn to him when I first met him; he was light and energy, impulsive and enthusiastic about so many things. He was a brightness that was lacking elsewhere in my life.
That impulsive energy shaped his temperament. He was as quick to anger as he was to laugh, and it was nearly impossible to get him out of that mood until he was good and ready. He held grudges for days and days and often took his bad moods out on other people.
He loved going to parties.
He hated quiet nights at home, unless he was working on a new piece.
He was a good friend.
He was easily jealous.
He was clever. Intelligent.
He was impatient and a little...spoiled.
He was the kind of person that always knew what he wanted and he decided one night, almost three years ago, that he wanted me. And he loved me.
But...then came the realization that it all seemed hollow... the lists of traits, the pros and cons, all of it meaningless.
I no longer wanted him the same way. All of his travel and focus on work created the sort of distance we couldn’t overcome. I had tried for so long to keep up the most basic of rituals, but after too many nights of unreturned voicemails, I’d given up even looking forward to his nightly phone calls. It wasn’t that long ago that after a day like today, sifting through family memories, finding strange mysteries, I would have been dying for my phone to ring. Instead, I was thankful for the silence.
I looked ahead to the future and I didn't even see him there.
I was done. It was time to move on.
* * *
AFTER GETTING CLEANED up and dressed for my night out, I was anxious to get on the road. Harding and I had a long-standing tradition of nights out at The Maven, a pub near campus, with several other colleagues. I relished a night of hanging out with my friends from work, and hoped it would let me forget about things with Colin for just a bit. As I fumbled in my purse for my keys, I had the sinking feeling that I’d lost them sometime between making a sandwich run and locking up the garage for the night.
Just as I found the keys buried in an unused cell phone pocket, I heard a car door slam in the driveway. I set my keys on the counter and walked to the kitchen window. I could just make out the front bumper of Colin’s car.
Shit. So much for a reprieve. I dumped my bag on a chair and went to my back door to wait for him.
Colin walked up the back steps, looking awful. I opened the door and he stepped inside without a word. His wrinkled clothes, sour smell and tousled hair gave the impression that he'd been awake for days and had let a lot of whiskey nurse him through it.
“Colin. I didn’t expect to see you tonight. You could have called.”
I didn’t think it possible, but his face fell even further. “I’m sorry,” he said, his words slurred.
I couldn’t resist touching him, kissing him on the cheek. Had I done this to him? Regret filled me. We'd been through so much, and even though I knew what I needed to do, I felt cold-hearted. I hadn't even bothered to send him a text saying I'd call him. Just because I didn't want to be with him didn't give me room to be an ass.
“It’s okay,” I replied, my voice gentle. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“You are?” he asked, his voice brightening.
“Yes. I was going to call you anyhow, because I need to talk to you.”
He smiled at me and my heart broke. "Well, let's talk, then," he said.
His eyes were bright and he looked...happy. I groaned, searching for a way to delay the inevitable. "Ok. But if we’re staying in, let me get out of theses clothes."
He followed me up the stairs and I forced myself to keep calm. I turned on the light in my bedroom as we entered, glad that I'd taken the time to straighten up before heading to the bar. Colin stretched out on my bed while I went into my closet. Once out of his sight, I pressed my forehead against the wall, second-guessing everything I'd decided during my bath.
I took off my clothes, feeling war-weary, and put on a pair of yoga pants. After slipping into an old, gray t-shirt, I went out to Colin again.
He was resting against my pillows with his eyes closed and his arms tucked behind his head. He looked long and lean, clad as he was in dark khaki pants and a white t-shirt. I was torn between stretching out on the bed next to him and going back into my closet.
He smiled at me before he opened his eyes and I wondered if there was a way to postpone this. I was a few short minutes away from chickening out completely.
"You okay?" he asked. His voice was gentle as he looked at me.
I nodded, amazed at myself for being able to respond. "Just tired."
Concern crossed his gaze and he shifted off of the bed. "We don't have to do this now, Allie." He bent his face to mine and kissed me. I didn't respond for a moment, his lips catching me by surprise. I had been so sure of myself. I kissed him back, opening my mouth, and immediately drew back. The sour taste of his mouth reminded me what I'd made up my mind to do.
He cupped my face between his hands, and I covered them with my own before sliding his hands away. "I'm sorry. We do have to do this now. I want to talk. We need to talk."
I backed away from him and sat on the edge of my bed, folding my legs beneath me. He arranged himself next to me, letting his long legs stretch out in front of him.
"What's wrong?" He traced his finger along the edge of my cheek, his eyes full of concern.
"We need to talk about what happened." I took several deep breaths, pushing myself to go forward.
“Can I go first?” he asked, before I’d opened my mouth to speak.
I nodded, surprised. My nerves jangled as the seconds on my alarm clock ticked on. His eyes were tracking over my face, and I saw hesitation in his gaze.
He let out a sharp breath. “I love you, Allie. So very, very much and I’ve been an idiot lately. I was an idiot to let you walk out of the apartment, to risk losing you. I want to take this to the next step.”
I felt tears welling in my eyes and I couldn’t hold them back. “Colin. Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”
"What?" he asked, confusion etching his words.
"I shouldn't...I mean...." I stopped myself, hating the lack of control I had over my own words. I took a deep breath and tried again. "I mean, I should have gone first."
He dropped his hand from my face, something unknown creeping into his eyes. “Why?”
“I can’t do that. I can’t take the next step. This isn’t good for either of us and it hasn’t been for a very long time.”
“How can you say that?” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine. "There's too much good here. How can you say that?" He kissed me again, as if he were trying to prove something. To himself or me, I didn't know.
When his fingers brushed over the top of my breast, I broke away from him and stood up. “But it’s true, isn’t it? We have different lives, different goals than when we met. We’re not even moving in the same direction, only further away from each other.”
The covers rustled as he stood from the bed. He was next to me in a heartbeat and his fingers grazed my chin. I allowed him to turn my face, surprised by his flashing, angry eyes.
“No, it’s not true. We could be moving in the same direction. I can do my work from anywhere. You're done with school–you could work anywhere." His voice was bordering on anger.
I shrank away from him and shook my head. “I can't just work from anywhere. I need to be here, for Papa. But, it doesn’t matter where I am. This won’t work.”
"I don't get you, Allie. I love you. You love me. Isn't that enough?" The anger in his voice was married to a few extra notches in volume. I began to reconsider my idea to start this conversation in the middle of the night after what had probably been a week-long bender.
I couldn't bring myself to answer his question.
"You do still love me?" he asked, after the silence in the room grew to be too much for both of us. His tone was icy and the extra volume had disappeared.
I turned to look at him and I hated myself, deep down. "I do love you, but I don't think I'm in–"
He cut me off. "Don't. Don't even say it."
I waited again, not knowing if there was anything even worth saying.
He stalked away from me, over to the windows that looked over the backyard. “So, that's it then? We have one fight and you're ready to throw in the towel?" He wouldn't look at me as he spoke.
I sighed. “It wasn’t just last Saturday, and you know it. We've been heading down this path for awhile."
“Are you fucking around on me? Is that what this is about?”
Rage flickered in my brain, followed closely by guilt. In the wake of my silence, Colin stormed out of the room. I debated whether or not I should follow. Shaking myself, I made up my mind and went after him.
