Remember: A Symbols of Love Novel, page 10
And I need to think. I need to get my feelings straight. I'm too vulnerable after the whirlwind of today, and I don’t think I can fight the feelings stirring to life between us.
Dean and I have agreed to get to know each other again. Who we are now is sullied by everything that has happened since the last time we saw each other. I know we need to talk about all of that before we can really attempt a friendship or anything beyond it.
I pull my forehead back and see his eyes are closed and for a split-second I study his face. His lashes, always a dark brown and totally at odds with his blond hair, rest on his cheeks. His skin is golden and is almost as smooth as it was when he was eighteen.
My hand comes up to caress his cheek and his eyes open. The expression in them stills my hand. He looks like I feel. Scared, excited. He knows we have much to overcome and he's dreading and looking forward to it as much as I am. I break the contact and take a step back.
“Okay, shout if you need me or send Anthony upstairs if he gets to be a handful.”
“Okay, but we’ve been managing on our own since Saturday morning, Red.”
Hearing him call me this, so easily, sends a thrill through me.
I head into my room and sit on my bed, thinking about how I got here.
Finding Dean had not been on my list of things to do on my Remember Milly project. I touch the heart shaped pendant on my chest, the one that is demanding I remember everything. Which includes letting myself recall how I felt about him all those years ago.
After seeing him in his office, after the way we parted, I never imagined he would show up at my doorstep. I didn’t think I’d want to see him there. But, now, I'm so glad he came.
So, his mother wasn’t speaking for him. He didn’t blame me. He wasn’t lost to me. I gave up on us and him because I thought reaching out to him would hurt him. We have lost so much time.
A sob escapes me before I even realize it’s coming. That phone call, that deceit by his mother cost me so much. I would have gone to find him as soon as I could have if I had known. Or would I have? I hate second-guessing my actions because no matter what else went down, the path I took led me to Anthony.
I shake off the chill threatening to come over me. My mother is right, Dean is right, this is a miraculous second chance. I want to give us a try. I want to let go of all of the ugliness between us, but first we need to talk. About his family, his father. About my family, my father, and about Kevin.
It’s not a conversation I'm looking forward to, but it is one I know I can’t avoid. The one certainty I have, which is propelling me forward, is that Dean loves me. I know he does. I know he acted out of hurt and anger, and I know he's sorry. I’m sorry, too.
A wave of fatigue overwhelms me, and I lie down. I’m assailed by memories, but the one that always stands out, the one I replay often is our first kiss and our first “I love you.” They happened on the same day, in the same moment, and I remember it like it was yesterday. I close eyes and let my mind drift . . .
Dean had stood me up. We were supposed to meet before his game, like we always did, to talk. He said it helped him focus, and I loved the chance to be with him right before he went into what I called his “beast mode.”
He was unstoppable on the lacrosse field. Fast, tireless, and graceful, watching him was incredible. And he was also sexy.
I hadn’t let him kiss me yet. I knew that once he did, I’d be completely at his mercy. I was already head over heels in love with him. I needed to make sure he felt the same before I let him touch me.
I walked away from our usual meeting place, behind the huge garage where all the team buses parked, feeling dejected and sad. I was almost to my car when I saw Dean’s car in the lot, about three rows away from mine.
I approached his flashy sports car, seething and planning to leave a scathing note on his windshield. But when I got to his car, I saw that even though the engine and all the lights were off, he was inside. His head was resting on the steering wheel, his shoulders hunched.
I rapped on his window and his head whipped up. I couldn’t see his face clearly through the glass, but I heard the doors unlock. I took that as an invitation to get in, so I walked over to the passenger side of the car and did just that.
As I opened the door and climbed in, I pounced. “Hey, what the hell? I’ve been waiting for you for almost twenty minutes. And you’re about to miss your own . . .” My words trailed off as I looked at him in the now illuminated interior of his car.
His face is the picture of pure agony. He’s not crying, but he looks like he wants to. My anger disappears and is replaced by alarm and sadness. I lean across the center console right away and put my arms around him.
“D, what’s wrong? What happened?” I ask him urgently, trying to keep the level of unease I’m feeling out of my voice. He looks at me, his eyes full of surprise. I stroke his face and push the hair back from his forehead.
“Red, you’re here,” he said. His voice breaking. And then, he put his head in my neck and hugs me to him tightly. Even though he doesn’t make a sound, I feel his tears wetting my neck and know he's crying.
I feel so helpless as I sit there, holding him while he struggles. I don’t say another word, but I feel tears running down my own face.
After a few minutes pass, he pulls away from me. My arms feel empty without him in them, but I can tell he needs the space. He scrubs his hands over his face as he tries to compose himself.
“Oh, my God. I’m sorry, Red. I . . . didn’t want you to see this,” he says as he makes an audible effort to steady his voice.
He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. I reach out to stroke the side of his neck, touching him helps me calm down, too.
“D, why are you sorry? I’m not. I’m just glad I found you. What happened?” I ask him when he doesn’t say anything.
He takes a deep breath before he speaks. “Fuck, Red. It sucks.” He expels a short, mirthless chuckle. “I’ve always known my mother doesn’t really give a shit about me, I mean, she’s never made that a secret. I’ve gotten used to it.” His voice is remarkably devoid of emotion.
“Did something happen tonight?” I ask him, hoping I’m not about to reopen a wound.
“She got rid of Spider,” he says, and I cannot stop the loud gasp that leaves me.
Spider is the English Cocker Spaniel his father surprised him with on his birthday last week. I can’t hide my shock and dismay at her thoughtless cruelty. He’d only had him for a week, but Dean was head over heels for that dog and everyone knew it.
“How? Why?” I ask, unable to form a coherent sentence.
He opens his eyes and looks at me, his expression mournful and defeated.
“Does it even matter why? She did it because she said he barked at her this morning. She just doesn’t want me to have anything that makes me happy.” He sounds so glum and broken my own heart breaks for him. He leans forward and puts his head on the steering wheel.
“Am I unlovable? I mean, if my own mother doesn’t love me, how could anyone else?” I can tell even though this is the first time he’s asked me this aloud, it’s a question he has pondered seriously.
I'm shocked this boy who is so giving, talented, and funny could even think this.
“Of course, you’re not unlovable,” I say to him, the vehemence in my voice causes him to glance up at me. His eyes, normally so white and clear, are bloodshot with his tears. He shakes his head in disagreement.
“How do you know? I mean, you can’t know that . . .” He puts his head back on the steering wheel and closes his eyes.
Watching him, knowing how badly he needs someone to be strong for him, I decide to put my fear aside and be that someone for him. If there has ever been a moment for me to have the courage of my convictions, it’s now.
I lean over the console and put my lips to his ear and whisper, “I do know, Dean. I know because, I love you. I love you, so much. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and you’re an incredible person.”
He goes still, his eyes, full of agony a second ago are now full of hope when he turns his head to look at me.
“You love me?” He was saying each word slowly, like he has to think about each one before he can utter it.
I nod. My heart in my throat. I thought when I told him how I felt, I would feel vulnerable and scared. Instead, I feel free. The way he's looking at me, with so much hope and the beginnings of happiness in his eyes, makes me feel like right now anything is possible.
His hand comes up, and strokes my cheek with the back of it. His fingers sweep across my forehead and then dive into my hair.
He places a kiss on my forehead and my eyes flutter closed at the contact.
“Dean . . .” It’s a plea. I'm asking him to kiss me, and he doesn’t make me wait.
He tilts my head slightly, rubs his nose down the side of mine and then his lips touch mine, soft, and sure. Right then, in this moment, I know for certain, this is my person. That we have something special and are meant to be. I’ve been kissed before. Nothing has ever felt like this. The touch of his lips does just what I thought it would. It sends my heart into a complete freefall.
“Dean?” I say his name when he pulls back a little. I want to get this thought out before I’m too far gone to think straight.
“Yes?” he responds as he drops kisses on my cheeks.
“That kiss—it wasn’t free. It will cost you,” I whisper, eyes open and locked on his.
“What’s the price?” he asks, drawing back slightly. His eyes are like a force field, they hold me in my place, forcing me to be totally honest.
I put my palm on his chest, over his heart. “I want your heart . . . and I want it forever.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s yours, Red. It has been for a long time. I love you, too.”
He leans forward and my eyes close as his lips take mine again. This time it’s not just a quick press. His lips lock with mine in a dance that seems to be timed to the beating of my heart.
When his tongue sweeps my bottom lip and my mouth opens for him, our breaths mingle and I could live on that air for the rest of the night. With one kiss, his capture of my very soul is complete and final. This is us. And always will be.
Right before I drift off to sleep, I bring my fingers to my lips. I’ve never stopped feeling that kiss. I’ve never stopped loving him. I hope we can find a way to get past this because I want to have “great” again.
15
* * *
Dinner was wonderful . . . and terrible. We avoided each other’s eyes, focused on Anthony as he talked without pause about his day, his friends, his latest drawing. He was obviously thrilled his mother was back in the land of the living because he talked more over the course of this meal than he had said during the three days we had spent alone together.
I loved watching them interact, but I couldn’t help but wonder about his father. In all of the time I’d been at Milly’s house, he hadn’t called once. The kid had only mentioned him a couple of times. I couldn’t understand how someone could have a wife like Milly and a son as fantastic as Anthony and just leave it all behind. She was all I had wanted my whole life. For her to be the mother of my children had been a fucking goal of mine.
I have seen the difference between a household led by parents who loved each other as opposed to what I grew up in. I knew from the first time I ate dinner at her parents table that this was the kind of family I wanted. I can’t imagine having it and walking away from it.
I need to talk to her about her marriage. I want to know if it’s really over or if there is a chance of reconciliation. My gut twists at the thought.
And we need to talk about our parents. I know she has questions about my dad and I have a shitload about hers.
She comes down from putting Anthony to bed. She's wearing a pair of light gray sweatpants, her Brown sweatshirt, and socks. Her hair is braided and hanging over her shoulder. Her face is completely devoid of makeup, and I think she has never looked more beautiful.
She was a knockout in high school. Now, she's more of a femme fatale. She exudes sensuality without even trying. Her eyes are twin pools of burnished gold. Her face is a study of angles and curves. All of them coming together to give her the look of a woman from Damascus.
Besides her bronzed skin, she's her father’s carbon copy, right down to the shades of red in her hair.
She coughs and I realize I have been staring at her. She's standing in the doorway staring at me, too. I extend my hand to beckon her.
“Red, come here. Sit next to me.” She purses her lips as if contemplating my offer and then walks over to me. Her gait is loose and her hips swing with each step.
I remember holding those hips in my hands when I kissed her in the car. Fuck, but I’d give every penny I owned to do that night all over again.
She reaches the couch and sits down. But she takes a seat in the corner across from me and brings her legs up into a lotus position.
“I’m here. Let’s talk. I’ll go first,” she says her eyes on mine. Not so much a challenge in them, but determination.
“I need to talk to you about our parents. I know you said you didn’t hold me responsible for what happened,” she begins slowly, as if she is weighing every word before she speaks.
I answer this one quickly because I want to get it out of the way. “I didn’t then, and I don’t now. I was as shocked as you were when your dad left. I would never have believed him capable of helping to cover up the fraud at Enron and then running off with stolen money. But even if he had done those things, you didn’t do them.
“My parents fought a lot in the days after the collapse, but my father told me the same thing. He didn’t think your dad capable, and he made me promise him I would hold onto you. That I would be there for you.”
She draws back a little, her face drained of color.
“He did? I don’t understand. It seemed like everyone was convinced of my dad’s guilt. We had to move so quickly and without any notice because of the threats we were receiving. The call I made to you was strictly forbidden. The FBI said no one could know where we were.”
“Why?” I ask her, giving voice to a question I’ve wanted to ask her since I found her again.
She looks startled. “Why, what? Why couldn’t we tell anyone where we were?” she asks, like it can’t possibly be what I’m asking.
“Yes, Milly. I understood why they moved you, things were crazy in the days after your dad disappeared. I understand the name change—a little. But, did they think some crazy ex-Enron employee was going to fly to Maryland and burn your house down? Most of them could barely afford to pay their mortgages. You were easy targets while you were in Houston, but that someone would take the trouble to hunt you down in Maryland seems like an extreme measure to guard against.”
She shakes her head and looks at me, and I realize that this is the first time she has considered this.
I decide to let it go for now and bring us back to the conversation.
“I’m sorry, this was random. Let’s finish what we were talking about.”
She nods slowly. “Yes, okay. Listen, do you want some wine or something? I could do with a drink right now.” She stands up without waiting for my response.
“Yeah, I’ll take a glass of whatever you’re having.”
I sit back and watch her walk out of the room. I know we have a long way to go, but it feels like we could actually build a relationship.
She comes back a second later with a bottle of white wine, two glasses, and a wine opener.
I take the bottle and opener from her, open the bottle and pour our drinks.
“Okay, you were saying?” she says as she plops back down on the couch, this time right next to me. Her expression completely unguarded and relaxed. It gives me the impetus I need to keep talking.
“I was saying I never blamed you. My dad and I couldn’t wrap our heads around the fact that your dad just disappeared with all of the money, especially because he was never directly implicated in the fraud that took place.”
“Yes! Exactly! It was only his disappearance with that money that made people suspect he had something to do with what happened,” she says excitedly. She pops up so she's on her knees on the couch. Her expression excited and relieved at my words.
“I just thought everyone had lost their minds. My dad couldn’t . . . no wouldn’t do this. My mother, though, she just refused to talk about it. Lilly and I both thought none of it added up. But we couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Addie was so angry. And then, I left for college and tried to start putting my own life back together.” She sits back, seeming to deflate as her story ends.
I bite the bullet and bring up a subject I would rather pretend doesn’t exist.
“Is that where you met your husband? At Brown?” I try to keep my voice steady and calm, but this subject is one that enrages me. I know I don’t have a right to this rage, so I try to tamp it down and listen.
“Yes. I was reeling when I left home. You have to understand; I felt so lost.” Her eyes drift toward the ceiling and she runs her fingers through her hair at the memory she just recalled. “And all I knew was that I didn’t want to ever be as exposed with anyone as I had been with you. I couldn’t feel that kind of loss again. I knew I wouldn’t survive it.”
Something in my chest constricts to think of her in pain because of me.
“I also wanted some certainty. Now I look back and I see the disservice I did both Kevin and myself. I shouldn’t have married him just to create certainty, but at the time it seemed like the most important thing in the world.”
She sighs and leans back.
“But, I can’t ever say I regret it. Never. Because of Anthony.” She runs her hand over her mouth and down her neck, and looks away from me.
“I wanted all of those things with you, but I don’t begrudge you or Ant Man—it was wrong of me to even imply I did. He's incredible, and it’s clear how much he loves you. And if you and your husband didn’t have a lot of love between you, I'm happy to know you had him.”
