Release: Symbols of Love, page 29
“She is not your daughter.” He says, his voice heavy and sad. His eyes, though are absolutely clear with determination. The pain he’s inflicting feels like a dagger being plunged into my heart. I step back, away
“Shut up.” I say, putting my hands over my ears, my eyes wide as I watch him in horror.
He reaches me in two stride and yanks them down and holds my wrists in a vice like grip with one hand. I pull hard, desperate to free myself, to block out his verbal assault, but his arm doesn’t move. His grip tightens and with his other hand, he grabs my chin and brings his face down so we’re eye level. He holds me in place with a piercing gaze.
“She’s not your daughter, Lilly. She’s someone else’s child.” He says this slowly, each word enunciated. He studies my face to see if I’m comprehending what is being said.
“Why are you…” It feels like there’s cement in my lungs. The pain in my chest is unbearably heavy and it’s hard for me to breath. I stare into his eyes, unblinking
“I’m saying it because it’s true.” He says, his voice hard, but still so sad. “She’s not yours.” He lets go of my chin and rests both hands on my shoulders. I flinch at his touch. I don’t want him to touch me. Not now. Not when he’s hurting me. But I can’t move. I can’t think.
“It doesn’t mean you have to stop loving her. I know you can’t.”
I live in a state of chronic and constant heartache. Normally, it’s a dull, but constant tug. This conversation has turned it into a pulsing, throbbing agony.
“You don’t know her and she doesn’t know you. You gave her life, Lilly but you also gave her a life when you gave her a new family. And I know how much it hurts you, but she’s not yours.” He says this in a voice my rational mind would recognize as patient and careful, full of love and wrapped in a fragile prayer for his words to reach me. But I am not rational now.
Now, all I can hear is him asking me to stop my heart from beating. Flares of angry heat bloom under my skin as his words lay waste to everything that gives me hope.
“Let this go and focus on your life.” He says in a voice that I’m sure he thinks is soothing.
I erupt. “I have a life. Fuck you.” I scream and jerk out of grasp.
“Lilly.” He approaches me, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Don’t you fucking come near me.” I yell at him, jabbing my finger in the air at him.
He stops in mid stride. “I’m sorry, Lil—”
I close my eyes and put my hand up, palm facing him, and he stops talking. I open my eyes again. I feel betrayed, angry, mislead, alone. I let him see all of that in my eyes and let him hear it.
“You do not get to say things like that to me. You don’t get to destroy my life because you haven’t ever loved anyone as much as I love my daughter.” He flinches, eyes wide with alarm as he takes me in. My words are fire. My eyes wild with hurt. My rigid body vibrates with anger.
“This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you wouldn’t understand. You said you could handle the truth. Well this is the truth. Is it too ugly for you, Harry?”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word. He looks horrified. His horror douses my anger. What is he seeing as looks at me? Fear grips me as I watch him watching me. Certainty that this conversation will leave me broken settles, and I start to panic.
I walk to him and take his hands, his doesn’t hold mine in return. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares blankly at me.
“I’m not hurting anyone. I’m not. No one has to know. I just wanted you to know because I don’t want to keep anything from you.” I insist, the gravity of the situation, the import of this moment driving my actions. I’ll do anything to hold on to him, but I cannot do what he’s asking.
He finally squeezes my hands, but his expression doesn’t change or soften.
“Lilly, I’m glad you told me, but you have to stop.” He says in a voice that brooks no argument.
I drop his hands and step back.
“That is not your decision and if you’re giving me an ultimatum, you already know my answer.” I cross my arms in front of me and firm my jaw. But my insides have turned to jelly. My palms are sweating and my throat is dry. I feel trapped, desperate and more afraid than I’ve been in a long time.
I watch him and pray like my life depends on it that he’ll say what I want to hear.
He doesn’t.
He drops his eyes to the floor and steps back. His hand slips out of mine. This is it. My heart stops.
“You want to live in your lies. You want them more than you want me.”
I flinch, but my resolve doesn’t waiver.
“Lilly, I can wrap my head around a lot,” he shakes his head slowly. “Not knowing your name in Ghana, why you thought it was best for us to part ways. I understand why you hadn’t told your family about the rape. I understand why you didn’t want to tell anyone about your” He pauses to search for a word, “pregnancy.” I wince at his reducing it to just that.
“I don’t want to judge you for using your cyber security skills to look for her in a moment of weakness. But contacting the family, striking up a friendship under false pretenses is wrong. Very wrong. I can’t understand that.” He rubs his hand over the back of his neck, his head dropping down, and I can see the exhaustion etched on his face. And I don’t care. Not right now. Now, I just want him gone. I look at him again and say words I don’t mean and will forever regret.
“You don’t have to understand. Nothing is more important than her. I want you to leave.” Even to my own ears, the words sound true. My voice is steady, my words enunciated and clear.
And Harry just stares at me, his eyes hard and blazing, his jaw clenched so hard his normally full lips are drawn into a tight line. I’ve never seen him look so angry.
“You are such a fucking disappointment.” His words cleave me into two and I gasp from the pain of it. But his expression doesn’t change. And then he turns, walks to the door, opens it and walks out of my life.
34
Addie
“Walk faster.” I turn around and grab my older sister, Milly’s wrist and tug her down the long hallway.
“I’m coming, you lunatic. I don’t think this is a good idea, Addie.” Milly says for the hundredth time.
“Then why did you change into your workout clothes, pull your hair back and take off your earrings. I said we were going to cuss her out, not beat her ass.”
“I like to be prepared.” Milly says with a serious look on her face that, despite how angry I am, makes me laugh. After a few more steps, I realize Milly’s not walking anymore. I stop and see her standing in the hall, her lips pursed, her slant inwards over her narrowed eyes. I walk back to stand in front of her. She cups my cheek, her eyes turn wistful as they roam my face.
“I love you two so much. I wish I could protect you from everything.”
My big sister has got the fiercest heart and she loves so deeply.
“I know, Milly. I feel the same way.”
She smiles and drops her hand and we start walking again.
“I can’t stop seeing Lilly’s face. I want her to fucking pay.” She flexes her hands in and out of fists.
“Oh, Lord. And you’re cursing, too. This woman is in trouble. Thank God, her husband and kids aren’t here tonight.” I stop in front of Freya’s door and knock quietly. Let her think it’s someone friendly so she opens it quickly.
The door opens a crack, and she peers out of it. When she sees us, her eyes widen and she starts to close the door. Before I can react, Milly reaches out around me and shoves the door open so hard that it forces Freya back inside, and steps into the suite. She holds the door open and looks over her shoulder at me and says, “You coming, slow poke?” She says sardonically.
Oh shit. Milly looks murderous. I swallow hard, and wonder if I made a mistake bringing her along.
“What do you want?” Freya asks in a fearful whisper.
“What do you think we want?” Milly asks, her voice low, but her tone so cold, I shiver.
“I’m sorry. I was trying to help my brother.” Freya pleads.
“Were you? Or were you trying to help yourself? Because from what we can see, your brother loves our sister and what you didn’t do anything but hurt him.” Milly responds.
“I didn’t know.” Freya whispers, sad tears rolling down her face, but it only makes me angry.
“You knew. You just didn’t care.” I hiss at her.
She sobs and sits down on one of her plushly padded chairs, looking every inch the “the poor little rich girl who is only sorry because everyone’s mad at her.”
How pathetic. I look at Milly and she rolls her eyes in disgust.
“Look, what’d done is done. I just want you to know, that the woman you hurt has a heart of gold and has been through more in her life than you can ever imagine. The only reason I haven’t and won’t slap the fuck out of you is because you’re Harry’s sister, and Cara’s new sister in law, and maybe one day - if she’ll have him - you’ll be our Lilly’s, too. So, you need to know this. If you don’t like Lilly, you should keep that to yourself. You better not do anything but smile at her, and make her feel welcome.”
“Of course, I won’t. I’m going to apologize, I swear it. As soon as I get a chance, I’m going to say sorry.”
“You better. That’s my baby sister. Mine.” Milly thrust a thumb into her own chest. Her eyes are pools of molten gold, her anger is palpable. “The way you hurt her tonight…you deserve whatever’s coming your way.” Freya’s eyes widen but she doesn’t respond.
“If we ever, ever find out that you’ve made Lilly unhappy- made her cry, hurt her feelings, whatever. We’ll be back and teach you the lesson you clearly failed to learn from your first transgression. Please don’t make us do that.”
Freya’s dark eyes are wide. She’s staring at Milly in awe, more than fear and only nods.
She turns to look at me, the person who was supposed to be leading this mission and says,“Come on. We’re done.” And with twin narrow-eyed glares at the cowering Freya, we turn and leave.
“Not a good idea, huh, Milly?” I say as we walk down the hallways.
“She pissed me off.” Milly responds with a sideways glance at me. We high five and then go find our sister. It’s time to start making amends for all the ways we’ve let her down.
35
Harry
A Week Later
“Wake up, you lazy sack o’ bones. Time to stop mopin’ around.” The sun streams into my room, obliterating the peaceful darkness that my blackout shades provided.
“Your pity party is over.” Jan’s tone is brisk as she moves around my room, opening all the curtain, picking up the detritus of my week-long sulk. She drops empty beer cans, half full bottles of good cognac, crisps packages and about two dozen Bounty wrappers into a big bin bag that she’s holding.
“Leave me alone.” I groan and pull my sheets over my head. I wince at the scent that assails me. Bathing hasn’t been high on my list of priorities. My sulk has consisted of me laying in bed, drinking, binge watching all seven Harry Potter movies, (Ron is a total dick to Hermione most of the time. I don’t understand what she sees in him), and only getting up when I stumbled to my kitchen to replenish my supplies.
Since Lilly left, I’ve vacillated between anger and anguish every time I’ve let myself think about the last day we spent together.
I threw out an ultimatum I had no business issuing. I asked her to make an impossible choice without giving her a chance to even think about what I was asking for. I didn’t promise to spend the rest of my life trying to make her glad she chose me. I just told her to stop doing something that meant everything to her and when she said no, I’d walked away.
I know I fucked up. In a huge way. And because the entire Hassan family hates me and my devil spawn of a sister, as Addie had called her – according to Jan – I don’t have anyone who’s willing to give me Lilly’s contact information..
Suddenly, bed sheets gone. I jump off the bed, snatch a sweater I’d discarded off the ground and wrap it around my waist.
“What are you doing?” I glare at Jan, my pounding head and lurching stomach threatening to lay me flat.
“Oh, please stop clutching your pearls. I changed your diapers!” She snaps at me impatiently.
“Get in the shower, get dressed, come eat breakfast and then get on with your day. You’ve been in this house for a week. Everyone’s given you time and now it’s enough. You’ve got work piling up, you’ve missed meetings and your parents and Freya are worried sick.”
I scoff at that and trudge toward the bathroom. She’s right. I have to get back to work. It’s not fair for everything to fall apart because I’ve lost the love of my life.
I fucked everything up so badly. As I shower, I go over my mental do list. I wash away the fog of my hangover and try to focus on the work that’s waiting for me. But every six seconds, Lilly’s face comes into my head. Her name leaves me lips every thirty seconds, calling for her and knowing that I lost the right to do that.
When I walk out of my bedroom, Jan is standing in the hallway waiting for me. She looks me over, and nods as she takes in my work boots, jeans and heavy sweater. I’m dressed to make my rounds on the farm and clearly, she approves.
She steps toward me and holds out her hand. In it, there’s a piece of paper. She thrusts it into my hand. “I got this for ya. I had to be dishonest to get it. I don’t like lying, Harry. But you and that sister of yours have made a real mess of things.” She tsks in disgust and my throat tightens at the reminder of what a disaster everything is.
“Now, you’ve got to get yourself together and fix it.” She folds my fingers over and presses the paper deeply into my palm and looks up at me, her eyes wide and full of meaning. “Fix it, Harry. I like that girl. She’s a good egg.” She says, her lips barely moving. I nod and she lets go and without another word walks away. I hear my front door close before I open my hand and unfold that piece of paper.
On it, is a phone number and a name, Lilly.
My to do list is forgotten, I pull my phone out of my pocket and start dialing.
When it starts to ring, my heart starts to clamor in my chest. I can hear it in my ears and when she answers after the second ring, it stops beating all together.
“Hello?” She sounds tired, her voice so hoarse it’s unrecognizable. And I look at the clock. It’s only 10am here, that means it’s maybe five the in morning there.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize the time.” I stammer, stupidly. There’s silence on the other end of the line. I’m about to speak again and then I hear her say, “Hello?” She says again, her voice completely strained and unrecognizable.
“It’s me, Harry.” I say quickly, my hope rising until I hear the distinct sound of silence and look at my phone to see the call has ended.
I call again and after three rings, it goes to voicemail. I hold my breath, thinking that I’m about to hear her voice, but instead it’s one of the standard greetings, with a robotic voice telling me that I’ve reached a voicemail that hasn’t been set up. I hang up and call one more time. This time, it goes straight to voicemail.
“Shit.”
I hang up and send a text.
“Lilly, it’s me. I don’t know if you hung up or we were disconnected. I’m going to go with disconnected just because the eternal optimist in me won’t let me think anything else. I want to talk to you. I’m sorry about everything. I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you. I’m sorry I gave that ultimatum and I’m sorry that you’re gone. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I loved you. I’m just so fucking sorry. Please call me back, text me back, let me know.”
The three dots inside the gray bubble appear almost immediately and I stare willing a message to pop up. But it doesn’t. And after a few seconds, the three dots disappear. And I sit there for ten minutes before I realize she’s not going to reply.
36
Lilly
When I got back from the trip from hell, I’d sequestered myself in my apartment. Avoided everyone’s phone calls and logged onto FindMe to catch up on what I’d missed while I’d been away and too afraid to log on for fear of being caught. I’d been beyond the point of livid with Harry. I’d sworn I’d tasted a dash of hate in the aftertaste saying his name left in my mouth.
I spent a whole day looking at pictures of the little girl who had grown inside my body, who I’d given birth to, who had my mother’s eyes and my father’s smile - and who I didn’t know at all. She’s not your daughter replayed over and over again in my head.
But the seed had been planted. I couldn’t stop hearing his refrain in my head as I looked at the pictures. And suddenly, she looked like a stranger. Instead of feeling like I was watching my child grow up, I started to feel like a creep. A peeping Tom. A stalker.
A week passed, my interactions in my book groups stopped. I’d log in and look at the pictures she posted, but I didn’t see my mother’s eyes anymore. Instead I saw how her fingers twined in her mother’s hair in the selfies they took together. I saw how she and her older sister dressed alike on their first day of school.
The refrain in my head changed to she’s not my daughter, I logged into my online counseling portal and set up a session with the therapist I’d stopped talking to when I’d started my game of catfish.
Two weeks later, I’d been able to wean myself down to only logging in when I got a notification from Christina, Michaela’s mother.
Two weeks after that, it was over. I logged and read the post that ended it. My heart plunged to my toes and back up into my throat as I read.
