by M. E. Carter
The five of us spend the next couple of hours enjoying the pancake breakfast Greg insists on making and putting together Maura’s new toys. I could kill Callie for the Create Your Own Make Up set she gave my child. It’s sticky, it’s glittery, it gets everywhere.
I am so getting Christopher a puppy for Christmas.
Once all the toys have a new home and Greg gets the screen back on the window like he promised, he leaves to get a few errands done.
Grabbing my face, he kisses me gently once, twice, three times, and rests his forehead on mine again. “I’ll be back for dinner in a few hours.”
“Ok.” My hands rub up and down his forearms. This is my favorite way he touches me.
“I’m serious, babe. We’re going to make the most of this week.”
“I know.”
He nods once, my answer good enough for him. “I love you. I’ll see you soon.” And he walks out the door.
“I love you, too.” Then I close the door behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Like all of life’s best made plans, the next week didn’t work out like we expected.
A couple hours after Greg left, it began.
Me: Fiona’s throwing up. You sure you want to come back over?
Greg: I’ll grab some Pepto on my way.
An hour later, it got worse.
Me: Maura just joined her sister. There’s vomit everywhere.
Greg: Don’t cook. I’ll pick up food on the way over.
And by dinner time, all three of them were in the throes of a full-blown stomach bug.
Me: If there was any question about how much Max chews her food, the answer is she doesn’t.
Greg: As gross as that information is, I guess full strawberries are easier to clean up than half-digested strawberries, right? Gag reflex notwithstanding.
Me: I hate to say this, but you need to stay away. You can’t risk getting sick, too.
Greg: I hate that you’re right. But I’m holding out hope this is a twenty-four-hour bug and we can pick back up tomorrow.
Me: You and me both.
We were wrong. So, so wrong. Basically, the plague hit my house and it was all I could do to keep up with disinfecting, doing laundry, and praying I didn’t get sick, too. Dates were out of the question.
Instead, we texted every day, while Greg packed up his apartment, finished up some minor projects at work, and avoided the sick ward of Casa de Influenza. It sucked, but what could we do?
Ironically, by Friday, the day Greg was leaving, the girls finally felt better. Not better enough to go to school or even go outside. But better enough that Callie could come by and take over for a bit so I could take a long enough shower to shave my legs.
It feels nice to not cut myself every time my calves rub together now.
“Hey, Elena!” Callie yells up the stairs as I pull my hair up into a messy bun. Hopefully I’ll get back to doing my hair and wearing real clothes soon. But for now, I’m not wasting time on the effort in case someone relapses all over me. It happened twice this week. I’m not taking any more chances.
“Coming!” I yell back, pulling on my ugly sweats before making my way back down the stairs. As soon as I hit the bottom step, she’s waiting for me. “Everything ok?”
She gestures her head towards the door, holding onto the end of the yarn while Fiona works on yet another friendship bracelet. Each of us is sporting at least five so far and the yarn never seems to run out, thanks to Callie’s Christmas presents last year. “You have a visitor.”
I knit my brows in confusion and look through the blinds to see what she’s talking about. There, leaning against a U-Haul truck with his arms and legs crossed, is Greg. A smile crosses my face as I grab the door knob.
“You ok with the girls for a few more minutes?” I ask her.
She rolls her eyes at me and helps Fi untangle a knot. “Go. Go see your man.”
So I do.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I remark, as I make my way to the best man I’ve ever known. “If I had known you were coming by, I’d have dressed up a little.”
A wide grin crosses his face. “You know I don’t care about that.”
He grabs my shirt collar and hauls me to him, kissing me quickly before wrapping his arms around me, mine immediately going around his neck.
“I thought you’d be on the road already.”
“Did you really think I’d leave without saying goodbye?” he asks gently, as he kisses down my neck.
“If it meant staying away from World War Z inside, possibly yes.”
He chuckles. “Why do you think I didn’t get anywhere close to the front door.”
He kisses me again, this time deeply. Our tongues exploring each other’s mouths like our lives depend on it. Our lips melded together like we need each other to breathe.
“Wow,” I breathe when we finally come up for air. “Now that was a kiss.”
“It’s always been my goal to leave you breathless.”
“You left me breathless the first day you walked into that kids’ gymnastics class.”
His eyes soften and he kisses me again. This time slowly, like stopping isn’t an option. I’m fine with it if it means he can’t go. But he has to. A two-year-old we both love depends on it.
Pulling back, I scratch the wayward hairs on the back of his neck. “How long is your drive?” I already know the answer, but I’m not ready for him to leave quite yet. The last five days without him have been bad enough. I’m not sure how I’ll make it through the rest of my life.
He pats the side of the dented-up truck. “Probably close to six hours in Big Bertha, here.”
“You named your U-Haul?” I giggle.
“The guy at the rental place did,” he clarifies. “But I don’t wanna piss her off by calling her by the wrong name. You know how finicky women are. I don’t need her to break down on me in the middle of nowhere.”
I pinch him playfully for that remark making him chuckle. Then we pull each other close again, and stand there hugging silently for what seems like hours. There’s nothing really left to say, and letting go means, well… letting go.
But it must be done. We have to do what’s best for the children in our lives. Isn’t that what being a good parent is? Making sure they are taken care of first and foremost? Knowing he’s got to be ready for Peyton’s visit tomorrow, I pull back and prepare to say goodbye.
“You need to go,” I whisper, blinking back tears.
He takes my face in his hands and tilts my head to look him in the eyes. It’s my favorite way that he touches me. He knows that. And I love him all the more for giving it to me one last time. Grabbing onto his forearms for the last time, I give him the attention he is clearly asking for, a single tear rolling down my cheek.
“I love you, Elena,” he says quietly, looking deeply into my eyes so there is no question about what he’s expressing. “You are the second best thing to ever happen to me, right behind my daughter. No matter what, I will always love you.”
“I will always love you, too.”
He kisses me a final time. A slow peck before he sniffs and pulls away quickly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. It’s like if he doesn’t make a clean break, he’ll never leave.
I watch as he turns to go.
I watch as he climbs into Big Bertha, lifting a hand in a goodbye.
I watch as he drives away.
An arm wraps around my shoulders, and that’s when I allow the tears to fall. Callie just stands there, head on my shoulder, and does what best friends do—lets me cry while I watch until the street ends and the giant U-Haul becomes nothing more than a little dot in my blurred vision.
“You ok?”
I shake my head and wipe the tears from my cheeks. “No,” I sniff. “But I will be. Eventually.”
We continue standing on the quiet street. I’m not sure what for, but somehow moving will make it all the more final, I suppose.
Callie takes a deep breath,
her head still on my shoulder. “Is it too early to tell you that that goodbye was totally reminiscent of the scene in Dirty Dancing when Johnny drove away, leaving Baby in the dust?”
A quick laugh escapes through the tears. “Yes. It’s too early to tell me that. That movie was terrible.”
“I meant the classic. Not the train wreck of a remake.”
I sniffle and wipe my nose with the back of my arm. “Oh good. Comparing me to the new version would be insulting and I can’t take it right now.”
“I would never stoop that low. But I think you’ve forgotten that when Johnny leaves, it wasn’t the end of the movie. He comes back for her.”
We turn back to the house. In spite of my grief, there are still sick kids to care for and mom duty calls.
“And I think you’re forgetting that this isn’t a movie, and I certainly don’t dance like Jennifer Grey.”
“Well, yes. Your dancing leaves much to be desired.” She links her arm through mine as we walk. “But you’re missing my point. Call it a gut feeling, but somehow, I don’t think your love story is over yet.”
I appreciate her sentiment, but I know that’s not the way life works. Life is messy and unpredictable. It can bring amazing happiness, but it can also bring sadness. I’m not fooling myself and pretending that this will “work itself out”. It’s up to me to take whatever life throws my direction and make the best of it.
Music is blaring when we walk through the door and my ratty looking girls, all still dressed in their pajamas, hair sticking up everywhere, are getting down to the sounds of some random Megan Trainor song. Who knows which one. They all sound the same to me.
“What’s going on?” I shout over the music.
Callie jumps right into the mix and begins shaking her groove thang. Why am I not surprised?
“It’s a dance party, Mama!” Maura yells and grabs me by the hands, forcing me into the middle of it all.
I don’t feel like dancing today, but looking at the joy on my girls’ faces, I do it anyway. I know I need to dance like there’s no tomorrow. Because as the last couple of years have shown me, anything can happen. I have to embrace the joy whenever it’s available.
Forcing myself to shake my booty, I spin and twirl until I’m dizzy. Smiling through my sadness, I laugh until more tears run down my face, pretending it’s not my grief overflowing. I quite literally, fake it because I know I’ll make it.
Yes, today, I’m allowed to feel sad, but I won’t wallow in self-pity. I finally have a grip on my life. And no matter how badly it hurts right now, we’re all going to be ok.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Greg
“Come on, Big Bertha, you can do it.” I smack the dashboard a few times, trying and failing to get rid of the rattling sound that started about an hour ago. I don’t think it’s serious, but you never know with a rental and I’m not paying double fees for a tow truck to get this monster to my new apartment and then back to her owner after I unload.
The drive has been easy, but it’s been long. Lots of highway. Lots of flat terrain. Not a lot of distractions. And no distractions means hours of having your thoughts on a never-ending loop of all the things I should have said and done. It’s its own kind of torture. It doesn’t help that I’m worried about four little girls… one living in a strange place that I’m driving towards and three sick ones that I’m leaving behind.
It’s weird how I’m sad over the loss of someone else’s kids, almost as much as I am about losing the actual someone.
It’s not really helping that my mood calls for country music. Reba McIntyre is currently serenading me with words about her broken heart after a painful split from the one she loves. Talk about depressing. I could change the station, but that would require taking my hands off a wheel that doesn’t have power steering just as the traffic increases, so I’m gonna go with it for now.
“We’re almost there, Bertha,” I say, but I’m not sure if I’m really talking to the truck or myself.
I haven’t stopped thinking about Elena and her girls since I cranked the engine and put the truck into drive. Memories have flooded my mind and if I’m being truthful, I’m not trying really hard to push them out. I don’t want to forget a second of our time together so I keep hoping the more I think about her, the more locked into my memory the last few months will be.
I want to remember how I felt the first time I saw her. She was relaxed and carefree with her messy bun and yoga pants, not freaking out when Christopher tackled Max to the ground yelling “Mine!”. Thinking about it still makes me smile. Elena went with the flow of it all. She never judged Callie for Christopher’s crazy antics like a lot of people would have. She just loves them for who they are.
I remember the playdates at McDonald’s where Elena would always spit out an unexpected one-liner, making me choke. She had an uncanny ability to say the exact right thing as I took a drink. And by the look on her face when I coughed, like her goal all along was to shock me, she was pleased to accomplish that.
I remember her standing up to Libby. Her pulling together the inner strength I always knew was there, and she had forgotten about, to show my ex that we were in it together. The fire in her eyes as proof that it doesn’t matter what anyone says, we’re a team. End of story.
I remember the first night we spent together, getting to know each other’s bodies and what gave each of us the most pleasure. She was worried about what I would think of how she looks, she never stopped to think there could be anything less than perfect about me. In her eyes, even after I bared my biggest insecurities to her, she was still right. I was perfect to her. And slowly but surely, she realized, in my eyes, I was right, too. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world to me. Not because she’s shaped like a modern-day supermodel, but because she’s shaped like a woman who has lived a full and satisfying life. You don’t get stretchmarks and less than perky breasts from maintaining a teenage figure. You get them from really living. And that is so much more attractive than boobs you can bounce quarters off.
Mostly, though, I remember watching her come into her own. I was lucky enough to see her transformation as it happened. She claims it was because of me that she found herself again. But that’s not true. She found herself because she was never really gone. She was being covered up by a narcissistic asshole who made a point of treating her like she wasn’t worth anything. As much as I hate how he left her, once she was free of him, she was free to shine again. And shine she does.
As the flat terrain begins to make more shape and the city of San Antonio begins to come into view, I know nothing I ever do will be as hard as leaving her today. It comes second only to letting Peyton get in that car with Libby and drive away last week. But that pain was short-lived when I made the decision to follow them. I will live with the pain of leaving Elena for the rest of my life. I will also live with the regrets of not being a stronger man, because this entire situation has proven I’m not nearly as strong as I should be.
While I watched Elena get a grip on her life, I was sitting around being a pussy with my own. I’ve let Libby run the show, because it’s been easier to play nice. I’ve been so afraid of losing what little time I have with Peyton, that I lost sight of how much my ex controls things. And this time it cost me the woman I know could be the love of my life.
That’s not ok.
I meant it when I said I’ve already started praying circumstances will change. Knowing how unpredictable Libby is, it’s only a matter of time. But until all the answers on how to change things become clear, I’m going to focus on getting my own grip.
As I veer off to the right, taking the exit that will lead me to my new home, I make a vow to myself… things will not continue the way they have been. I will find a better balance.
For the girls.
For Elena.
For myself.
I’m going to make sure of it.
THE END
What? Did you really think these two wouldn’t end up t
ogether?
Puh-leese.
While Elena’s journey back to herself may be over,
Greg still has some work to do.
Watch how he wins back his woman in
Balance Check
Balance Check
by M.E. Carter
Chapter One
Elena
“Ooof!” I drop the world’s heaviest box next to my feet, which happens to be next to the world’s largest industrial shredder. Ok, not really. But holy crap that box is heavy.
I really should get rid of my paperwork more often, but sometimes I get so caught up in my work that I procrastinate until it overflows.
Fine, that’s a lie. I’m not getting caught up in my work. I’m getting caught up in the gossip at work. It can be juicy behind the scenes at an elementary school.
I’ve only worked here for a couple of months, but so far, I like it. I’m at the same school as my girls, so I get to have lunch with them sometimes. And I’m interacting with actual adults throughout the day. Not that Callie isn’t an adult, even if she acts like a twelve-year-old boy half the time. But I’m expanding my horizons. Or so I tell everyone.
Going back to work was a hard decision to make. It was another life change to push through, but a necessary one. When Greg moved away nine months ago—and yes, I’m still keeping track—we made it a point to text and call almost daily. Eventually, he got busy with his new job and, frankly, the distance got too hard on me emotionally. I wondered constantly when I would get the text that he’d moved on and was dating again. It threw my anxiety into overdrive.
A couple of months after he left, I realized I was back-peddling. So I cut it off completely. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But my insecurities and doubts about my own worth were rearing their ugly heads, and I couldn’t go back to where I had been. I just couldn’t. Greg said he understood and we had, yet another, emotional moment full of tears. But he stayed true to his word and let me go.
