by Kat T. Masen
“You’re right. I’ve done absolutely nothing but carry the guilt inside for the last two months. I’m sorry you think that I’ve done nothing because, apparently, it’s never about me but rather about everyone else and what they want.”
Running my hands through my hair, it’s my turn to laugh at her comment at how frustrating she can be. “You can’t blame anyone else but yourself. You make the decisions. You dictate your own life. You can’t keep using everyone else as an excuse, Morgan.”
And as if I struck a chord, shaken her beliefs to the very core, she stares back at me with downcast eyes before the truth really does hurt.
“You know what, Noah? You’re right,” she says, confirming the truth. “I should live my life for me. Make my own decisions. And I’ll start by making one right now.” She moves closer, placing her hand on my chest to feel the beat of my heart. It’s beating rather loud, thumping like mad. And with just one touch, it begins to slow because her touch alone is what it’s been waiting for.
“I love you, but sometimes love isn’t enough,” she says faintly. “Walk away from me now. Figure out exactly what it is you want from me. Because I’ll tell you this…” She stalls her words, keeping my curiosity piqued. “If you come back to me and tell me you love me, I’ll take those words to heart and never let them go.”
I resist raising my hand to caress her face because I do love her. But throughout all this, she’s finally begun to understand me and knows that I need to do some soul searching because I can’t give her all of me right at this very moment. There are too many unanswered questions, and I need answers before I take her into my arms and never let her go.
I choose to walk away, not because I’m weak but because I need to find strength.
And two weeks later, I find it.
NOAH
I sit in the car watching the man who’s the husband of the woman I love. The day is slightly overcast, or perhaps it’s the LA smog I’ve grown accustomed to. Either way, it does nothing to help my already dejected mood.
There are many people around him from assistants helping with hair and makeup to the models themselves being photographed. With the camera in his hand, he switches angle and moves in closer while taking shots. He appears to be comfortable in his element, smiling happily, and directing the models into different poses.
He could also be smiling because he’s married to the woman you love.
Tracking down Wyatt has been more difficult than I had anticipated. With Morgan and I apart and Scarlett refusing to talk to me after her sexual advances, it gives me no choice but to contact their dad, Max.
We have an exceedingly long chat about the situation. Apparently, Morgan confided in him early on about her feelings for me, which is why he knew of us being together at the barbecue. The more he speaks about his relationship with Morgan, the more I realize he’s just like my mom. And funny enough, it isn’t just about me seeking his approval but equally him seeking my approval to date Mom.
You can only laugh at such a twisted outcome.
With bare feet, I walk awkwardly against the sand, my toes digging in as I make my way over to where they’re shooting. An assistant asks me if I’m part of the shoot, attempting to usher me toward the makeshift wardrobe.
“I’m here to speak to Wyatt,” I say flatly.
She walks over to where Wyatt’s standing, and sure enough, he turns around to see me. He yells at the models to take five, removing his camera from around his neck and handing it to the assistant. With bare feet, he steps over to where I’m standing and extends his hand.
“Noah.” He smiles politely.
I don’t know why I shake it—it feels like a handshake with the devil. Or perhaps that’s what I perceive in my head. I hate him because he has everything I want. Yet, hate is such a strong word for a man I know nothing about.
He motions for me to follow him to a quiet café that sits along the busy pavement. Venice Beach is bustling with many different walks of life, surprising me everywhere I turn.
We enter the building, and he orders a coffee, offering me something to drink. I order a coffee too, but my insomnia is weighing heavily on my shoulder. The café is small, only a few scattered tables inside the air-conditioned area. Aside from the employees, there are only an elderly couple—possibly tourists—who sit quietly near the window, admiring the view outside.
“So,” he says. “Let’s talk.”
I don’t know where to begin. The conversation has replayed over and over in my head, yet here I sit without words. The only thing I do know is that I’m sitting here across from him because he’s the key to Morgan and I being together.
“I need to understand your relationship with Morgan. This is complicated…” I trail off.
He takes a sip of his coffee, leaning back on his chair as he eyes me dubiously. He’s roughly the same height as me, not as cut up but still quite muscular. His light blond hair is trimmed reasonably short, and I didn’t notice before, but he has a tattoo on the side of his neck. I can’t make out what it is, but I pray it’s not her damn name.
“When I first met Mo, she was exactly like me, carefree and just wanting to have fun. We met on some wild weekend in Vegas, and despite your reluctance to hear this, it was purely sexual and nothing more.”
I despise him calling her Mo. It makes me extremely jealous, more than the mention of their purely sexual relationship. His face, along with the rest of this room, is a friendly target to punch my fist into. But I have to hold back, curling my fists under the table and keeping my rage at bay.
“When her best friend was unresponsive from some date drug, we were forced to wait by her side at the hospital until she woke up. It was the worst forty-eight hours of our lives.” He recalls the memory but not without reliving the pain that’s etched all over his face, drinking more coffee to compose himself.
“I’d just broken up with my ex-girlfriend of two years, and when you start questioning life because you think someone is dying next to you… I acted cowardly and ran back to her. It was only one night, but that’s all it took.
“But I moved on. Mo was fantastic, and we just fell in love with each other and life. We decided to get married on a whim. It was going great until we found out that Addy was pregnant.”
The waiter comes over, offering us a refill, which we both kindly accept. After a quick break, he continues, “Morgan was upset, and I thought she’d walk away, but she didn’t. Michael was born, and everyone fell in love with him, especially Morgan.” His smile says it all. Morgan’s a kind and generous-hearted woman despite her evil-queen persona when she’s around me.
“Around two years ago, Morgan noticed that Michael had particular behaviors that appeared different from other children at his daycare. He communicated but not as quickly as the other children. Both of us narrowed it down to him developing slower, but then we began to notice other things. How when he played, he became fixated on certain things rather than pretend playing like the other kids.
“For the three of us, we were first-time parents, so we didn’t really question it further, assuming his behavior was simply different. It was his teacher who first raised a concern, telling us he had difficulty socializing with other children. From there, we decided to seek help while he was still young. He was diagnosed with high-functioning autism.”
I had researched as much as I could in an attempt to understand exactly what it is. It was only after I’d read a number of parents’ blogs and watched videos, it finally sank in.
Mom and I talked long and hard about it, and it helped that she also tried to give me the perspective of a mother in that situation because that’s what Morgan is—a mother to Michael.
“Addy and I were devastated. We knew nothing about autism and blamed ourselves for him being that way. Morgan was the one who stepped up, learning as much as she could for the three of us to co-parent him and have him thrive despite the challenges he faced. Without her, I don’t know what Addy and I would’ve done.”
“Morgan loves him,” I admit out loud. “She’ll do anything for him. I’ll never understand how she can be so selfless, considering he isn’t her son.”
Wyatt releases a light-hearted chuckle. “Because that’s who she is, selfless Mo. That’s why she’s my best friend.”
More words that hurt.
My mind drifts to Kate, but quickly, I push them away. Like a smoker addicted to nicotine, the thought alone can be deadly. I still miss her like crazy and everything about her.
But I need to focus on Morgan.
And as I take a deep breath, I realize that loving Morgan is more than just telling her—it’s accepting her for who she is and accepting the people she loves—the man across from me, his son, and me.
“Our marriage didn’t fall apart. We just didn’t evolve together. We talked about separating and made the decision last year. We never, for once, thought it would be difficult for Michael. He didn’t feel the emotions because that’s something he struggles with but more so the change of routine. He struggled to sleep, and his tiredness affected his general behavior. Morgan was terrified he’d take a step back, and the behavior specialists suggested a slow but progressive change. I guess we just let it be and allowed it to drag on because it wasn’t such an issue until you walked into Morgan’s life,” he tells me, and I detect slight bitterness in his tone.
I’m unsure whether there’s resentment toward me for being the man who supposedly stole Morgan’s heart. He’s spoken about Michael, and it’s plain to see that his son means everything to him. The love from a father has no bounds, something I have no concept of.
And it doesn’t hit me until this very moment. I love my mom, and she does everything she can to make sure I have the best life possible. But no matter what she does, the absence of a father is something difficult to replace.
“Mo’s my best friend. She always will be. I don’t know what your intentions are with her, but she will always be in my life. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he warns me.
“I love her.” It’s the only thing I can say.
“Then, if you love her, be with her.”
I laugh, cocky perhaps but stumped by his willingness to just palm her off. “You make it sound so easy. It’s not just about loving her. It’s about accepting her choices. Her choice is to have Michael in her life despite the two of you being apart. This is why I need to know now if you’re going to fight me for her,” I tell him how it is. “I want this to work more than anything I’ve wanted in my life, but I’m not going to be second best nor pushed to the side. The moment I walk back to her, it’s forever.”
And I’ve finally made that decision. Being away from her only confirms one thing—I do love her. And that love consumes every part of me. The thought of not having her in my life tears me into a million pieces. I need to muster up my strength and patience to be a better man for her without compromising my own needs.
Wyatt stands, sweeping his keys into his hand. “Then let me take you to her.”
***
There’s chaos all around us, the sound of children’s idle chit-chat combined with laughter everywhere you turn. The playground is busy with children running about, parents pushing the swings high into the air as the kids squeal with happiness. And just behind the area are the courts where I first saw Morgan play.
There’s four of them—Morgan and three little boys. I recognize Michael immediately. He’s standing distant from the other children but still listening to Morgan speak. I can’t wipe the smile off my face—she looks cute in her little shorts and Chicago Bulls jersey. Damn. How did I not know she went for the Bulls? It should be a terrible sign of things to come, yet I brush it off because it’s not important right now.
She sees us standing together behind the fence, somewhat shocked. Michael notices Wyatt and runs up to him, wrapping his arms around his legs. The other children just stare, their parents asking them to come over and have a drink of water while they take a break.
With the ball in her hand, Morgan slowly paces toward us, tilting her head, trying to hold back her smile.
“What are the two of you doing here?” she asks, looking at Wyatt, then to me.
“Hey, buddy.” Wyatt kneels down to Michael’s level. “Do you think you can count the number of lines on the court?”
Michael nods, running to the corner where the lines begin and evenly pacing himself while counting slowly.
Extending his hand, Wyatt hands Morgan an envelope, which he removed from his bag.
“What’s this?” she stares, confused.
“Divorce papers,” he says without hesitating. “You see, Noah and I kinda have an understanding now. I know he’ll take care of you, and I know you’ll still be in Michael’s life.”
Morgan’s eyes refuse to leave the envelope, and slowly as she raises them to meet mine. She faintly whispers, “Michael can still be in my life?”
“He’s a part of you, Morgan, and I want all of you,” I tell her, smiling to ease the burden she’s carrying. It’s finally sunk in. The distance I need to go to show her how much I love her and what she means to me.
“We’ll make it work, Mo. The three of us,” Wyatt reassures her.
“Four,” she corrects him.
He raises his eyebrows. “Four?”
“Please, Wyatt. You can come clean now about Jessica. I mean, gee, talk about a dirty mouth on that one.”
I keep my laughter to myself as Wyatt nods his head, agreeing with a sly smile. “Well, I guess you know, then,” he simply says.
“Timing isn’t exactly her strength. Plus, I should’ve been a private detective with the skills I got,” she jokes, then points her finger at me. “Just a heads up.”
The three of us laugh as Michael finishes counting and returns with his statistics. The kid is impressive. Morgan informs us she’ll finish their practice game as Wyatt and I stand on the side. He explains to me that sports are something Michael finds zero interest in. However, when it comes to watching on television, he’s fascinated with the commentating, especially facts and stats of the game.
When they finish up, Wyatt offers to take Michael home. “We’ll leave you two alone,” he tells us.
Before he leaves, I kneel down to Michael’s level but keep my handshake at bay not to overwhelm him. “Hi Michael, I’m Noah. A friend of Morgan’s.”
He listens, but stares at the sky, then gazes at me for just a split second before fixating on the ball. “Do you play basketball?”
“I do,” I respond eagerly.
“Do you know that Michael Jordan won six NBA championships?”
I smile because I do know that. “Uh-huh, and do you know that he had six thousand, six hundred and seventy-two rebounds?”
Michael continues to stare at the sky as if he’s thinking out loud. “That’s a lot of rebounds.”
Morgan and Wyatt smile back, keeping quiet as they watch Michael. He doesn’t have anything else to say, so Wyatt decides to take him home, saying goodbye to both of us. When they’re out of sight, Morgan’s quick to jump into my arms and hold onto me as if her life depends on it.
“Thank you.”
I bury my face in her hair, inhaling her scent and moving my head to plant a soft kiss on her neck. I fucking miss her so much. And with her in my arms, I want to be a better man—honest and faithful— and show her each day what she means to me.
“You know you’re kind of stuck with me now?” I chastise.
“You know what?” She grins, her eyes sparkling inside my embrace. “You’re worth all the heartache, Noah. Every single moment of it.”
“I love you,” I blurt out, perturbed by my sudden need to be so forthcoming with my emotions. “I’m not perfect.”
“No, you’re not,” she agrees, letting out a sigh. “This will be hard.”
“I know.”
“You have to understand that it can’t always be about you and me. Michael has certain needs and—”
I place my finger on
her lips, cutting her off. “I believe you.”
“Noah, I love you,” she breathes, relaxing in my arms with a loving gaze. “But, are we crazy?”
“Crazy enough to make this work.”
With a tilt of her head, her lips brush mine, a gentle tease making it passionate and demanding, leaving me wanting more. She slowly pulls away, out of breath.
“So where to now? You could come over. We can watch a movie?”
“Sounds good.” I grin, dropping my hand to intertwine with hers. “What movie?”
“Have you ever seen Pretty in Pink? It’s my favorite movie.”
The corners of my mouth turn up into a smile as I fondly remember when Kate stopped me at Santa Monica pier, questioning me with such judgment in her eyes. I had no doubt the universe had its own plan, working in mysterious ways. Kate’s and my friendship was all about timing. We were in each other’s lives at the right time. I desperately want to text her that, at least—one more time. But quickly, I decide against it.
“I have, actually.” Releasing a sigh with a carefree smile. “Someone important once told me it was a rite of passage into adulthood.”
Morgan’s laugh is soft and endearing. “You’re the perfect man, Noah.”
“Must be fate?” I tease, laying another kiss on her lips.
“Definitely fate.”
KATE
My eyes scan the room one more time.
Cardboard boxes are stacked neatly on top of each other, the contents scrawled on in broad black felt-tip marker. The furniture still remains, positioned the same as when I first moved in.
For years, this apartment has been home. Presley joined me as a roommate for a few months during her pregnancy before Haden swept her off her feet and placed a ring on her finger.
