An (Almost) Perfect Love Story (Love Story Book Three)

by Schurig, Rachel

  “Does it matter to you that I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life?”

  I spun back around to gape at her. She was crying and trembling. It was the closest I had ever seen her to coming apart. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I love Harold,” she sniffed. “He treats me like an equal. He wants to help me find a job. He thinks I should be putting my talents to use more than just as a housewife.”

  “That’s nice of him,” I snarled. “And nice to hear my mother describe her secret affair as the happiest time of her life. Nice that she counts it as happier than, you know, raising her children.”

  My mom closed her eyes. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you do mean,” I shot back. “I thought I knew you. I thought we were so close.” I felt tears start to well up in my eyes, but I was determined not to cry in front of her. “I was always so proud of you, proud to call you my mother. But I never knew you, not at all.”

  She drew back a little, as if I had hit her. I found that I didn’t care, not one bit. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to hurt her as much as I could.

  “We are close, Ashley,” she whispered. “You have no idea how much that’s meant to me—”

  I cut her off. “I don’t want to see you anymore, Mom. I don’t want you planning my wedding. I don’t even want you at the wedding, pretending we have this great family. Pretending like you’re a good mother. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

  “Ashley,” she whispered, sounding miserable. I ordered myself not to care that she was upset. She deserved it.

  “I mean it, about telling Daddy. I’m not letting him pay for this room or for your food or anything else. Your precious Harold can pay for it. You tell him or I will.”

  “You think you just know everything about my relationship with your dad, don’t you?” she asked, shaking her head at me sadly. “You have no idea what it’s like to be married, Ashley. No idea at all. I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Something close to a sneer twisted her features. “Chris is a lot like your father, you know. So good natured, so calm about everything.”

  I swallowed hard, a cold sliver of something akin to doubt creeping down my back. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “You try living thirty years with it. You try living with a man that never has an opinion of his own, a man that never fights for anything. You try thirty years of calm. Thirty years of no passion.”

  “Chris isn’t—”

  “Your father has never once come to this hotel, did you know that? He knows where I am by now. The bills, as you pointed out, are going to him. But he’s never been here. Why do you think that is?”

  I snorted. “Probably because he’s mad at you.”

  “No, Ashley. It’s because it would never occur to him to fight for me, to fight for anything. He would much rather sit at home and wait.” A look of naked desire crossed her face. “I was just so goddamn tired of waiting.”

  I stared at her, not knowing what to say. “So it’s his fault?” I finally asked. “Because he was too nice? Too patient?”

  My mother sighed. “I’m not saying it’s his fault. I did something terrible. Do you think I don’t know that? But I knew if I stayed…” she covered her face. “Your sister went away to school, and suddenly my house was empty. For the first time, I realized I’d lived my entire life for other people. My children. Your father. Even my friends. Everything was for someone else, or because of how I wanted someone else to see me. I was so tired, Ashley. So…bored.”

  “So if you get bored, have an affair and lie about it. Got it, thanks for the marriage advice.”

  My mother looked at me, so much sadness in her eyes it made me wince. “I hope you never understand what I’m talking about, sweetheart. You can hate me all you want, but I’ll still be your mother, and I’ll always love you. It might be easier for me if you could understand, but I don’t wish it on you.” From across the room, her eyes met mine and I felt another shiver run down my spine. “I hope, if you do get married, you never get to a point where you can understand why I did what I did.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I drove home from the hotel feeling sick to my stomach. I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. Instead, I heard her words over and over again in my head. “Chris is a lot like your father…if you do get married…” By the time I pulled into my parking lot, I felt like I might go crazy, or throw up—whichever came first.

  I stormed up the stairs to our apartment, praying Chris or Emily would not be there. I didn’t think I could bear to see anyone. Even though it was barely eleven a.m., all I wanted was a large bottle of something that would burn on its way down and make me forget about this terrible day.

  To my intense relief, the apartment was empty—then I remembered. They were both gone for the weekend. I didn’t even bother taking off my shoes before I went to the kitchen in search of some liquor. I pulled open the fridge, sure we had some vodka there, and swore out loud to find it missing. We had probably drunk it all that night Ryan had been here, before Valentine’s Day. It was the last time I could remember really drinking. I found a bottle of red in the cabinet and decided wine would have to do. Drinking alone before lunch, I thought as I pulled out a clean glass. A new low.

  I poured myself a glass and sat at the kitchen table, burying my head in my hands. I wasn’t sure what was worse—finding out my mom was having an affair, or what she had said about marriage and my dad. I had thought it was bad when she moved out, completely shocked to realize my parents could even be having problems. But now this. Listening to her talk, I guess she must have been absolutely miserable. And for how long? How had I never seen it? How could I have blindly believed she’d been happy with her life all these years? Had she ever really loved my dad?

  I was terrified by the realization that I hadn’t seen what was right in front of me. I had thought they were so perfect because I never saw them fight. But looking back, maybe that had been the problem. You try living with a man that never has an opinion of his own, a man that never fights for anything, she had said. It was true. My mother made all the decisions in our house. My dad never raised his voice, never argued or complained. He seemed happy to go along with things, happy to let her steer their ship. And look where that had gotten them.

  What else had I been wrong about, if I was so wrong about them? How stupid could I be, to think they were happy?

  It wasn’t just them, either. Just two years ago, I had been wrong about Emily and her then-boyfriend Greg. I had thought he was perfect for her, because he was so charming and rich and handsome. I snorted into my wine. Just like me, to focus on completely the wrong things. The shiny, fairytale exterior, nothing deeper. It had been the same thing with Brooke and her ex, John. I only saw what I wanted to see, two gorgeous people who were “perfect” for each other. I just never got it, not when it came to love.

  Chris is a lot like your father, you know.

  Oh God. What if I was wrong about Chris? What if we weren’t right for each other? The night he proposed, I would have bet a million dollars that we’d be together forever. But would I have said the same thing about my parents? How were you supposed to know, really know, that something was going to work out?

  If you do get married...

  My phone rang, startling me. I looked wearily at the caller ID, not wanting to talk to my mother or my fiancé. Luckily it was Ryan. “Hey, Ry,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked immediately. I could never fool him.

  “I went to her hotel room,” I said dully. “You were right, about the man. His name is Harold and she’s very much in love.”

  He swore on the other end of the phone. “Are you alone?”

  “Yeah,” I whispered.

  “I’m on my way, okay? Just sit tight.”

  I paced the living room drinking my wine, trying to stop
myself from thinking about my parents…or about Chris. I felt tired and angry and so scared. When Ryan rapped on the door, I ran to let him in, so happy for the distraction I could have kissed him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, taking my arms and looking straight into my face.

  I shook my head miserably. “How could I have been so stupid, so wrong about them?”

  He gathered me up in his arms. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I really am.”

  I realized that, out of everyone, Ryan would understand this best. His own parents had split up when we were nineteen. His dad had waited until his fatherly responsibilities were over before breaking the news. Once Ryan was away at school, his dad had come clean; he’d had a mistress for the past ten years, and he was leaving to go live with her in Tampa, where he got a promotion and a new condo to go along with his new wife.

  “It just scares me, you know?” I said, pulling away so I could see his face. “How am I supposed to be sure of anything anymore?”

  Ryan gave me a rueful smile. “You’re talking to the guy who dealt with his parents’ split by becoming a man-whore. And continues to deal by self-sabotaging every relationship that makes him halfway happy. So maybe I’m not the best one to ask for advice.”

  “You’re not making me feel better here, Ry.”

  “Sorry, babe.” He took my arm and led me over to the couch. “Listen, I lost a lot of my faith in people when my dad left. For a while, I didn’t think the whole love thing was even possible anymore.”

  My stomach dropped. “But you know what,” he said, sitting up taller as he spoke. “I kept watching sappy movies, didn’t I? And I kept dating. And I kept rooting for you and Chris, and for Emily when she finally decided to get serious about romance.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point is that, even in my cynicism, I still must have believed in it, deep down. Otherwise I would have given up completely, right? Maybe there’s hope for me yet.” He bent his head a little so he could look straight into my eyes. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anyone as perfect together as you are with Chris. Please don’t let yourself doubt that, Ash.”

  I leaned back against the couch cushion, sighing. It was all well and good for Ryan to say that, but if I had learned anything lately, it was that we rarely understood what was really going on in someone else’s relationship. If I couldn’t be sure, how could Ryan?

  “Hang on,” he said, standing and pulling out his phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m calling Brian to cancel our plans.”

  “No way,” I said. “You’re not cancelling.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. Like I’m leaving you alone right now. We’ll get some food, drink some more of that wine and gossip all afternoon.”

  “Ryan—”

  But Brian had already answered the phone. Ryan walked into the kitchen, and I could hear him talking softly, explaining that I was having some issues and needed him to stick around.

  “No problem,” he said a moment later, coming back to the living room and tossing his phone down on the coffee table. His tone was light, but he looked stressed.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Was he mad?”

  “No,” he said, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “Ryan,” I groaned. “You are not getting in a fight with him because of me. Call him back right now and tell him you’re on your way.”

  “Not, it’s not that. Really. Things have just been a little…off with us. That’s all. Nothing to do with this, promise.”

  “Off how?”

  Ryan sighed. “Can we focus on one problem at a time, please?”

  “Ryan—”

  “You’re so stubborn.” He put his hands on his hips and looked down at me. “I’m up to my old tricks, okay? Messing things up for myself. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Oh, no,” I moaned, closing my eyes. “You need to fix it. Seriously, call him back. Don’t let this turn into something bad, please.”

  “Ash, did it ever occur to you that the thing I might need right now is to hang out with my best friend?”

  “Really?”

  “Really. If we can’t hang out and gorge on bad food and chick flicks when I’m having guy problems, what’s the point of being friends?”

  I managed a real smile at that. “Good point.”

  “Can we go now?”

  “Yeah, let’s go. And, Ryan…thanks,” I said, hoping he understood how much I meant it. He held out a hand to me, pulling me up from the couch when I grabbed it.

  “We stick together, babe. Now let’s go get some crap food and drown our sorrows.”

  * * *

  If I had thought getting caught in an affair would subdue my mother’s spirit, I was very wrong. While getting ready for work on Monday morning, I received a text from Jen, letting me know that she had heard from my mom late the night before and they had averted the appetizer crisis. I gaped at the phone. Mom had talked to Jen last night? She was still planning the wedding?

  I got my answer as soon as I pulled up the email on my phone. There, in my inbox, was an email. It was from my mother.

  Ashley,

  I thought you would be more receptive to an email. I know you are very upset with me right now, understandably, and I didn’t want you to feel as if you needed to speak with me right away.

  I went to the house to speak with your father yesterday evening. I told him about Harold. He was upset but amicable. We are entering into a legal separation. Your father wants to begin divorce proceedings immediately.

  I will be moving into Harold’s home, so you do not need to worry about your father supporting me. You were right about that, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have let it go on for as long as I did, and I’ll be making arrangements to repay your dad for the cost of the hotel room.

  Your father is eager to continue to finance the wedding however; I hope you will see that it means a lot to him to do so and not cause any difficulties on this point.

  We have agreed that we will not share the news of our divorce until after the wedding. This is as much for you and your sisters as it is for our own benefit. We simply do not want any talk of our problems interfering with your day.

  When you are feeling better, I hope you will contact me so we can go over the plans for the wedding. I understand that you may not want to talk yet, so for the time being, I will continue to work with Jennifer on your behalf. We will aim to provide you and Chris with a lovely wedding, as was always my intention.

  I’m so very sorry you had to be caught in the middle of this. If I could change my past actions so as not to affect you, I would do so in an instant. There are many things I regret about my actions, sweetheart, but the biggest regret is in upsetting you.

  I hope, in time, you will be able to forgive me. I love you.

  Mom

  I stared at the phone, too shocked to even process half of what she had said. They were getting a divorce. And Daddy had been the one to ask for it.

  Without thinking, I scrolled through the contacts until I found my school. It was too early for the office to be open, so I left a message informing them I was very ill and would be off for the day. Then I sank down into the couch and reread the email, hoping it would make more sense.

  Divorce proceedings…continue financing the wedding…work with Jennifer on your behalf.

  “I don’t believe her,” I muttered. She seriously thought I was going to allow her to continue to plan the wedding? Had she been trying to guilt me into accepting with that bit about it being important to my father?

  We have agreed that we will not share the news of our divorce until after the wedding…So her plan, then, was to make my wedding some kind of farce? With the two of them pretending to be a happy couple?

  It suddenly occurred to me that my father now knew. He knew about the affair, had found out last night. And had then been alone all that time. While I had been blithely talking about my problems with Ryan and
drinking wine, my dad had been alone with the knowledge that he’d lost his wife for good.

  “Damn it,” I muttered, pulling up his cell phone number and placing the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Daddy, it’s Ashley,” I said, and he burst into tears.

  Twenty minutes later, fresh from a quick shower, I was pulling on a pair of jeans and an old T-shirt. I considered leaving a note for Emily, in case she got home from her trip before me, then realized it didn’t matter. She would just think I was at work anyhow.

  Traffic heading into the city was terrible. It had been stupid to leave during rush hour, but I had promised my dad I would get there as soon as I could. If that meant sitting through the traffic, so be it.

  I found him in the kitchen, drinking scotch.

  “Daddy,” I cried. “It’s eight-thirty in the morning!”

  He looked up at me, his face lined and grey. “Is it?” he asked, confused. His speech was slurred. “How strange. I guess I never went to bed.”

  “Oh, no,” I muttered, coming over to sit next to him. His eyes were unfocused. “Have you been drinking all night?”

  “She’s gone, you know,” he whispered, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. I had never seen anything sadder—it was like he was falling apart right there in front of me.

  “Daddy, you need to eat something and then go to bed,” I said, standing up to search through the fridge for some food—anything to get away from the look on his face.

  I found a bagel in the breadbox and toasted it for him, adding some butter. By the time I got back to the table, he was snoring.

  “Great,” I muttered. I shook his shoulder gently. “Daddy? Daddy, come on, wake up.”

  I finally managed to get him up and away from the table. I knew he would never make it to the bedroom, so I deposited him on the couch, pulling an old quilt over him. I sank into his recliner, staring at his snoring form, feeling more alone—and terrified—than I ever had in my life.

  Chapter Twenty-two