Bent not Broken

by Lisa De Jong

  ****

  THE RIDE HOME is quiet. Bradford keeps trying to engage me in conversation, and like Teflon, it all just beads up and trickles off on impact. I just can’t do it. And it’s not fair to him nor is it fair to me. When he pulls in my driveway, I take a deep breath, unbuckle my seatbelt, and turn toward him as he turns to face me. He’s so handsome and wonderful. I’m an awful person. But I’m about to fix that on one point.

  “I don’t like the way you’re looking at me, Celeste. And I don’t understand where things went wrong. One minute we’re dancing and kissing and enjoying each other. The next I couldn’t even put my hand on your back without getting freezer burn. So what gives?”

  “Bradford, you are such a nice guy.” He groans and I hear his head thonk as he dramatically drops his head on the window glass. “But I’m feeling very conflicted and overwhelmed right now.”

  He surprises me by grabbing my hand and kissing my knuckles. “Well, that’s not exactly a break up, is it? Are you saying you don’t want to see me or you don’t want to see anyone?”

  “I can’t see anyone yet. I’m not ready.”

  “This may seem crazy to you since we haven’t know each other long, but I’ll wait, Celeste. I’ll wait till you’re ready.”

  Again, why can I not get on board with this sweet guy? “I can’t ask you to do that, Bradford.”

  “Celeste, you’re the first person I’ve been interested in, much less cared about, in years. You’re not asking me to do anything. If you’re interested in me the way I am you, I’ll give you some space.”

  I nod my head. He’s perfect for me. He’s everything I should want. And on some level I do, but if there are a hundred levels of interest, Adrian’s volcanic effect has overflowed onto all my levels so that Bradford is hanging on around fifty. And pursuing this while I’m so conflicted and indecisive wouldn’t be fair to either of us. Maybe I do just need time to get Adrian out of my head.

  Nodding my head, I say, “If you’re willing to give me a little time and space, I’ll be in touch when I’m ready to date. But if you meet someone else, I don’t want you holding out for me.”

  He laughs loudly like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, grabs me by the back of my head, and kisses me hard. And I do get lost for a second. When I realize I’m losing myself, I pull back gently.

  “See? It’s there. You just have to be open to it. I know you feel it too.”

  I give him a half-grin, let myself out of his car before he can move, and walk quickly to my porch. Turning, I give him a smile and a wave. Time and distance…I hope that’s all I need.

  Eleven

  Everybody Hurts

  IT’S LATE. I’M exhausted. I’m miserable. I’ve cried enough tears to last me a lifetime. Rolling over, I grab my phone and pull up Facebook to see if anyone else is still up at three o’clock in the morning. Yep, look at all those insomniacs. After a few minutes of scrolling through status updates and funny pictures, I toss it down and reach for my book. I try to read my latest romantic thriller to no avail. She’s an annoying lead who won’t confess her true feelings for the man she’s obviously fated to be with and that hits a little too close to home for me right now. My own indecision and lack of self-control is going to drive me to drink, so I don’t need any help from what should be my escapist reading therapy.

  Lying there staring at the ceiling, I feel my phone vibrate. Hoping no one’s hurt or in trouble, I reach over and grab it. My eyes almost bug out of my head.

  I’m sorry I’m such an ass. Can we meet tomorrow? Talk?

  Still as a wooden plank, I lie there for a minute just staring at it. I know what I have to say but don’t want to say it. Not responding is not an option, though, because we have the same phone and he knows I’ve read his message. Be strong, be strong! I chant. Even though he can be kind of a jerk, he can also be incredibly sensitive. No matter which personality I get, I love them all because they’re what makes him so genuine and unlike anyone else. And, of course, I don’t want to hurt him—but it has to be this way. Like removing a bandage this must be done quickly to avoid inflicting even more pain. Here goes.

  I think it best we don’t see each other for a while. I’ve repeatedly proven I’m just too tempted when it comes to you.

  So...what I fought so hard to keep from happening is happening anyway?

  My poor, tattered heart slows. How will it ever recover?

  I’m so sorry that I’m not stronger. I’m not saying forever. I’m just saying for now.

  I know he’s seen it, but I have to wait a while for his response. Every time I touch my screen to keep it from going to sleep, I offer a silent plea that we’ll be all right.

  I understand. Does this mean I can’t see the boys either?

  My response is quick and fervent. Absolutely not! Of course you can see the boys. They adore you. And so do I, which is why I have to let you go.

  So I can just text you then to make sure we’re on the same page or not as the case may be?

  Yes, that’ll be fine.

  A full minute passes before his tenderness takes another swipe at my heart.

  I’ll miss you.

  Me too.

  ****

  THE NEXT FEW weeks are pure torture. The boys know something’s not right. My friends know. I don’t go to any shows with them. Bonnie is even being sensitive and not bringing up Adrian at every turn like she had been. Louis is pissed at me because I hurt Bradford and he knows why. The boys are confused because Adrian’s not coming around to hang out like he used to. So in total, I’ve made all our lives fantastically miserable.

  I keep waiting for this pain to go away. And it just won’t. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve never been heart-broken or rejected or rejected anyone, but it just hurts. All the damn time. I can think of it and nothing else, and I feel like such a fool. I want to challenge our family and go after what means most to me, but then I recall Adrian’s venomous statements that night and remind myself that, even when he was that upset, he wouldn’t say things that didn’t have a little bit of truth to them.

  How can I risk everything for someone who doesn’t fully return my feelings? Yes, I know Adrian likes me, admires me, wants me. But that’s not enough for me. I know this because during this silence I’ve been able to recognize and admit something significant—I’m in love with Adrian Gabriel LeBlanc Hebert. Love without condition. Love I cannot escape. As in even though his feelings are only fleeting or physical or shallow, he dates a woman who looks exactly like me, and can make me angrier than anyone I’ve ever known, I adore him, desire him, need him. The intensity of all those emotions, emotions I’ve never felt at this level or all at once completely overpowers me, which is why, no matter how hard I try, I cannot resist him.

  So I go about my business of taking care of the boys and working and trying desperately not to think of him and what could be. And pretending that my heart doesn’t resemble crackled glass every time I hear the doorbell ring, knowing it’s him here to pick up the boys.

  I’m making the boys their favorite breakfast treat because it’s tedious and will keep my mind somewhat off what’s going on when I hear Paris hit the bar.

  “Good morning, baby. How’d you sleep?”

  “Good, Ma. Mmm...beignets. How about you? Do you feel any better?” he says as he rubs his hands over his face and ruffles that wavy brown hair. I meet his sleepy dark brown eyes and see so much heart shimmering there. My Paris—so wonderful.

  “I’m good, sweetie. I feel fine.”

  “Everybody knows ‘fine’ is girlspeak for not fine, but don’t ask,” he retorts.

  I burst out laughing. He’s so right. “Where’d you hear that, crazy boy?”

  “It’s on an episode of Full House that Finn has played about ten times lately.”

  “Oh goodness. Y’all watch too much TV.”

  He puffs out a little sigh of exasperation. “We don’t even have cable, Ma. How can we watch too much TV?”


  “You know what I mean. Videos are still TV. And I really am fine. Don’t worry about your mom, OK?”

  “And the first thing to do when someone says don’t worry—is worry,” he replies sagely. Shame on me for coaching my kids to always look below the surface of what is offered. Total backfire!

  I’m saved from anymore awkward verbal dodging when Archer and Finn enter the kitchen. Archer piles up next to Paris at the bar, but Finn makes his way to me and buries his face in my side. “Mmm...the beignets woke me up, Mom. What’s the special occasion?” Archer asks.

  I put my arm around Finn’s shoulder and give him a squeeze. “No occasion. I just felt like making them.”

  “You usually make us beg cause they’re bad for us. And they make Finn act like he’s on crack,” Archer jokes.

  “You boys are full of jokes this morning.” I squeeze Finn a little more. “Hey you, you’re quiet. What’s up?”

  “Nothin’”

  I give him a final squeeze. “Go put a shirt on for breakfast, sweetheart. It’s almost ready.”

  “I don’t wanna.” He hesitates and then mutters, “I’m too sexy for my shirt.”

  “Huh?”

  He lifts his head and I see mischief dancing in there. “I’m too sexy for my shirt,” he starts singing and moving around the bar, “So sexy it hurts.”

  “Oh, yes,” I say with a laugh, “there’s my Finn. I knew the quiet was too good to be true.”

  “You’d be bored if I was quiet,” he says as he runs out of the room to get his shirt, singing Right Said Fred at the top of his lungs.

  “Wow!” I clap my hands and roll my eyes. “OK, boys, eat up. Louis will be here to get you soon. We’ve gotta get you packed for the weekend.”

  “Are you coming up?”

  “Umm...I may. I’m not sure yet. If I do, it’ll be Sunday afternoon.” I’m not jumping to spend time at the compound. And I didn’t know if Adrian would be there. “Who wants to do the powdered sugar first?”

  “Meeeee!!!!” I hear Finn all the way from the back of the house. I drop my voice to a whisper. “Geez...that boy has excellent hearing.”

  “I heard that,” he shouts again.

  ****

  AFTER I GET the boys packed and off with Louis, who barely gave me an acknowledging nod, I get cleaned up and spend the day taking care of various errands. Tonight is girls’ night and I’m thrilled. While I’m out, I pick up everything to make cosmos. I’m in dire need of a little distraction. Getting home late, I run around the house throwing all my distractions in a tote—Scrabble, chick flicks, my recent photo shoot proofs. Running into my bedroom, I change into my comfy yoga pants and favorite threadbare Saints t-shirt. I’m planning to have a nice buzz, so I trade my contacts for glasses, throw my hair in a high ponytail, and slip on my flip-flops.

  Dashing out the door, I decide to walk the four blocks to Bonnie’s. If I’m too inebriated to walk home, I’ll just call a cab. As I pass the block that Adrian’s apartment is on, my steps falter and I slow, glancing down his street to see if I can catch a glimpse of him. Willing myself to keep walking, I imagine what he’s been up to these last three weeks. It’s pure torture because, while I’ve been distracting myself with cooking and the kids and work, I can picture the black-headed, brown eyed distraction he’s had wrapped around him.

  I promised myself I would stop these musings, but it’s so difficult. Feeling like a lovesick teenager, I chastise myself for the millionth time. Steeling myself, I straighten and walk with purpose. As soon as I focus my gaze ahead instead of behind, I see him exiting a corner store with the little lookalike tucked into his side, and I feel myself fold in like a falling house of cards.

  His arm is thrown around her casually, and she is looking up at him like he is the greatest thing since stilettos. He’s looking down at her and laughing a little at what she’s saying. They are picture perfect, and it’s just too easy to imagine myself there in the curve of his arm. I freeze and do just that for a moment. Snapping out of it after a few seconds, I panic. Frantically, I glance around, looking for a place to hide, and figure I probably have ten seconds before I’m spotted.

  Just as I move to hide behind a rack of tie-dyed t-shirts, Adrian’s eyes fly up and zero in on me. I see him stiffen and watch his arm drop. I move to stand behind the rack and drop my head, pretending like these are the most interesting t-shirts I’ve ever seen. I pray that he just keeps moving along. I don’t want the awkward conversation, nor do I need any more fuel for my already flaming desires.

  As he passes me, I can’t help but look over. His gaze looks like it’s never left mine and it’s full of hurt and questions. He looks...wounded. I send him an apology with my eyes, and we maintain eye contact until he rounds the building and starts down his street.

  Releasing a shaky breath, I collapse against the wall and try to calm my erratic heart. He looked so good. He had a little growth of facial hair and his hair was a little longer than usual, but he looked so good. I close my eyes tight for a moment. My appreciation of his aesthetically pleasing nature doesn’t last long before my brain switches to jealous mode.

  Is he serious about her? I mean, honestly, I thought he was using her as some sort of replacement for what he couldn’t have and that he’d be over her by now. And shouldn’t I be happy for him? It’s good that he has someone. Someone who obviously makes him happy. This should make me happy for him, not stung because it’s not me. It can never be me, the rational part of my brain insists. Logically, I know this. Breaking this to my emotions is another issue, though. They do protest.

  Finally, I pull myself from the wall and start to head toward Bonnie’s again. The shopkeeper gives me a dirty look for spending so much time and not buying anything. I just shrug and hurry my steps along.

  Raising my hand to let myself into Bonnie’s, I’m surprised when the door is wrenched open from the other side and a furious Garner almost barrels over me. “Whoa, Garner, are you OK?”

  He runs his hand over the top of his mohawk and pins me with his bright green eyes. He puts his hands on his hips for a moment before beginning to gesticulate wildly. “Your friend is a lunatic. I can’t talk to her. She’s just...just crazy. What is wrong with her? I’m dying to know. I didn’t break her, yet I’m paying for whoever did. Is that fair? Is that right? Damn, I’ve been patient but this is ridiculous. It’s been months, Celeste, months. I don’t know how much more of this shit I can take.”

  I blink rapidly, trying to process all he’s just said. I’ve never heard him speak so much before and certainly nothing more than a few pleasantries and a few inappropriate comments about what he wanted to do to my best friend. Before I can formulate a response, he’s folding himself into his bright red Camaro and taking off.

  Wondering what mess I’m about to walk in to, I gingerly enter the kitchen to find Bonnie calmly preparing snacks for tonight. “Hey, Bon. What’s up?”

  “Just dumping all this store bought crap into serving dishes so that you’d think I made all this. I guess I wasn’t quick enough,” she says with a shrug. To anyone else, this would all seem and sound perfectly normal. Me, I can see the tightness around her eyes and hear the hurt in her tone.

  “Bonnie, what happened with you and Garner?”

  “Oh, the usual.” She waves an impatient hand through the air.

  “And that would be?”

  “You know...wants to introduce me as his ‘girlfriend,’ let everyone know I’m his, introduce me to his parents.” She sneers the word “parents” like it’s the most offensive word in the English language.

  “What a jerk!” I exclaim sarcastically.

  “I know, right? I keep reminding him we’re having fun, and he keeps trying to spoil it.”

  About that time, I hear a timid knock and Farah calling out to us.

  “We’re in here, Farah. Come on in!”

  Farah rounds the corner taking in our expressions. “What’s wrong?”

  “Men suck,” Bonnie explains. />
  “Ah...” is all Farah says because she is married to a gem of a man.

  “Don’t start with me Farah. You married perfection,” Bonnie snaps, pointing a chicken salad-covered spoon at Farah.

  “Hey, just because I married perfection, doesn’t mean I don’t know heartache. I know heartache,” Farah snaps back.

  “OK! Whoa! Bonnie don’t snap at Farah because you don’t want to admit you have feelings for Garner. And Farah cut Bonnie a little slack. She’s in love with Garner and wants to have his little rocker mini-me and can’t admit it.”

  I hear Bonnie gasp when I call her out on her true feelings for Garner, but when I say she wants to have his baby, I hear her slap her hand over her mouth. When I turn back to Bonnie, her eyes are wide and she is shaking her head.

  “Yes, you do, sweetie. Nothing has ever been clearer to me than that. And I’ve known you forever.”

  Farah backs me up. “I haven’t known you forever, but I see it too, Bon.”

  Tears quickly fill Bonnie’s eyes and she dashes them away. “I...I know,” she says as her voice breaks.

  Farah and I both round the bar and surround her in a group hug. I feel Bonnie’s shoulders shaking. “It’s going to be all right, Bon. We’ll get through this.”

  After we have our little moment, Bonnie piles up all the snacks that are still in their original containers on a tray; and I make my famous cosmos. Farah turns on some music and spreads a bunch of square pillows around the coffee table for us to pile around. We laugh and chat and ignore all the heartache in the room while we eat our fill of take-out and, Bonnie and I drink our way through two pitchers of tart deliciousness.

  Farah finally braves the topic of Bonnie’s relationship hang-ups. I’m incredibly proud of her because Bonnie can be a little scary when cornered. “Bonnie, I don’t understand why you’re holding back with Garner. He’s crazy about you, and he’s a good guy. A little rough around the edges but, ultimately, a good guy. Don’t you care about him enough to admit this to him?”