by Amy Brent
“Never,” she replied, and for a moment I thought she was making fun of me. Then, she added some words that chilled my soul. “She moved out yesterday. Went to Boston with that hunky boyfriend of hers.”
With a breath caught in my throat and a sharp pain in my chest, I forced my voice to ask. “What?”
“I know, right?” the woman said in a strong southern drawl. “It was all so sudden. She never talked about moving, then one weekend she went away, and when she returned, she knocked on my door and asked me to forward her mail. It was all very strange because she didn’t even seem to like the boy that much.”
I did my best my keep my face straight and breathe as I said, “I thought she didn’t either. Guess we were wrong.”
“Maybe, but maybe not,” the woman said, and I frowned. “She cried a lot, you know? It wasn’t always, but sometimes she would come back from work and bawl for hours. It was none of my business, so I never asked why she cried so much, but maybe that’s the real reason she left. Sometimes we just need a fresh start, ya know?”
“Yeah, I do,” I said with a sigh. Feeling like I had been hit by a truck, I forced a smile. “Well, thank you for your help.”
The woman nodded, and I turned around. I was about to reach the stairs when her voice filled the hallway once more. “Wait.”
I did and turned to look at her. My brows frowned as she walked into her apartment for just a second, then came right back out again. She stopped right in front of me and held my gaze. There was a stern light in her dark brown irises that was made a bit softer by the smirk in her lips.
“My momma used to say that if a man looks genuinely regretful after making a woman cry her eyes out, he should be given a chance to make her smile.” She extended her pudgy fingers out at me and handed me a folded piece of paper. “Don’t make me regret this. Grace is a good girl.”
I unfolded the scrap of paper and saw an address written inside—a Boston address. My mind told me that I should just leave Grace alone and allow her a chance to be happy with someone who didn’t hurt her, but every other cell in my body told me that she would never be truly happy unless she was with me.
As per usual, my head and heart were conflicted over Grace, but this time I knew I would make the right choice. Whatever that was.
Grace
After two whole weeks as a Bostonian, I decided that the only thing I liked about this place was my apartment. Despite Harrington’s insistent requests for me to move in with him, I had put my foot down and gotten a place of my own. Even though I stood firm in my decision to give us a decent shot, living together after only two weeks of an actual relationship seemed just plain crazy.
My new job as an office manager allowed me to get an apartment that was a million times better than my previous place. It was larger and fully furnished, located in a nice part of the city and, because I was on the ground level, even had a small back yard. Amid so much change and chaos, it served as a sort of sanctuary where I could relax and forget, if only for a moment, that I lived in a city I didn’t understand, worked at a place I didn’t like and dated a man I didn’t love.
As I turned the corner on my way back home from work, I saw the patio lights were on and was reminded the one problem with my sanctuary. Harrington had it’s key.
I stopped just outside my door and took a deep breath hoping it would prepare myself to seem happy and comfortable with him. It didn’t.
“You’re here,” I said as I opened the door.
As per usual, Harrington either missed or ignored the hint of a bite in my tone as he walked toward me and kissed my lips. “I am, and I have Chinese.”
“Yum,” I replied with a fake smile and absolutely no enthusiasm at all.
He winked at me as I walked around yet another bouquet of flowers on my way to the kitchen. When he gave me that gorgeous bouquet of roses back at my old apartment and said I was the kind of woman who should get flowers every day, I had no idea he would be so literal about it. There were so many flowers in my home, I sometimes felt like I was living in a funeral home. Despite being sweet, the gesture was quickly becoming oddly depressing.
“Those are lovely,” I said pointing at the sunflowers by my TV. “But you really shouldn’t have. I’ve got plenty of flowers already.”
Harrington chuckled and kissed my cheeks. “Nonsense. No number of flowers will ever be enough for you.”
With that practiced smile still on my face, I sighed as he went to get some plates from the kitchen. I hated that he always pulled out plates and glasses when we were eating take out and drinking beers. The way I saw it, there was absolutely no point in getting things dirty when we could simply eat out of the container and then toss it once we were done.
It was funny to me how even the most perfect man in the world could be annoying as hell, while the most imperfect man in the world felt like a dream come true. Harrington was the absolutely perfect boyfriend. He was honest and kind, treated me like a freaking princess, and did all the right things. Still, I found his little quirks incredibly annoying.
On the other side, was Fletcher. The world’s biggest asshole. He was a drunk and a mess, treated me like crap, and didn’t get a single thing right. However, even though he exasperated me at times, he never annoyed me or made me wish I was with someone else. No matter what kind of crap he pulled on me, I knew that I would rather be with him than be with anyone else. And that, right there, was everything that was wrong with my life.
Try as I might, I still couldn’t stop thinking about Fletcher. Every time my phone rang, I couldn’t help but hope it was him. And every time I kissed or made love to Harrington, it was Fletcher’s face I saw behind my lids.
Deep down, I knew I should end things. It would be better for both of us in the long run, but he seemed so happy, and I had no life to return to. So I stayed in this trap, consumed by self-hatred and guilt until I had become a drunk and phony that mirrored the man I truly loved.
“How was your day?” I asked, trying my best to seem interested.
Harrington smiled warmly at me. “It was long. We should be finishing this project, but every single thing that could go wrong is going wrong. It’s so frustrating.”
I patted his hand and tried to sound sweet. “You’ll get there. You’re good like that.”
My comment made him chuckle. He took a long sip of his beer and shifted the conversation to me. In return, I told him about my day and how weird and lonely the office still felt. As usual, he assured me that it was only a matter of time and that I would be settled and surrounded by great friends soon enough. I tried to pretend like I believed him, but I honestly doubted that I would ever enjoy working as much as I did at Fletcher’s.
But this was my life now. I had to get used to it.
We continued to talk about meaningless things as we finished our meal. Then, after a little bit of TV, we made out, but I stopped it before it went too far with a lame excuse about being tired and having a busy day the next morning. Understanding as always, Harrington left without any complaint, which served no other purpose other than make me feel like shit.
Once he was gone, I took a shower to wash the guilt away, wrapped myself in a fluffy robe and walked back to my kitchen to clean up. I looked at the pile of dirty dishes and decided I had no energy for them. Instead, I poured myself a glass of wine and carried the bottle with me towards the patio.
I sat in of the lounge chairs and contemplated just how messy my life was. I wanted to cry so I’d feel better, but after two weeks of holding my tears in for Harrington’s benefit, I really felt like I was no longer able to cry—which was probably a good thing. So, I just sat there, looking at the stars and drinking wine.
Time passed slowly, and I completely lost track of it. Like most nights, the minutes no longer had meaning as my eyelids grew heavy with that mind-numbing mixture of exhaustion and inebriation. Then, just as I was about to fall asleep, three consecutive knocks sounded at my front door, and my mind was jolted awake.
Considering that the only person I knew in this town had the key, my brows pulled together in worry and confusion. I got up to my feet and with my glass and bottle in hand swayed my way towards the door. Moving lethargically and too drunk to think about my own safety, I opened the door and, for the first time in weeks, I could actually feel my heart beating.
Fletcher
I had no idea what to expect when I knocked on Grace’s door. If I had to bet on a reaction, though, my money would have been on a very well deserved slap in the face. We both knew I more than deserved it and, honestly, I was prepared for it.
However, to my absolute shock and surprise, a second after she opened the door and looked at me, Grace’s arms wrapped around my neck and she whispered, “Are you a dream?”
It was clear to me that Grace was drunk on a lot of cheap wine, the smell emanating from her was more than proof of that fact. Still, the idea that I was her drunken dream made me smile. She was, after all, my drunken dream as well.
From the way her hair smelled to the way her body melted into mine, there wasn’t anything I didn’t miss about Grace. She was like sunshine after a weeklong storm and a fresh breath after being underwater for too long. She was life after two weeks of death.
“I’m not a dream, Gracie.” I folded my arms around her midsession and felt her body relax as I pulled her closer to me.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, still holding on to me. With her voice a little louder, her drunken slurring was more pronounced.
I hated that she was so drunk. Aside from the occasional office party, Grace wasn’t the kind of person to overdrink. She was too real and centered for that. The notion that her life was so messed up she was getting drunk alone made me feel incredibly guilty.
Trying to soothe both her and my aching heart at the same time, I ran a hand through her damp hair as I tried to recall the speech I had spent the past two weeks and the last eight hours perfecting, but I drew blank. Having her in my arms once more was just too much.
“I came to apologize and talk to you,” I replied.
Unfortunately, my answer made her release her hold on me and push me away. I released her but kept my gaze fixed on her face. Staggering back, her eyes narrowed and her face turned into an incredulous mask as she looked at me.
“You don’t talk about things, and you don’t apologize. All you do is push me away and break my heart,” she said in an accusing tone.
I nodded and ran a hand through my hair. She was right. I didn’t usually talk about anything, and I had broken her heart countless times, but this time was different. I was different. She had to see that.
“I know. But I’m trying to change that.”
Despite the honesty in my voice, Grace scoffed as she stumbled her way towards her kitchen. With disdain in her voice, she mumbled, “Yeah, right. Liar liar, expensive pants on fire.”
Frustrated, I stood in the doorway and watched as she opened the fridge and retrieved yet another bottle of wine. Although I had promised myself I would wait for an invitation to go inside as to not force my way back into her life, I wasn’t about to stand by and watch her drink more. This wasn’t her and, because I loved her, I had to bring her back to her normal self.
Stepping inside her apartment, I slammed the door shut and stalked towards the kitchen. Moving at an uncharacteristic slow pace, Grace turned her face to look at me and frowned.
“I didn’t invite you inside,” she protested, but I just ignored her and continued to walk until I stood right in front of her. Then, she ordered, “Go away.”
“I’m not going away until you’ve sobered up,” I said with my jaw set and a raised brow as I took the bottle from her hands.
The sweetness that had been on her face when she first saw me, completely disappeared. It morphed into an angry mask that made the slap I had envisioned become a real possibility.
“Give that back. It’s mine!” Grace shrieked as she tried to retrieve the bottle from my hands.
Rolling my eyes, I took advantage of our significant height difference and raised my arm, so the bottle was towering over both our heads and completely out of her reach. Although necessary, that action was ridiculous and made her even angrier.
Like a wild animal, Grace clawed at my arm as she screamed unintelligible things at me and tried to retrieve her wine. Her crazy behavior didn’t scare me, and I didn’t cave. I held the bottle up and her gaze sternly.
“Stop!” I commanded, and by some miracle, she obeyed. After a deep breath, I added, “I understand wanting to drink your problems into oblivion, but we both know this won’t help you. Drinking only makes you nasty and stupid.”
Grace pulled in a long breath through her nose. “Are you seriously trying to give me a lecture on drinking?”
“Yes, I am,” I said, frustrated. “Do you really want to be like me?”
There was a long stretch of silence between us. Then, Grace sighed and looked down; the anger and fire she had in her eyes were replaced by hurt. “Is it that bad for you to imagine me as your equal?”
Although I knew her question had everything to do with my unfortunate—and untrue—comment about Hawthorne being her superior back in my office, and though I wanted to erase the hurt my words had caused her, I couldn’t.
“Yes, Grace,” I said with vigor as I set the wine bottle down on the counter.
Tears sprung to her eyes, and before I could say anything else, she blurted out, “Is that why you came all the way to Boston, Fletcher? To hurt and humiliate me even more?”
I shook my head. “No, that’s not what I’m doing at all.” I ran a hand through my hair to calm myself down and tried to impart as much emotion and sincerity into my words as possible. “It is awful for me to even imagine you as my equal because that would make you less than you are.”
As if she couldn’t believe her ears, Grace tilted her head and held my gaze. As our eyes locked, I could see that, for whatever reason, the fog in her mind was lifting. I took advantage of that and said what I needed to say.
“What I said back in my office was bullshit,” I started, commanding her full attention. “People like Hawthorne and I have money, but that’s all we got. We’re rotten inside, Grace. Empty. But you . . . Oh, baby, you’re the real deal. There’s kindness and good and life in you, and that makes you our better in every single way that matters.”
She stood perfectly still, as I took a step in her direction. Her chest moved up and down with her deep breaths as her tearful eyes looked at me in awe. It took every ounce of strength I had not to touch her the way I wanted, but I had more to say before I even tried to be that bold.
“As for what I came here to say, here it goes.” In a steady tone, I started my practiced speech. “I’ve spent my whole life working so hard because I always thought that I was never enough. I thought I had to be more, look like more, act like more so society would accept me, which is why I fought so hard against my feelings and pushed you away.
“However, after I lost you, a good friend pointed out that my work was all I ever needed to fit in and that being miserable just because of what people think is the most stupid thing on Earth. And she was absolutely right.” With a deep breath and a smile, I continued, “I don’t want to fit in a world where you don’t belong. I don’t want to be a part of a society where you’re not welcome, and I don’t want to associate with people who think that having money is more important than having a soul.
“You make me a better man, and thought it’s selfish and unfair, I want you to come home with me and love me and make me the richest man alive.”
Once my speech was over, I stood in front of Grace hoping and praying that she would throw herself into my arms and kiss me, but she didn’t. She only stared at me for what felt like an eternity.
“I have a boyfriend, Fletcher. He’s a good man and he loves me,” she said in a matter of fact tone.
I know, and it’s my fault, I thought as anger filled every cell of my body. I tried to
stay calm and think of something to say that didn’t make me sound like an asshole.
“I know, that,” I started with my eyes locked with hers and a hand buried in my hair. “Harrington probably deserves you a lot more than I do—just take a look at all these damn flowers.”
She chuckled a little, and so did I. Then, I straightened my face again and continued in my most honest tone. “If you can look me in the eyes and tell me that you love him and that you’re happy with him, I promise I’ll leave you alone, and you won’t ever have to see me again. But if you don’t love him, Grace, if you love me as I love you, then you should choose me and do what’s right for all of us.”
There was fear and hesitation in Grace’s eyes, and it scared the living crap out of me, but I stayed firm. I knew she didn’t love Harrington and would make the right choice.
After yet another lifetime of silent staring, she sighed. “You’ve hurt me so many times, how can I trust you?”
“I don’t really know,” I replied honestly. “I think you just decide to and hope for the best. However, I promise you with all my heart that if you give me one more chance, I’ll do everything I can to assure you’ll never regret your decision.”
Deep in thought, Grace nodded. The tiniest hint of a smile curled up on her lips. “So you love me, hmm?”
“I do,” I admitted as I took one more step closer to her and reached out to hold her hand. “The question is, do you love me?”
