by C. R. Ellis
“I’ll be in the car,” Jade called, walking toward the stairs.
Just like that, Jasmine and I were alone. Neither of us spoke for a minute; we just stood there in a tense silence. I sighed and pulled my hands through my hair, lacing them behind my head. “How long will you be gone? I didn’t mean for you to leave the fucking country when I said you needed space, Jasmine.”
“I’m not sure,” she said, biting her lip and fidgeting with her bracelets.
I could tell she was just as affected by my presence as I was by hers. I didn’t know how to be around her without having some sort of physical connection to her. She owned my heart and soul, and it was painful not to touch her.
“You know I didn’t invite Natasha here, right?” I asked, suddenly realizing how it must’ve looked. “She just showed up, and I tried to close the door on her, but the bitch is persistent.”
Jas nodded slowly, accepting my explanation. “I know, Dean. I really have to go; my flight leaves in a couple hours.”
I nodded, but wasn’t ready to let her go yet. She turned and grabbed the handle of her suitcase, but I closed the gap between us and pulled her into my body. She stiffened initially, but quickly wove her arms around my waist. “Dean, I’m…,” she mumbled into my shirt. I could tell by her voice that she was close to tears, and it almost broke me in two. She felt so small, so vulnerable, now that she was back in my arms.
“I know, Jas,” I replied into the soft ripples of her blonde mane.
Reluctantly, I released her from my arms, and she quickly wiped a stray tear from her cheek. I hated that she was going to Spain. Having her in my arms made me realize I never should’ve walked away, no matter how upset I was at the time. I didn’t even know if I still thought she needed time; having her this close stirred a longing in my stomach that only existed for her.
She grabbed her purse and suitcase and headed for the stairs. I caught up with her and took the suitcase from her, intending to take it all the way to Jade’s car.
“Dean, you don’t have to do that.”
“I know, Jasmine,” I replied without looking over my shoulder.
I practically had to stuff her suitcase into Jade’s back seat. It had to be over the fifty-pound limit. I tried not to let myself wonder if it was because she thought she’d need that much stuff or if she’d just over-packed, as usual.
She jumped into the passenger seat and shot me one last glance. I wanted to tell her not to go, that we should figure things out together, here, without her being thousands of miles away. But I didn’t; I knew she needed space, and clearly it was what she wanted. “Have a safe flight, Jasmine.”
She nodded as Jade pulled away from the curb. I watched the car until it disappeared from my view. I knew it was my fault she was leaving, but I couldn’t help wondering if I’d done the right thing by giving her space when all I wanted to do was pull her into my arms and never let her go again.
Chapter 35
Jasmine
If not for the inevitable weirdoes that would come out of the woodwork, I’d totally put an ad on Craigslist offering my Facebook stalking services.
Jasmine Winters, seeking justification for her newfound obsession
True to his word, my dad was waiting for me by the baggage claim when I got off the plane in Madrid. I abandoned the hunt for my suitcase when I saw his tall, lanky body. He was almost as tall as Dean, but probably thirty pounds lighter and had wavy blonde hair a shade darker than mine, with a few grays around his temples.
“There’s my little Jasmanian Devil! I’m so glad you’re here,” he bellowed, sweeping me up into his arms. His embrace felt safe, warm, and familiar. I couldn’t help but smile at his use of the nickname he’d given me when I was two.
“I’m so glad to be here, Dad.” He set me down after kissing the top of my head. We walked toward the conveyor belt and watched for my luggage, passing time by talking about my flight, about his new car, and about Jade’s wedding.
I knew he was curious about the reason for my sudden visit, but he didn’t push for an answer right away. I wanted to be honest with him, but I was afraid of voicing the truth because I wasn’t even sure exactly what it was anymore—was I here to sort through my own issues, or was I here because things with Dean were over? I’d caught him off guard when I told him I was coming to Spain, but he didn’t try to stop me.
We drove through the streets of one of my favorite cities, and I tried to put thoughts of Dean out of my head and focus on my dad. He worked for an international investment firm, and loved what he did for a living. His passion for his job was what drove me to make my own dream job a reality. “So, how’s work?” I asked, ignoring how obvious it was that I was trying to avoid talking about the elephant in the car.
“It’s great, honey. I recently worked with a client in Denmark for a few weeks. It was beautiful there,” he said. I winced. I absently stared out the window, willing my eyes to focus on the various pedestrians walking down the street and not how my brain instantly thought about Dean when he said Denmark. Why does my stupid brain refuse to think of anything else?
“That sounds like fun.”
“And you? How’s your work? Isn’t this the middle of wedding season?” he asked.
It was his way of saying he knew something had to be amiss for me to leave Austin this time of year.
“Forget Me Knot is doing really well. We recently promoted Elliot to take on her own clients, and hired a new assistant in her place. And, yes, it’s pretty busy this time of year.”
“That’s fantastic, Jas. I’m happy to hear things are going so well for FMK.”
I smiled, genuinely happy that I’d been able to make my dad proud.
My dad made more than enough money to buy his own house, but his apartment suited him and its location couldn’t be beat. It was within walking distance of Retiro Park, my favorite place in the city. I didn’t know what it was about the 350-acre park that I loved so much, but something about sitting in front of the lake or walking around the crystal palace was oddly calming.
I turned to Dad. “I’m sorry to get here and immediately crash, but I’m not going to make it to dinner without a nap,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t be disappointed I was ditching our plans to explore the city before going out for tapas. I wanted to blame my exhaustion solely on the flight, but I’d never pass a lie detector test with that answer. I knew it had little to do with traveling five thousand miles and everything to do with the fact that my head and my heart were battling it out for control over my thoughts and actions.
“That’s okay, Jasmine, I know you’re jetlagged. I’ll do some work, and we can go out for dinner later on,” he assured me with a sweet smile as he lugged my suitcase up the stairs and into his apartment.
I smiled back, appreciating his patience. “Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.”
I felt like a completely new person after sleeping half the day away, and then getting another seven hours of sleep after going out for dinner. I still had the gaping hole in my chest that had formed the minute Jade pulled the car away from Dean, but I wasn’t bogged down by jetlag anymore.
I wandered downstairs and found my dad sitting at his dining table, hunched over the morning paper with coffee and cereal. I smiled, picturing myself in an almost-identical position at my own dining room table. I was my father’s daughter, that’s for sure.
“Morning, hon. You’re up early. Still fighting the jet lag?” He checked his watch, then stood to pour me some coffee and get another bowl out. I knew he’d pour the milk in first, then my cereal. It’d been the same pattern since my childhood; only I’d upgraded my orange juice for coffee now.
I shrugged. “I guess. I think I slept too much yesterday.”
He nodded and set my coffee cup down across from his so he could get me cereal. I stopped trying to convince him I wasn’t a kid anymore and that I was capable of making my own bowl of cereal. He told me years ago that I’d always be his baby, like that was all the explanation
I should need for why he insisted on practically waiting on me every time I visited.
He fixed my bowl of corn flakes and banana slices, and went back to his paper. He was already dressed for work, but I knew he’d sit with me for a while since it was still well before seven.
“Dad,” I said, casually munching on my cereal and trying to quickly decide how to approach the subject I’d avoided all night. He glanced up from the newspaper and smiled sweetly. “I really appreciate you letting me come. I, uh, really needed this.” He pulled off his glasses, waiting for me to continue. I took a deep breath and jumped into it. “I’ve been dating Dean. Actually, it’s more than that—I’m in love with him. But I screwed everything up, and I don’t know what to do. I didn’t come here to run away from my problems, but that’s kind of what it feels like I’m doing.”
His brows rose in surprise, but he waited to digest everything before responding. “Sweetheart, I’m glad you’ve found someone, and from what I remember, Dean’s a pretty great guy. What happened? I’m sure it’s something you can fix.”
I shifted uncomfortably, debating how much I wanted to divulge about my past issues with relationships, and also not wanting to alter his opinion of Dean. I decided I needed to be completely honest. No matter where he was in the world, my dad had always been there for me, and I needed to let him be there for me now. I told him everything, starting with New York and finishing with the Natasha run-in outside my apartment.
He remained silent for a while, seemingly absorbing everything I’d told him. “Hon, you know I’m on your side, always,” he said, finally, “but you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t do everything possible to hold on to him. I’m not saying he’s blameless for the current situation, and I know you’re scared, but you need to let go of the past. You can’t risk your happiness with Dean because of how you used to think. Your past, including the pain of what happened with him, is there for you to learn from, not to dictate your future.”
My lips tilted up at his words. “You know, it’s funny, Mom said something similar in one of her letters.”
A flicker of sadness danced across his face at the mention of my mom, but a small smile emerged in its wake. “I’m not surprised. She was a very smart woman.”
I knew talking about her was bittersweet for my dad, but his love for her never faded after her death, and he never shied away from a conversation about her.
I nodded. “She was. And you’re both right. I think a part of me chose to live that kind of attachment-free, take-no-risks-in-love lifestyle because I wanted to prove her wrong. For a long time, I was so angry with her for giving up and leaving me that I didn’t want to follow any of her advice. It was sound advice, but I was in a dark place after things in New York, and I wasn’t ready for it. But after a while I started to feel like I let her down, and I hated myself for holding on to the anger for so long. I still feel like I’m letting her down,” I admitted without meeting his gaze. I’d never told anyone that before, and saying it out loud did nothing to tame the flames of regret that raged in my heart.
“Then maybe it’s time for you to follow the advice she gave you. Whatever guidance she left for you wasn’t left lightly, Jasmine. She didn’t have any more control over the situation than you or I did. I know it felt like she was giving up when she refused another round of chemo, but she’d fought all she could, honey. The cancer was too aggressive. All the anger you felt toward her for leaving was probably only a fraction of the anger she felt about it. Knowing that you’d have to live with the anger and pain for longer than she did was what motivated her to write those letters. Make it up to her by forgiving yourself and living the life you want now. Not the life you created because you were hurting and wanted to spite your mom and Dean.”
Was it that easy? Was living the life I wanted—a life with Dean next to me—only a matter of forgiving myself? “What if that’s not enough? What if something happens or we can’t make it work and I’m left more damaged than I was the first time?” I asked.
“Sweetheart, you can’t let those questions hold you back from a shot at happiness. We can’t let our fear of the unknown define our actions. Believe it or not, I had similar thoughts before proposing to your mom. I knew I loved her more than life itself, but she had some trust issues from a previous relationship and I couldn’t be sure she’d ever recover from them. What I had to figure out was whether she was worth betting on. A life without her wasn’t going to be a life at all, so I took the chance, and I’m grateful every day that I did.”
I looked at him, trying to hold back the tears his words summoned. “Would you have done it all the same…knowing what happens?” I asked. I always knew my parents’ love went deeper than a fairytale kind of love, but I needed his honest answer to this question. Was love, even a love of epic proportions, really worth it?
He answered without hesitation. “Of course. I had nineteen amazing, loving, unbelievably happy years with your mom. Her death was the most painful thing I’ll ever experience, but I’d never trade the time I did have with her for anything. Our story might’ve been cut short, but the kind of love we had isn’t something that can be defined by the time we had it. The only thing I’d change about things with your mom is how long it took me to get a ring on her finger.” He paused, grabbed my hands with his and met my eyes across the table. “Jasmine, I can’t tell you what to do with your life or how to live it, but I will tell you this—holding on to pain and anger of the past like a security blanket, just to avoid further pain, isn’t going to make you happy in the long run. You have to give yourself a chance to grow and move on or you’ll always wonder what could’ve been.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I only nodded and sat silently, letting his words sink in.
“Just think about it, Jas.” We sat in silence for a few minutes before he stood to clear his dishes. “I’ve got to get to work. Will you be okay?”
I nodded. “I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl; I can keep myself busy. I was actually thinking about making paella tonight.”
He smiled. “That sounds great. Call me if you need anything. I’ll try not to be late.”
“It’s okay, Dad. Don’t let me mess up your schedule.”
I told him I was fine, and I nearly convinced myself of it. But I couldn’t escape the hollowness inside me that was created by the undeniable truth in his words. I’d been so angry with my mom that I never considered her own anger. All I could think about was the fact that she was leaving us, giving up the fight for life; I’d never thought about how angry she must’ve been. I lost my mom, but she lost the chance to spend forever with the love of her life and the opportunity to watch her daughter grow up. I’d never thought about the anger she felt about losing her family, about having to miss all the milestones in my life that she’d addressed in her letters.
How do you atone for being that selfish?
It was the same case with Dean. I’d been so utterly blinded by the rage and pain he caused that I never considered his side of things. I wasted so much time holding on to the anger and letting it control my decisions that I never let myself think about other people and where they were coming from. Dean proved time and time again that he was worthy of my trust. And what had I shown him in return? That I was incapable of letting go of the past. That I wasn’t worthy of his love. So what if Dean said some things about me that he didn’t mean a lifetime ago? I was the one that said things to his face that were just as hurtful, if not worse, and he still loved me, still forgave me.
For the next two days, I got up when my dad did and wandered aimlessly through Retiro Park, feeling more at ease there than I did anywhere else. For those two days, I wove my way through the groups of tourists and locals, too lost in my own head to pay much attention to anyone else. (In hindsight, I was probably a prime target for pickpocketing; it’s a miracle I made it home with my wallet each day.)
The first day, I ended my aimless roaming in front of the Palacio de Cristal—the
crystal palace—a gorgeous building made almost entirely out of glass. For reasons I couldn’t understand, I wasn’t able to make myself go inside the building; I just sat outside and watched people come and go. It had always been my absolute favorite part of the park, but something was keeping me from going inside.
Though the palace was intended for use as a green house, it currently featured a contemporary art exhibit. I considered the fact that it housed artwork as one of the reasons why I was particularly drawn to the glass structure instead of the lake or the gardens. I’d never truly appreciate art the way my mom did, but I used it to feel connected to her.
On the third day of my daily visits to the park, I went into the crystal palace without a second thought. I walked past various paintings and sculptures, appreciating the beauty and elegance in some and baffled by the absurdity of others. It wasn’t until I was about to leave that I saw it. Situated around the corner from where I’d entered was a painting that drew me in and left me breathless.
It was big, so tall that it stretched from the ceiling to the floor, and was almost half as wide. Now I understood why it was separated from the others. At the top, cloaked by darkness of the night overhead, there was a young woman with curiosity and fear etched on her face, reaching out toward a man’s outreached hand as they stood on the edge of a cliff. Beneath them, the darkness shifted into the dim light of a new day’s dawn, with a blurred version of the couple, hands linked, smiling at each other, free falling through the air. Beyond that image, the light of the day continued to brighten, and there was a lengthy, blurred stretch of colors featuring obscured, faint images of various objects and people. First, a pair of wedding rings looped together, followed by a home, and silhouettes of kids, sandwiched between two parents. Then was an image of an older couple with the same look of love stretched across their faces as the young couple. The images were so hard to discern I probably would’ve missed them if I hadn’t been so mesmerized by the rainbow-like stretch of colors that I studied with an awed, obsessive intensity. At the bottom of the painting the sun was setting again, and an angelic-like version of the young couple headed to the ground where their tombstones sat side by side.
