Interlude [Book 2]

by Auden Dar

  Without a thought, I blurt out, “Julian, you love me.” It’s not a question. It’s a bold statement.

  The Englishman I’m in love with doesn’t respond.

  I’m an idiot, I scold myself. Stabbing my own heart would have hurt less.

  The music ceases. The only sound I hear is the rapid beating of my heart and Mugpie snoring a few feet away from me. I’m going to pretend I didn’t just make a fool of myself and leave. When I slowly rise from my seated position, Julian surprises me with his words. “You’ve always been mine even when you were engaged to another man. And you’ll be mine as long as we’re both breathing.”

  Getting up from his sitting position, he stands in front of me. Slightly bending at his knees so that our eyes are level, he takes off his black-rimmed glasses, placing them on the sofa. Both of his arms are by my side, caging me. He bites the middle of his bottom lip as his eyes study my nervous face.

  Julian, please tell me you love me.

  I wait and wait. The beating of my heart slows down as it realizes that the man I love doesn’t love me. I should divert my eyes; having his focused on mine is slowly breaking me into tiny pieces.

  Like Coldplay’s “True Love, “ I wish he would say I love you even if it’s a lie.

  I’m desperate to hold back the tears. I press my lips tightly, but it doesn’t prevent the pool in my eyes.

  It’s okay, Lina. You’re okay.

  This is not the end of the world.

  I lower my head, unable to face the man before me.

  Unable to hide my embarrassment.

  Unable to disguise my hurt, my pain.

  Unable to hide the fact that, even if Julian Caine never loves me the way I want him to, I will still love him.

  I’ll always love him.

  “Darling, please look at me,” he asks as the tip of his forefinger raises my chin. It takes everything in me to meet his eyes. Don’t break me anymore. He confesses, “I’ve always been yours. Only yours.”

  Julian doesn’t say the words I long to hear. And although a part of me feels like running away, I also need to acknowledge the sincerity of his words.

  He’s always been mine.

  He’s mine.

  Although his romantic words ease the pain of my heart from earlier, my brain takes over and my insecurities surface.

  Julian didn’t say he loved me. He said everything else but I love you.

  How can he be mine when he can’t even say those three words?

  Why don’t you love me?

  The man, who has yet to say the words I’m desperate to hear, is kneeling in front of me, clutching my trembling hands. Moving forward another inch, he continues to search my face for a reaction.

  Do you not understand that when a woman tells you she loves you, she wants you to respond with the same three words?

  “Evangelina Darling James,” he says seriously. “You−”

  His phone rings.

  Ignoring the call, he nibbles my lower lip. “You −”

  His lips possess mine, and this kiss makes me forget about everything. Except the words I want to hear rolling off his tongue.

  My love is going to be enough.

  I open myself to him, allowing our kiss to deepen. Music plays again. 10cc’s “I’m Not in Love” plays in the background, mocking me. This fling with Julian will eventually end. Savor it for now. We continue to kiss, my legs now wrapped around his waist. His hands, running up and down my back.

  He’s mine, I remind myself.

  The damn phone continues to ring. Someone is determined to get a hold of him, and by the expression on his handsome face he needs to take the call.

  Breaking our kiss, I urge him, “Julian, just answer it.”

  “For Christ’s sake. I’m sorry, darling.” He unwraps my legs around his waist before reaching for his phone. With an irritated tone, he answers, “JC here.” Standing up, Julian rearranges his massive erection before taking a seat next to me. I gaze up and force a smile. He takes my hand along with his, kissing my palm, a gesture that softens the blow. I’m about to stand when he motions his head, pleading for me to stay. Continuing his conversation, “Yes, I understand. I’ll be leaving for London next week. Father is recovering, and he’ll be departing as well. This has been difficult for him, and he’s trying to process it all. He insists on attending. I’ll send the paperwork over. Thank you.”

  As he ends his call, I am reminded he may be mine for now, but he doesn’t love me. What I have with him is temporary. I will either be going back to LA to settle my affairs or staying here, but either way, the man I love is leaving. He hasn’t invited me to join him. I press my lips together, veiling the anguish that sweeps over me. It’s the same conundrum. In his own way, he admitted to caring about me, but is that enough for him? Is that enough for me?

  I want him to love me.

  I want him to be in love with me.

  I now stare at my hands as if they are the most interesting things in the world, unaware of Julian rising from the sofa. Suddenly, he’s kneeling before me. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

  You don’t love me.

  “Nothing. I’m just lost in my own thoughts.” I’m afraid of admitting my insecurities.

  He doesn’t love me, I say to myself again, torturing this aching heart of mine. He’ll be leaving soon.

  Should I reveal that this time with him is much more than an interlude for me? I want his name, I want his child, and I imagine growing old with him.

  I want it all with him.

  I want you to love me!

  Unlike a few minutes ago, there’s an indescribable melancholy in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong, Julian?”

  He shakes his head, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s a pressing matter.”

  “What is it? You can tell me anything.”

  “I know,” he sighs as if the weight of the world is on his shoulder. “Lina, I need you to understand something.”

  “Okay.”

  “Please remember everything I do, I do for you.” Those stunning eyes of his are starting to pick up flecks of the morning sun flooding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. And I notice they glisten.

  He does everything for me, but hasn’t said he loves me. Why can’t he say those three words?

  He’s leaving for London in a few days, I say to myself.

  The knowledge that our time together is coming to an end tugs on my heart and my stomach clenches. Maybe it’s for the best that he doesn’t feel the same. Maybe he doesn’t want any attachments since he’ll be across the Atlantic. Julian claims he is mine, but he hasn’t asked me to join him in London. I refuse to be the pathetic lover who begs him to stay.

  Preservation.

  The only thing on my mind right now is preserving my heart, my pride.

  “Julian, I need to get some things at the loft.” I pray he can’t see the anguish in my eyes.

  “I’ll make one more call, and we can go together,” he offers.

  “Please stay and finish work. I won’t be long.”

  When I am about to rise from the sofa, he takes my face in his hands, almost covering it. Using my peripheral vision, my eyes remain focused on one of his hands. “Please look at me,” he asks, tilting my jaw slightly. “Only yours, Lina. Only yours,” he says with tenderness before capturing my mouth.

  Twenty-Five

  Great passion brings joy and pain. That’s what my father always told me. Now that I’ve experienced it all with Julian, can I live without it? The truth is, having a glimpse of my passionate time with him has saved me. A few months ago, I was barely living.

  It seems like a lifetime ago since Julian reentered my life. And although we had been out of touch for fourteen years, it was so easy for him to claim my heart. I think about the past few months, and I’m still filled with so much uncertainty.

  So much has happened since then. Marcel continues to recover from his heart attack. Next week, he’ll be in his Belgravia home in London. Th
e music I have been composing for Darling Films is coming along. Cosima is making some changes, and that also means edits to the score. Overhearing Julian’s phone conversation earlier today confirms he’ll be leaving soon. I will be left with a broken heart and dreams of what could have been.

  I am going to move on.

  For the past few weeks, I have spent every night with him at his Tribeca duplex, only visiting my place every few days. I step inside my loft and notice the answering machine in the foyer. The red blinking light catches my attention. Just when I thought Andrew was out of my life, several voicemail messages from him appear.

  Each message is the same. “Lina, it’s Andrew. Please call me.” There is no explanation as to what he wants to discuss.

  A few weeks ago, I would have immediately contacted Andrew just to hear his voice. The need to know he is doing well and that maybe, yes, maybe, he would confess that letting me go was the biggest mistake of his life. But after some time apart, I would be content just to hear he is well. I want him to be well. Even though I felt so many different types of emotions−anywhere from smacking his face to even destroying his beloved old Subaru−I still wanted to know he was okay. He was after all, the first man to have told me he loved me. I peek at the clock that hangs in my kitchen and realize my ex is probably at work. I punch in the numbers, and as it continues to ring, my heart races.

  What do I say to him?

  “Andrew Nielsen speaking,” he answers as he always does in a monotonous professional tone.

  “It’s Lina.”

  “Are you okay? I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”

  “I haven’t been home. And you could’ve called my cell.” Suddenly, his good luck text appears, and a part of me wants to hang up. Instead, I remember he’s the man I’ve loved for so long and need to cast belligerence aside. “How are you?” I ask with concern, yet still hurt he hasn’t called to ask about my well-being until now. Not once did he call to wish me a happy birthday. Not once has he called until a few days ago. How could Andrew have put sixteen years behind as if I had been a casual date?

  “I’m well. Actually something incredible has happened and now we can move forward with our relationship.” The words flow out of his mouth as if we haven’t been apart for months.

  Did he forget that he let me go so easily as if we meant nothing to each other?

  “Andrew, I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

  “I’m sorry about the way you left. I was in the middle of my book and needed to meet my deadline. My research and the stress of tenure just got the best of me. I knew you needed time as well.” He pauses briefly, and suddenly, a tone I haven’t heard in a long time greets me on the other end. The high pitch tone reveals he’s excited. “Lina, my new book, ‘Man and Being in Love’ will be published in a few months.”

  Laughter escapes my mouth at the title.

  Has he been smoking crack?

  “Why are you laughing?” His voice is now a decimal lower, obviously surprised by my reaction.

  “That’s the title of your book?” I try to calm the laughter and become serious.

  “Yes, that’s the book I’ve been working on for the past two years.”

  It dawns on me I really don’t know much about the man I had been living with for years. The man I was engaged to. The man who gave me my first kiss sixteen years ago. The boy who used to walk me home after school until he went off to college. The man I gave my virginity to ten years ago. The man who used to make me laugh with his crazy jokes and stories. The man who would spend hours listening to me late at night when I couldn’t sleep. The man who used to sit and listen as I played the piano. The man who used to write me the corniest love poems. The man who almost burned down his apartment while baking me cupcakes. The man who used to call me in the middle of the day just to tell me he loved me. The man who used to make spontaneous love to me. The man I have loved for a decade and a half. The man who owned my heart until I gave it to Julian Caine.

  “I’m thrilled for you, Andrew. I know how hard you’ve worked the past few years.” And I am sincerely happy for him. The wounds have healed, but the fragments of a broken relationship are still prominent. It’s not that easy to forget how he didn’t fight for me … for us. He spent all this time writing about being in love but forgot to love his fiancée.

  “Now that everything is in place, I’ll visit you after the summer session is over.”

  I am at a loss. After his parents had moved to Glendale to be closer to Andrew, he had never had the urge to visit the city he grew up in. “It’s too cold.” “It’s too dirty.” “It stinks.” “It’s too expensive.” These were some of the reasons why he never wanted to go back. Every time I went home, he remained in LA.

  Silence allows me to process what Andrew is implying.

  No.

  “I know you want to get married, so we can do that. We can go to that jewelry store that’s always advertised on TV and choose a ring. Any ring you want.” I can hear him sigh on the other line. “I miss you. I love you. I know that I’ve been the worst fiancé, but now that I have more stability with my career, I can marry you. And we can adopt.”

  I can’t remember a time when all I had ever wanted was to be Andrew Nielsen’s wife and mother of his kids until the past few months. A short flash from the last time I saw him resurfaces. The image of Andrew rummaging through his desk for paperwork as I waited for him to fight for me, for us, hits me. “We broke up, Andrew. You, you let me go.”

  A moment of silence hangs over us. I stare at the clock, watching the seconds go by. Each one a reminder of how my life has changed since I left him. Courage builds within me even though it should have appeared months, if not, years ago. I exhale before admitting, “If you had taken the time to let me know what I was doing wrong, maybe how you wanted me to be, just something. I waited for months for a sign. Anything to make me feel like you knew I even existed. I was a ghost for so long. You stopped looking at me, Andrew. You stopped wanting me, loving me. You pretty much pushed me out of your life. And when I left, you didn’t even bother to chase after me.”

  I survey my home and realize that although my heart races, I’m okay. I finally said the words I needed to say to the man on the other line. The man who made me feel unwanted for years.

  “Lina, I never stopped wanting you. I never stopped loving you. I … I was overwhelmed, and I didn’t know how to handle your discontentment. And I never really let you go. We’ve never had a fight before.” His voice is shaky, far from the tone I heard earlier.

  “Andrew,” I say, not knowing how this conversation will end.

  He surprises me when he interjects, “Please, Lina. Let me finish. I really thought you would return. I made a mistake. The biggest mistake of my life,” he says with a hint of regret.

  Clearing my throat, I reveal, “We ended what we had a few months ago and so much has happened. I … Julian …”

  Before I can disclose my relationship, Andrew confesses, “I suspected that. Your thing with Julian− it doesn’t matter anymore. No, I mean it does matter. But, what we have … we have each other. How can you let that go?”

  You did, Andrew. You let me go several months ago.

  “Lina, we’ve been together for so long. I missed you, and I’d like to believe you missed me as well. I love you. I love you, and I want to be your husband. Come home or I’ll fly out there. Please give me another chance. Please give us another chance. You’re the only woman for me.” His desperation at the other end of the line hits me. I have never heard Andrew so urgent before.

  Andrew said he loves me. Andrew wants to be committed to me. I’m the only woman for him.

  Home−the concept of home has been foreign for the past few years until a few weeks ago. The Santa Monica bungalow had always seemed temporary. When I think of home, I don’t think of Andrew.

  I think of a certain Englishman who easily claimed my heart.

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t know
what to feel. What if Andrew is my last chance at having a family? I’ve never had a real family. What if Julian is a temporary break that Andrew and I needed in order to repair our relationship?

  “I need some time. This is all so unexpected. I can’t forget you let me go so easily.”

  “I’m so sorry. Tell me, please tell me what can I do to make this right?” Andrew pauses for a good minute as I wait to find the right words myself. “I … I never … never stopped … loving you, not for one minute.” His voice is no longer desperate but raw. “I love you so much. This time apart made me realize that I don’t want to be without you. It’s lonely here. And I want to give you the family you’ve always wanted. But if you want time, I understand.” Suddenly, I hear the tremor in his voice. “I … I can’t imagine my life without you. I want you back. I’ll be here waiting,” he says solemnly before hanging up.

  I can still hear the other end of the line’s tone as I continue to hold my house phone. Finally turning it off, I survey my surroundings, and somehow, I don’t know what to do or where to go. Sauntering over to the window that faces LaGuardia Place, I notice the elderly man I’ve watched over the years, alone. The clock that hangs in my living area reveals it’s 3:23 p.m. The elderly man has probably been sitting there for a good twenty minutes. I’ve been watching and admiring the elderly couple on and off for years, and they have always been together. I can’t ever remember a time when they weren’t together. Draped in his long navy raincoat, hunched over, with his head down, there’s no mistaking that he’s broken hearted.

  Oh God, what happened to his woman?

  Twenty-Six

  I find myself running down the stairs, out the front door, and crossing LaGuardia Place. My pace quickens as I head toward the elderly man who has captured my imagination over the past few years. I have never spoken to him, yet I feel as if I know him. I have been an audience to his special moments.

  Only a few feet away from him, I stop myself. What do I say? He may not want company at the moment. Curiosity brings me a step closer. The end of the bench is empty, save for a small brown bag.