Come Alive (The Cityscape Series)

by Jessica Hawkins

  “Not that. Come here.” He reached out a long arm and pulled my jaw to him. A palpable silence settled around us when he gave me a hard peck that softened into an open-mouth kiss. When he pulled back, he wore a goofy grin.

  “I’ll miss you,” I blurted.

  His smile faltered, and he swallowed hard. With a nod, he said, “I’ll miss you too.”

  CHAPTER 17

  DAVID HAD MEANT TO CONVEY SOMETHING with the way he’d looked at me Saturday night, but I wasn’t prepared to learn what it was. Nonetheless, being looked at that way was addicting. In fact, I couldn’t get it, or other intimate things, off my mind the remainder of the weekend.

  After an agonizing Monday morning, I took a break to call Gretchen. “Are you still asleep?” I asked when she picked up the phone.

  “Maybe,” she rasped.

  “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “It was a long weekend.”

  “Lucy is back from Paris. Should we do happy hour tonight? We can surprise her by having Greg show up.”

  “Um, no.”

  “Why not?” I pouted, thinking it had been a very clever idea.

  “Greg . . . We’re off. It’s over.”

  “What?” I screeched. “Oh honey, what did he do?”

  “He didn’t do anything. It was me. I left with someone else on Saturday night.”

  “From Revelin? Who?”

  “Does it matter? I didn’t even really know the guy.”

  “Why would you do that?” I waited as I heard her shifting around, most likely sitting up in bed.

  “I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice cracking. “I just freaked, I guess.”

  “Freaked?”

  “I spent years hating Greg for what he did, and all of a sudden I’m supposed to forgive him?”

  “You aren’t supposed to do anything.”

  “Things are just moving too quickly. I think maybe this is for the best.”

  “What’s for the best? Is it over?”

  “I guess. We haven’t talked yet, but I don’t see how it could not be.”

  “I’m really sorry, Gretch.”

  “Why? It’s my fault.”

  “Because I know how much he means to you. And I know it’s not just about some other guy.”

  “Um. Why are you being so understanding?”

  The question caught me off guard, and I hesitated. “Listen, I’m coming over tonight and bringing something really bad for us to eat. We can talk about everything.”

  “I would like that,” she said. Her tone made me realize how much she needed to talk. And I hadn’t been there for her. I hadn’t even asked her how things had been with Greg, the one who broke her heart all those years ago.

  ~

  Gretchen answered the door in her pajamas, and I wondered if she’d been wearing them all day.

  “We come bearing gifts,” I said.

  “Really?” Gretchen asked when I handed her a DVD. She stepped aside to let us into her apartment. “My Best Friend’s Wedding? That’s like the worst thing you could have picked.”

  “Why?” Lucy asked, clearly hurt.

  “No, it has nothing to do with you,” Gretchen said, looking at Lucy and then me. She plopped onto the couch, and we followed. “I’ll just put it out there. I’ve been seeing Greg again.”

  “What? Greg as in Greg?” Lucy’s eyes doubled in size. “I think I need to sit down. Liv, wine, now,” she instructed.

  “He called me a few months ago to say he’d taken a job here.”

  “Here as in Chicago?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, my,” Lucy said, shaking her head.

  “I didn’t call him back at first. After several attempts to get in touch though, I finally gave in and agreed to see him.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. It started with a drink, an apology for what he’s put me through. He said he’d made a mistake by leaving. The second time we met up, he said he wanted to try again. Of course I protested, but you know how it goes. One thing led to another, and well, we’ve started dating again.”

  Lucy clamped a hand over her mouth and muffled, “You’ve been keeping this to yourself?”

  “Yes. I guess I was afraid he’d change his mind again. It was mortifying the first time being dumped like that. I don’t exactly want witnesses if it happens again.”

  “He’s the one who should be mortified,” I pointed out.

  “Why is he moving here?” Lucy asked.

  “There was an opening with his company, but . . .”

  “What?”

  “Well, he says that’s not the reason. Something about wanting to be with me,” she said, reddening. “Because he misses how we were.”

  Lucy sighed and rested her chin in her hand. “Wow.”

  “I’m not sure I believe it, though,” Gretchen added.

  “Why wouldn’t you?” Lucy demanded, her tone teetering on outrage.

  “He doesn’t exactly have a squeaky clean record,” I reminded Lucy.

  “But maybe it’s different this time,” Lucy countered. “People change, they want different things as they get older.”

  “That’s putting a lot of faith in him,” Gretchen grumbled.

  Lucy looked thoughtful as she took a sip of wine. “So let me get this straight. He left his entire life behind and moved across an ocean for you. Geez, that’s like right out of a movie.”

  Gretchen looked skeptical. “I don’t know if I would quite say – ”

  “This is like, super romantic,” Lucy chirped over her. “He realized he made a huge mistake and couldn’t spend another day without you.”

  Gretchen rolled her eyes, but a dimple appeared in her cheek.

  The corner of Lucy’s mouth tugged and she broke into a large smile. “This is major.”

  “Why?”

  “This could be it.”

  “I don’t follow . . . .” Gretchen’s eyes narrowed as she focused on Lucy.

  “He might be ‘the one.’”

  “Jesus Christ,” Gretchen blurted. “It’s only been a month!”

  “Gretchen, he moved here from Japan for you. It’s not like he drove over from Indianapolis. He couldn’t stop thinking about you for, like, five years or whatever. That’s true love. You’re the one that got away.”

  “I think you have that the wrong way around.”

  “Don’t you love him?”

  “I think so.”

  “You think?”

  “After all this time, how do I know if I still love him? Is he the same person? Am I?”

  “Of course,” Lucy stated.

  “But how can I know that?”

  “You can’t, Gretchen. Love means having faith.” Lucy swirled the wine in her glass and looked off into the distance. “Of course you still love him. That doesn’t just go away.”

  “Maybe not . . . but what if it lessened? I’m not really sure how I feel.”

  “Love doesn’t have levels,” Lucy decided. “It just is.”

  “So you can’t love one person more than another?” I asked.

  “No, I just mean that love doesn’t change or morph into something else. It just is, you either love him or you don’t. Of course I love Andrew more than anyone else, but that doesn’t mean I love you guys any less. I just love you in a different way.”

  “What about loving two people at the same time?” They both looked at me. “In the same way,” I added.

  “You mean like friends?”

  I felt suddenly warm and pulled at my collar. “No . . . . Not friends.”

  “I don’t understand,” was all Lucy said while her eyebrows met in the middle.

  “Like what if Gretchen had met someone else when Greg was away. What if she were married now? When Greg shows up, does she love them both?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that’s just not plausible,” Lucy said crossly. “You can only love one or the other.”

 
“Never mind,” I said. I knew better than to point out that maybe her theory had some holes.

  “Shit,” Gretchen said. “This is much too philosophical for my state of mind. I think we are getting way, way ahead of ourselves. Marriage is not even in the equation, trust me.”

  Lucy pursed her lips to show that she didn’t approve. She looked at me. “I’m not even going to ask what you think.”

  “I’m with Gretchen. Anyway, there’s one very important detail that makes this whole discussion pointless: they are breaking up.”

  “Wait, back up,” Lucy said. “What?”

  Gretchen fidgeted with the fringe of the nearest pillow. “I ditched him for another guy on Saturday night.”

  Lucy cocked her head at Gretchen and shook it slowly. “Gretchen, how could you? After all this time you’ve waited for him to come back.”

  “Waited? I haven’t waited for shit. I thought I’d never see him again, and I’d made my peace with that. But then he comes waltzing back into my life, in true Greg fashion, and expects things to go back to the way they were. Do you think I want to put myself through that again?”

  I slanted my lips at her. “But you should have discussed your feelings with him like a mature adult.”

  “You’re one to talk, Olivia.”

  My jaw dropped, and my eyes darted over her.

  “What does that mean?” Lucy asked.

  “Nothing,” Gretchen said with a sigh. “I’m just upset. You’re right, I could have handled it better.”

  “She hadn’t even slept with Greg,” I told Lucy.

  “You didn’t?”

  “No. And I didn’t hook up with the Saturday night guy either. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

  “So just tell Greg that,” I said.

  “It doesn’t matter, what matters is that I left him. I’ve been avoiding him ever since, and I’m sure he’s pissed. I don’t even know if I want to work things out. What if he leaves again?”

  If I’d had more faith in Greg, or love for that matter, I would have told her not to be afraid. Even though my marriage had been happy, the disappointment of my parents’ divorce was always fresh in my mind. There was no guarantee that people wouldn’t suddenly change their minds. And to tell Gretchen that Greg wouldn’t leave again was a reassurance I couldn’t give her. I grabbed her hand instead. She tilted her head at me but didn’t say anything.

  “If you love him, then you have to try,” Lucy said, her voice an octave above a whisper. “Don’t give up because of fear.”

  Gretchen rubbed her temples. “Liv, I don’t think I can go to the ball this weekend.”

  “Ball?”

  “Um, yes, the animal shelter charity event that you hounded me to buy tickets for.”

  “Oh, right. The masquerade ball. I completely forgot that was this weekend. It’s fine, you already paid. They’ll get the money.”

  “Dani will be in town, I could give them to her,” Lucy offered. My ears perked at the mention of her name.

  “She can have them.”

  “So, can we talk about my Parisian honeymoon now?” Lucy asked excitedly.

  ~

  Droplets of turquoise water, the smell of chlorine, skin slick against skin, hovering above the rest of the world, wandering fingers, curious tongues, fistfuls of hair . . . . Heat pooled inside of me, turning me warm and tender. He’d cradled me on his lap and held me close. He’d not only listened but had heard me, and when he watched me, it was with attentive eyes. I tried to forget the feeling of his lips claiming mine or of him swelling inside of me.

  I jumped when the front door slammed. I picked up the nearest magazine, hiding my flushed face behind it.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi, honey,” I said from behind an article on graceful aging. “How was work?”

  All week had been that way; on the train, in my office, at the deli – I couldn’t stop the scorching memories from infiltrating my life. Between work and home, I hadn’t even been able to relieve myself, and I was feeling full to the brim with no outlet.

  “Liv?” Bill asked.

  “Yes?”

  “I asked how your day was.”

  “Oh, fine. Do you want to see your mask for the masquerade ball this weekend?”

  “I don’t really care. Thanks for picking it out. Jeanine has a couple houses she wants us to see. How’s Sunday?”

  Shame. It was red and ugly and written all over my face. No, I could not see houses with Bill, because I was gutless and afraid. How could I tell him that things were moving too fast when for him, they weren’t moving fast enough?

  He came and sat next to me on the couch. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “You look pale,” he said, holding the back of his hand against my forehead. He brushed some hair from my face. “I’m worried that you’re slipping away again. You’ve been quiet this week.”

  “Oh,” I said softly. “No, I’m okay.”

  “I think . . .” He paused and looked over at the coffee table. “I think it might be time to see someone.”

  “Someone?”

  “Therapy. I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I still think it’s sort of bullshit. But I’m running out of ideas, and this is getting to be a little much.”

  Glossy pages crinkled when I clenched the magazine. “Therapy?” I repeated angrily. “For me or for us?”

  “For you,” he said, drawing back. “Why would we need therapy?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Why would I?”

  He hesitated. “One minute you’re up, the next you’re down. At this point I’m willing to try anything.”

  “I – I . . .”

  “I don’t know what else to give you, and it’s fucking with me.”

  “I’ll go see Mack,” I blurted. Mack. His wife had died, and I’d been neglecting him out of my own selfish fear of what he’d be like without her. Without the love of his life, Davena. I sighed. “Maybe that would help.”

  “That’s a great idea, babe. Really great. I think that would be a good start.” He took my hand and kissed the back of it. “How about Saturday morning? I’ll take you.”

  I nodded. “I’d like that.”

  “Great,” he said again. “What should I tell Jeanine?”

  “Actually,” I said, looking at him over the magazine, “I promised George I’d put in some time at the shelter on Sunday.”

  “Okay. Maybe next weekend, then,” he said. He smiled, but his mouth drooped at the corners.

  ~

  Mack had been very gracious over the phone. After four months, I was ready to see him, but a knot sat heavy in my stomach. It had been too long.

  I almost didn’t recognize the man who opened the door. He’d lost weight, and his sallow skin drooped, but it was lively eyes that gave Mack away.

  “Come in, come in,” he coaxed to us.

  I handed him a plateful of brownies I’d baked the night before. “I know these are late, but I wanted you to have them.”

  “My favorite, dear, thank you,” he said, setting them down.

  “I’m so sorry,” I rasped. I felt my eyes flooding as I stepped into his embrace.

  “It’s okay,” he soothed, petting my hair. “It’s okay. It’s been hard for all of us.”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated as tears spilled onto his shoulder. “I miss her so much,” I whispered. “She was so good to me, and I never deserved it.”

  He pulled back to look me in the eyes. “How can you say that? Of course you deserve it. She loved you like her own, and there’s no reason she shouldn’t have. You brought her so much happiness.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve been terrible,” I said through blurred eyes. “I’m awful.”

  Mack raised an eyebrow over my shoulder. “What is she talking about?”

  “She’s taking this very hard. It’s been a rough few months, Mack. In fact, this is the first time she’s cried since she found out.”

  “Can you give us
a minute?” I choked out. There was a hesitation before Bill agreed, but when he did, his voice pitched with a hint of bitterness.

  Mack guided me to the same couch I’d sat on with Davena during our last visit. I fell rather than sat and bawled rather than cried into my hands. He handed me a box of tissues, and when I could, I looked up to face him.

  “I think about her every day, Mack, and you too. I hope you know how much you mean to me. There’s no excuse for not coming earlier.”

  “I know. People grieve in different ways. You made her happy, and that’s all I could ever ask for.”

  I sniffled and looked at my hands.

  “Is there something the matter?”

  “What kind of person am I for not visiting? You’ve been there for me through everything, and this is how I repay you? I’m terrible,” I said quietly and erupted into tears. “Terrible, terrible,” I ranted, “I’ve done something terrible.”

  He scooted closer and wrapped me in his arms, rocking me back and forth. “That’s it, just let it out.”

  Mack’s love was overwhelming. I wondered how it could be so strong. It hadn’t diminished in the absence of his wife, even though she’d been, and still was, the center of his world. It was my greatest fear, here in front of me. To love someone the way he had loved Davena and to lose him suddenly to something that was so wildly out of my control.

  “How do you get up every morning?” I asked into his shirt.

  “Reluctantly, like everyone else,” he kidded. “Really, life is too short to be so unhappy. You have to let go of the past or you’re denying yourself a future. Whatever is holding you back – whatever you’ve done – you must forgive yourself.”

  “What if what I’ve done is unforgivable?”

  “Olivia . . . Nothing is unforgiveable. But only you can figure out how to move forward. I can’t tell you how.”

  “Did you ever doubt your love for Davena?” I asked softly.

  He squeezed me closer. “We fought a lot, dear, we were very different people. Did I ever tell you that we separated once?”

  I pulled back to look at him. “No.”

  “We did, a long, long time ago for a few weeks.”

  “So even you had doubts?”

  “Doubts?” he repeated. “No. I never doubted that I wanted to be with her. Not since the moment she agreed to have dinner with me. Those few weeks were the worst of my life. I was miserable without her. I know it’s cliché, but I felt incomplete, and not until we got back together did I feel whole again.”