“I want my family back.”
I would throw my bottle against the back of the bar in blind rage if I weren’t laughing. The gleeful noise travels up my throat, filling the space between us, and Shana looks appropriately confused. “You don’t know what you want,” I say. “Because you don’t know what you’ve missed. You have no idea what the last few years have been like.”
“It must’ve been terrible.” She grazes her thumb under my sleeve, and my traitorous skin breaks out in goose bumps. “I can’t even imagine the hell it’s been, raising a child on your own—”
I pull back, curling one corner of my mouth into an easy smile. “Hell? They’ve been the best years of my life.”
Her eyebrow lowers as she opens her mouth. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Then don’t,” I say. “Really, don’t believe it. Go back to thinking children are demons.”
“I don’t think they’re demons. Just because I wanted something different doesn’t make me a villain.” She waits for me to agree with her. It might be true, but I’m not ready to concede anything yet. “You and I had some good times,” she says. “They got me through a lot of lonely nights.”
“Being with Bell is better than all of it. That little girl is everything to me.”
She bites her bottom lip, shaking her head in disbelief. “I want to feel that way too,” she says. “I do. I didn’t want to be a mom then, but as my family gets further away, and I get older . . . I need to feel grounded again.”
“A phone call now and then would’ve been nice,” I say. “Just to let us know you were okay.”
“My mom—”
“I spoke to her right after you left. She said you were safe. Honestly, after I heard that, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know. It meant there was nothing wrong, no reason for you to leave. Just me and Bell.”
“It wasn’t what I expected,” she says carefully. “Motherhood. I didn’t want it, but it was even worse than I thought. My options were to stay and torture all of us or leave. What would you have done?”
“I can’t put myself in that position,” I say. “I always wanted it. It’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
She purses her lips, looking affronted. Of course she would take my devotion to Bell personally. “I was young.”
“Too young. Too young for me, too young to know what you wanted.”
“I’m older now. I’m not going anywhere.”
“What makes you think I’d put my daughter—or myself—through that again?”
“Because I’m her mother,” she says. “And you love me. Or, you did. Didn’t you?”
I glance down at the bottle. “Yes.”
“Do you still?”
I don’t want to look at her, but I do. I have to know if she can still transfix me. That sparkle is back in my life, that neat curve of her mouth. At twenty-seven, she looks even better than she did four years ago, having grown into her features and shed some of the roundness of her face. If I look closely, I can see cover-up under her eyes, but she doesn’t need it. If she has dark shadows, they don’t show.
“Let’s get out of here,” she says under her breath, tracing her fingers along my hairline, behind my ear. “You and me again. I’ve spent a lot of nights thinking about you. It doesn’t get any better than us, does it? You know it doesn’t. Did Denise even come close?”
“No,” I admit but I’m not thinking of Denise. Amelia is the one Shana should be worried about. Shana and I had great sex, but Amelia and I connect on another level. I understand, with her, what it is to make love. The realization that I’ve lost the only real connection I’ve had in years, maybe ever, aside from Bell, saddens me.
“Come on, then.”
I look at Shana. “Where are you staying?”
“A motel a few miles from here.”
“A motel?” I ask.
“I was hoping . . . I mean, not now. Not tonight, maybe not tomorrow. But I’d like to come home at some point.”
Home. My home. “I don’t live at the apartment anymore.”
“I figured,” she says. “I drove by, but someone else was there. Where are you now?”
Even though she may already know—even though she could ask ten different mutual friends and find out—I can’t help keeping home close to my chest. It’s my safe place. It’s Bell’s safe place. “A house not far from here,” I say, intentionally vague.
“What’s it like?”
I shrug. “It’s a home.”
“Sounds wonderful.” She leans in closer to touch my jaw, her fingers confident, as if checking for stubble. When I don’t pull away, she kisses the corner of my mouth. “I’d love to see it.”
She’s hesitant but assured; it’s a half-kiss, like she’s testing me. It doesn’t have the potent effect I’m used to. It makes me think of Amelia and my first tomato-sauce taste of her. I jerk back. “No.”
The vehemence with which I say it surprises me, and from the look on her face, it surprises her too. Because the twinkle in her eyes is still there. The mischief in her smile. The ass and tits. She hasn’t changed. No matter how mad I’ve been in the past, those things always worked on me. But right now, I’m not falling for it.
“No?” she asks.
“No,” I repeat, my confidence building. “This isn’t going to happen. Not tonight. Not ever.”
She sighs, pouting slightly. “Are you seeing someone? Tell me this isn’t because of Denise.”
“It’s not Denise,” I say, and like home, I can’t bring myself to say Amelia’s name. Not to Shana, who could shred a football team with one look. Amelia may or may not be mine, but just her name gives me back some of the strength Shana’s trying to suck out of me.
Shana puts her hand in my lap, sliding it up my thigh, dangerously close to my crotch. “Andrew. Babe. It’s me. Just come with me tonight. I’ve missed you so much.” She leans into my ear. “If you feel the same in the morning, I’ll leave town. I promise.”
I catch her wrist and move her hand away. “I said no.”
The look in her eyes changes almost imperceptibly, from excited and daring to irritated. “I’ll let you put it anywhere,” she says, her voice extra husky. “Remember how you liked that? Me, on my hands and knees. You used to spend all night—”
I pound my fist on the bar. “I’m not who I used to be, Shana. I’m not that man anymore.”
She flinches but still puts her hand on my bicep. “But he’s in there, that man—”
“No. He’s not. When you left, you took more with you than a bag. I loved you. The fact that you could just walk away without a backward glance taught me a valuable lesson about love—it’s destructive. And cruel.”
As soon as I say it, I question if I still believe that. The words feel rehearsed. It’s a breakthrough for me—and I can’t help thinking I have Amelia to thank for it. She’s helped me see that I might deserve a second chance at love. That maybe it can fulfill rather than obliterate. That she could be the one for me.
The thought catches me off guard.
All this time, I was worried that I might still be in love with Shana. I hadn’t thought to ask myself . . . what if I love Amelia?
I can’t think like that. I’ve already made my decision, and even if I change my mind now, it might be too late.
Shana’s expression smooths. “I never meant to hurt you like that, honest. Try to understand that I left so I wouldn’t hurt you any more than I already had. But the way I did it was selfish. I got scared and ran when I should’ve talked to you. I’m not like that anymore.”
I stand up, push my bottle across the bar, and leave a few bills for Buck. “Then we understand each other. You’re not the same. Neither am I. We are not the same.”
I walk to the exit, in desperate need of a cigarette. Her boots click against the wood floor as she follows me. “That can be a good thing,” she says. “We both had to grow up.”
I push out into the mild night and stop. I don’t have an
y cigarettes. When I turn, Shana’s there, holding one out for me.
Reluctantly, I take it from her. “You don’t even know if you want this,” I say. “You’re bored, so you’re creating drama.”
“If I wanted drama, I would’ve done this tomorrow at Bell’s party,” she says. “I would’ve made a scene. That’s not what I want. I’m trying to be better.”
“This is you not making a scene?” I ask, exhaling smoke, looking down my nose at her. It doesn’t shock me one bit that she knows about Bell’s party.
“Yes. I still love you.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Andrew, stop it. Stop being a jerk.”
“What do you want me to say, Shana? Give me one fucking word I can say to you.”
“Do you really, honestly not love me anymore?”
I understand why she finds that so appalling. I didn’t even know, until tonight, that I’m no longer in love with her. It wouldn’t matter if I were. It’d never be enough for me to let her back into our lives in any meaningful way. “I promised myself I’d never fall in love again after you left.”
“And I’m sorry I hurt you that badly, but in a way, I’m not. I don’t want anyone else to have you. I guess I’m still a little selfish. I want you for myself.”
“You had me. You left.”
She fists her hands, and finally, her façade drops. I see it happen, because I can read her just as well now as I could then. “You act like you were a fucking saint, Andrew. You weren’t. Do you think I just up and left for no reason?”
I work my jaw side to side. For so long, I’ve placed all the blame on her shoulders so I wouldn’t have to face the truth. “Why’d you go?” I ask, but I know why. I always have.
“There’s no one magic answer,” she says. “I didn’t want to be a mom. I told you that so many fucking times, and you told me I’d change my mind when the baby came. You said if I didn’t want to get pregnant, I should’ve been more careful. What about you?” She points a finger at my chest. “You had nothing to do with it?”
My heart thumps. I pushed her into motherhood, then expected her to love it because that was how normal people felt. I didn’t realize what I was doing at the time. It took time and distance for me to understand it might’ve been hard for her day in and day out caring for a baby she didn’t want.
“And after I had Bell, you gave me no support. Everything was about her. Everything. When I cried or complained, you couldn’t believe someone wouldn’t want that perfect little angel of a girl. You made me feel like some kind of monster.”
I take a drag. She’s trembling, her eyes full of tears. That first year or so after she left, I wanted nothing more than to have her in front of me, begging for a second chance, but now, it doesn’t give me any satisfaction. Instead, I feel guilty and sad for what we’ve been through. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t a good boyfriend to you.”
“You were in a lot of ways,” she says. “Except where Bell was concerned. She could do no wrong, and how was I supposed to compete with that?”
“I just—” I put my hand over my chest. “She’s my heart, Shana. She is everything.”
“She can’t be, Andrew. Do you know what it’ll do to her to grow up seeing you sacrifice everything for her? Does it send a good example that you’re giving up love, happiness, family?”
She says love, happiness, family with some timidity because she’s referring to herself. I don’t associate her with any of those words, though. Amelia’s the one I see. She’s the one I’ve given up, not Shana. Amelia has the potential to give me love, happiness, family—and with those, the potential to hurt me. “I’m scared,” I admit. Amelia knows I am. She didn’t disappear like Shana, but by believing she did, I had an excuse to push her away. “I’m scared to love her.”
“I don’t need you to love me,” Shana says, misunderstanding me. “Not right away. I just want my family back.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask.
“It means . . .” She takes a tentative step closer. “If you can’t love anyone, then can’t you not love me? I’ll come home and be a good mother to Bell. A good wife to you.”
She gauges my reaction, but I can barely think straight, much less form an opinion on what she’s suggesting. A pit is growing in my stomach. Amelia’s at her apartment, waiting for me. Hoping. Except that it’s getting late. Maybe she’s given up on me already. I’ve let her down by not showing up, and knowing Amelia’s history, I may not get another chance.
“Think about it,” Shana says. “If you really don’t love me anymore, then there’s no risk. We’ll be a family, and we’ll make it work, and maybe one day when I’ve proven myself, you’ll let me in again.”
Against my will, Shana paints me a vivid picture that differs greatly from what Amelia and I could be. No risk. A safe home, where I love a woman as much as I’m capable of, but not as much as I should. And she’s okay with it. She doesn’t ask for more. If she leaves again, it won’t hurt.
I think about the last month with Amelia. For the first time in a long time, I was excited about something other than Bell. Excited to see Amelia, to learn about her, to get overcome by intimacy I fought against. I don’t regret getting close to her.
It hits me—I don’t regret my time with Shana, either. It gave me Bell. It gave me hindsight—about the kind of partner I was, and the ways I fucked it up. I’m a better man for having loved her. I’m a father because of her. The pain she caused me is nothing compared to the joy she brought into my life. And there might be more happiness out there if I push past my fear and go get my woman.
Shana, of all people, has opened my eyes. But about one thing, she’s wrong—she and I weren’t made for each other. And I don’t love her anymore.
“I can’t,” I tell her.
“Because you’re afraid?” she asks. “How would you feel if Bell never tried anything because she learned not to from your fear?”
“It would kill me,” I admit. I can’t pass that onto Bell. I need to man up and face what scares me. “But I’m not saying no because I’m afraid. Maybe things would’ve turned out differently if you’d stayed, but I don’t think so. I think eventually, we would’ve realized that this,” I motion between us, “was real, but it wasn’t right.”
“How can you say that?” she asks. “It was incredible. Not all the time, but . . .”
“It was good.” I nod. “But when it got hard, we failed. That isn’t the kind of relationship I want. Running away when things get difficult is not the example I want to set for our daughter.”
“So you’re just going to be alone forever?” She crosses her arms, frustrated.
“No.” Amelia and I were fools to think we knew better than the rest of the world. That we could willfully resist love.
I stamp out my cigarette and head back into the bar to tell Pico I’m borrowing his bike.
I need to get to the city fast—before Amelia loses all faith in me.
TWENTY-NINE
AMELIA
The bath I prepared earlier looks pathetic, the bubbles having fizzed and melted over an hour ago. I feel too pathetic to get in alone. I yank out the plug. The drain gurgles and sucks as I put on my robe and head into the kitchen. I put away the twenty-five-year-old bottle of premium Glenlivet I spent way too much money on during my walk home from the baby shower.
It’s past eleven. Four hours since I dressed in a silky, red La Perla negligée. Two hours since I drew a bath, hoping Andrew and I could sink right in, no bullshit, and get things figured out.
Well, I figured it out, but apparently too late. I want him. I know the price, and I’m willing to pay it. Even though it means putting my heart on the line again, that I might end up worse off, I can’t stop wondering what it’s like at that kitchen table with Bell. How it would be to crawl into Andrew’s bed each night. I’ve glimpsed a different kind of life, and while it was exciting at first, now it feels like a sickness—I won’t ever be able to rid m
y mind of that happy picture that was within my grasp.
I get the Glenlivet back out. Might as well indulge—there’s nobody to save it for. Maybe someone exists out there for me. Andrew’s shown me I could be capable of love again. But the thought that that someone isn’t Andrew makes my throat thick. That someone won’t pry me open with bubble baths and good liquor. He won’t force me to see that my pettiness over the divorce hurts me more than it helps me. He won’t have Bell. I can’t believe a month ago, I thought work was the most important thing in the world.
There’s a knock at the door, jarring me from my thoughts. My heart, which was firmly planted in my stomach, soars. It can’t be him. I’m not that lucky.
But it has to be.
My legs wobble as I leave the kitchen—fear, excitement, and adrenaline rushes through me. I can’t even wrap my head around what this means.
Andrew came for me.
Despite all the promises we made each other to keep love out of it, he’s here. It’s more than a bath and a drink. More than sex. He wants to make this work as much as I do.
This is real.
“It’s open,” I call. I want his arms around me. After floating in uncertainty for a week, I need to be grounded by him. The door opens, and I stop to untie my robe. My skin flushes as I anticipate his hands on me, the look on his face when he sees me in red.
When Reggie walks through the door, I’m confused. Disoriented. I clutch my robe instinctively, tying the sash. In that same second, he locks the door. “Bonjour, muffie,” he says as he walks toward me.
The hope and excitement I’d felt over getting Andrew back dissolves. Reggie’s in front of me in an instant, looking me over with bloodshot eyes, grinning so hard he’s sneering.
“Why so tense?” he asks when I retreat. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The disappointment that Andrew isn’t coming is as crushing the second time as it was moments ago. It’s as heartbreaking as my irritation with Reggie is pervasive. “What are you doing here?”
The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue Book 2) Page 30
