“We had a daughter.”
Had. Fuck.
I hang my head down in defeat. I want to keep eye contact and be her strength, but the shock is crippling. I feel a tear land on my hands and it destroys me. I stand up and sit beside her. Fuck not touching her right now, I need her to know I'm here. To listen, to hold. Hell, I'll be her fucking punching bag if she needs me to be. I put one arm around her shoulders and bring her closer to me. My chin resting on the top of her head.
“What happened?” I ask.
“So much,” she whispers. Her shoulders begin to shake, and with each deep breath she takes I think she'll stop crying. But she doesn't. The pain ricochets off of her and lodges itself into my skin; permanently scarring me. Evie, crying with reckless abandon will forever be how I picture a mother’s loss. I can’t bear to see her like this, and I almost open my mouth to tell her that this is enough, she can spare the details for another time or never. Anything to not have to see her this way.
Eventually her tears subside, her shoulders settle, and her breathing evens out. Unexpectedly I feel her arms wrap around my torso before her body collapses in exhaustion against mine.
“Her name was Bella,” she says. Her voice low and raspy from all the crying. “She was our miracle baby.” Hugging one another, I rub my hand up and down her back in both comfort and encouragement. “Everything was perfect. Until it wasn’t. One day they tell you’ve given birth to a healthy girl and the next she’s not breathing and nothing they do brings her back.”
I close my eyes and try and imagine the horror of seeing your child that way. The closest thing I’ve come to death was watching my mom take her last breaths. But she was sick, and I knew it was inevitable. In all sense of the word, I was prepared. When the happiest day of your life is quickly overshadowed with the saddest, the result is gut wrenching and completely unfathomable.
“After Bella died, nothing was ever the same.” She untangles herself from our embrace and holds my stare with all her remaining energy. “I didn’t just lose my daughter. I lost everything I had ever known.”
I’m itching with curiosity, eager to ask questions to help me unlock the memories she guards so close to her chest. I need her to be able to see that she isn’t defined by the tragedies she has endured. She’s standing, she’s breathing and even though I know she might not feel it, she’s fucking living. I don't know what it's like to lose my child, but I know what's it's like to feel loss and be lost. It's tough when you allow yourself to fall in a hole of darkness because you feel like your purpose has been altered. The days are on repeat and the heartbreak is all consuming. I remember looking at my dad after my mom died and asking him how he was going to manage to keep on living without her. He grabbed my shoulder and looked me in the eyes and said, “Son, it’s disrespectful to the dead to not make the most of the life you’re living. They’re not here. Live for them.” For years that has stuck with me, drove me to go out and make the most of every breath I took. Be persistent. Be adamant. Work for what I want.
A war is waging inside of me, the age old battle of push or pull. I don't want to seem insensitive but this moment is as much about us as it is about her past. Does she expect me to run with each layer that she peels off? Is she telling me so we can move forward, or is she telling me thinking I’ll let her go. As if she can hear my thoughts, her voice interrupts me.
“There's more.”
“More what?”
“I have to tell you so much more.”
18
Evie
I can’t believe I’m here right now, standing in Lior’s apartment, telling him every single horrid detail about my life. I feel his body lift of the sofa.
“Evie, stand up,” he demands.
I do. I stand up and give him all my attention.
“We don’t have to do this tonight.” He grabs my face between his large palms and wipes underneath my eyes with his thumbs. “I’m so grateful that you trust me enough to tell me about Bella, but there’s no way I’m going to watch you put yourself through the wringer one more time tonight.”
I cover his hands with mine. “There’s just so much you deserve to know.”
He cuts me off, “And in good time you will tell me, right?”
I nod. “I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I can ever ask of you,” he says. I pull his hands off my face and clutch them tightly to my chest. “I just want you to know you can leave this,” I motion between us, “anytime.”
“Why would you say that?” he asks me, genuine hurt on his face.
“What? The truth.” I shake my head and take a deep breath. “I’m not oblivious Lior, I’m a train wreck. Not a train wreck waiting to happen. It already happened. It was loud and destructive—”
“Evie, stop,” he says interrupting me. But I continue to talk ramble over him. “I know I’m broken. Literally a shattered heap of metal burning from the inside out, painful to touch and ugly to look at—”
“Evie, Stop!” he shouts. “I’m not going anywhere. There’s nothing you could tell me that could make me walk away from this. Things will hurt, and things can shock me, but you… You consume me, Evie. It’s crazy.” He brings our joined hands to his lips. “I might not be able to kiss you or touch you, but I can damn well fucking love you.”
Love me.
“I just know, I’m going to hurt you,” I insist.
“On purpose?” he asks.
“Never.”
“Well then, let’s just see how it goes. I’m big enough to take care of myself,” he reassures me. “How about we pick out that movie, and I’ll make us some coffee?”
“Do you have hot chocolate?” I ask, lightening up the mood.
“I think I can find something,” he says with a wink.
* * *
“So you slept at Lior’s house, eh?” Courtney wiggles her eyebrows at me, her question full of innuendo.
“For the hundredth time, I did sleep at his house. I fell asleep on the couch, I didn’t even make it to a bed.” The last part is a lie, I know I fell asleep on the couch, but I definitely woke up in his bed.
Last night after my emotional breakdown we decided to try again and watch a movie. After a few disagreements, we finally settled on the latest Melissa McCarthy and Jason Statham comedy, “Spy,” the bouts of laughter have helped lift the mood. With his legs stretched out on the chaise and my head resting in his lap, it was the closest we’ve ever been. His earlier admission about touching and kissing, and the way he was running his fingers through my hair throughout the whole movie reawakened a familiar flutter in the pit of my stomach. The noise from the movie faded to the background and the steady beat of my heart slamming itself against my chest filled the room every time he touched my hair. Each stroke felt a lot more purposeful than the one before. I’m now curious for his touch but fearful of the outcome. Just thinking about our close proximity last night has me overwhelmed by the surfacing of forgotten memories, meshing with forgotten needs. The life that I don’t have anymore versus the life I want to live.
Waking up in his bed wasn’t at all how I expected. It took me less than two seconds to realize the sheets had a woodsy, masculine scent, that only belongs to Lior. Opening my eyes to see Lior’s sleeping face directly opposite to mine, I knew I fell asleep and he must’ve carried me here. His face was so relaxed; all the lines and creases free of tension. I noticed I was sleeping underneath the blankets, while he slept on top of them. His efforts to respect my boundaries didn’t go unnoticed.
“When do I get to meet this lovely sounding gentleman?” my mother asks. Agreeing to go dress shopping with these two, is something I should’ve thought through properly. They’re like a tag team; each one taking turns in asking questions or throwing around inappropriate comments.
“I don’t know Mom, we’re just taking things slow,” I remind her.
“You just said you slept at his house, that’s not slow.”
“Mom,” I shriek. “It wasn’t
that kind of sleepover.”
“What a waste, they’re the best kind.” Courtney bursts out laughing, while my face goes bright red. “Your mom’s a hoot.”
“Are you sure she’s not your mom? Because you both have this awesome knack for all things inappropriate.”
“What, it’s not like she’s wrong. Sex is great,” she says loudly across the store.
I decide to give her a taste of her own medicine, knowing her reaction alone will be worth all the teasing her and mom have thrown my way. “You would know, you’re having sex with Elliot, right? Her head spins and I smile wide, as her eyes throw daggers my way.
“Elliot,” my mom interjects. “Now, I’m sure he knows what he’s doing in the bedroom.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Courtney says with gritted teeth.
“Welcome to the family.”
“Is everything okay here?” the shop assistant asks, breaking up our childish banter.
“Do you have an available change room? I’d like to see some bridesmaid dresses and have my daughter try them on.”
“Absolutely ma’am. Right this way.”
We all quietly follow her, our earlier shenanigans forgotten.
After five different dress changes I give up. “Court, can you try them on and if I like the look of one, I’ll try it on,” I plea.
“Fine.”
Every dress she tries on, I take a photo of and send to my sister. Thankfully we have almost identical taste and she has pretty much agreed with every dress I’ve declined. Just as I’m about to give up and tell my mom I’ll be attending her wedding in black skinny jeans and a tank top, Courtney walks out wearing a winner.
“That’s it,” I squeal in excitement.
“I knew it,” she says, doing a happy dance in the middle of the store.
“Well, go try it on and we can have some lunch with champagne to celebrate,” Mom pipes in.
Once I finally work out the angles of the straps and put my boobs in the appropriate place, I flatten out the skirt and walk out to show the others.
When there’s nothing but silence, I begin to get a little self-conscious. “What is it? You guys don’t like it?” I ask.
“No. Honey. That’s not it.”
“Well?” I ask nervously.
“It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen you excited about something.”
“Thanks Mom.” I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. “Let’s pay for this and head off to lunch. I could do with a glass of champagne.”
We’re at a cafe a few stores down from the dress shop and papers are scattered everywhere. “Mom, which is your invite list? I want us to make sure you’ve got enough invites made up to send out.”
“It’s somewhere in that pile,” she says searching through. “Found it. Hand me a pen, we need to add someone to the list.”
“Mom,” I whine. “I don’t think we have any spare invitations, and I wanted to post them today.”
“This person doesn’t need a physical invitation, you can just tell them I want them there.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking Mrs. B?” Courtney interjects. I look between them, trying to work out what they’re on about. I’m confused and also impressed at how fast they've gotten along.
“You should invite Lior to come,” Mom announces.
“To your wedding?” I clarify.
“Yes. The rehearsal dinner, the wedding. He should come to all of it.”
I’m surprised by how much I like the sound of having him there, but the worry of being an imposition holds me back from falling in love with the idea and telling him. “What if he doesn't want to come?”
“Oh, come on Evie,” Courtney says sounding exasperated. “If he doesn't want to come then it's his loss. But the guy has been throwing himself at you for months - there’s no way he’s not jumping at the opportunity.”
“And that dress. You don’t want to miss him seeing you in that dress,” Mom adds.
Picking at the napkin, I begin to tear it into little pieces. I’m not completely oblivious to his advances or his wants and needs. Last night the air was thick and heavy with the possibility of us taking it to the next level. Physical contact is something I forgot I needed, let alone thought I would ever seek from someone. Any sign of love and affection between James and I was one of the first things to disappear in our marriage. I made excuses for him at every turn, not realizing I was enabling him to slip away. Giving him the freedom to grieve on his own, has always been my biggest regret.
“What if people bring up James?” I ponder out loud.
“Evie, listen to me,” my mother demands. “People are always going to bring up James. Then they’re going to compare how happy you are now to how happy you were then.” Her voice rises with each point she makes. “Then they’re going to compare James and Lior, and wonder which one you looked better with. Don’t forget their need to make judgment on whether they think you’ve grieved enough.” She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her frustration. “But none of those people matter. You matter. Your mind, your heart, and your happiness.” She grabs my shoulders and squeezes them. “I haven’t seen you smile in such a long time. You stopped smiling before James and even before Bella. And if anyone dares to make you feel uncomfortable for being happy or moving on, they will have me to deal with.”
* * *
The alarm on my phone wakes me up from my afternoon nap. I notice two messages from Lior and hope he hasn’t sent himself into panic mode because I haven’t responded. I may have awkwardly left his place after the initial shock from waking up in his bed wore off and there's no doubt he's been stressing about it all day.
I open up his messages and sigh. We've come so far but he still sends me the same three messages everyday. No matter what we talk about in between, how many times we've texted that day, or even if things are awkward and tense.
Lior: How was your day?
Me: Really good, yours?
Lior: It had its moments.
Me: I'm surprised your ears weren't ringing. I spoke about you a lot.
Lior: You did?
I giggle into an empty room and think of what I can say to torture him a little.
Me: I told my mom how horrible it was seeing your face first thing in the morning.
Lior: I know, I often scare myself when I look in the mirror
Lior: you told your mom about me?
I instinctively hit the call button, instead of reply. He answers on the second ring.
“Hey.”
“Of course I told my mom about you.” Ignoring his greeting, I respond to his last question. “She wanted to know more about the guy that her daughter wants to bring to her wedding.”
Shit. I thought this was the direction we were heading.
“You think this guy will go with you?”
“If I ask nicely enough, he might,” I say, playing along.
“If he’s anything like me, there are a few things that would definitely sway him.”
“I figured dinner at his favorite restaurant wouldn’t hurt. He’s got these friends that I could invite, the more the merrier,” I joke.
“No. You and dinner is all I need.”
“No food, and you’ll still come to the wedding?”
I hear his breathing change through the phone. “You in a dress, and I’ll come anywhere.”
19
Evie
“Are you going to show me or what?” I ask Lior, I’m sitting on his bed while he rummages through his closet looking for appropriate wedding attire.
“Tell me again why I need to show you what clothes I have?”
“I told you, I have to make sure whatever you wear to the wedding matches my dress,” I explain.
“So, a simple ‘I’m wearing something blue, it would be great if you could match that,’ won’t suffice?”
“Just show me what you’ve got, I want to be sure.” With a cocky grin on his face, he turns and looks at me. “How about you show me wha
t you got?” I shake my head and smile.
“Hurry up and show me some damn clothes.”
“Are you going to stay in the room and watch me get dressed?” he asks.
I roll my eyes in jest, while I walk out the room, “You wish,” I say sarcastically.
“Oh, Evie, If only you knew,” he shouts from his room.
Ever since we spoke about Bella, and I invited him to my mom’s wedding, things have been blissfully different. I feel lighter and in turn, it shows in our relationship. It feels very much like the early stages of dating, and I forgot how much I love that feeling. The butterflies, the secret smiles, the anticipation of a first kiss. I know he’s waiting on me, possibly even hoping I’ll be the one to make that move; but I can’t. There’s still things that he needs to know, things I need to be certain he’s okay with before I wholeheartedly give myself to him. In order to know if this is real, I have to tell him all my secrets, even the ones I know will break his heart.
“Can you explain to me this rehearsal dinner that isn’t a rehearsal dinner again?” he asks.
“Because Mom and Ray are getting married in Hawaii, and it’s only family making the trek out there, they decided their rehearsal dinner would be like a reception party.”
“Okay,” I hear him say from the room. “That makes more sense.”
I fidget around with his cell and the music dock, letting Hozier’s voice keep me company in the background while I wait. He was so reluctant when I mentioned shopping, I figured we could go through his wardrobe and find something to match. He clears his throat above the music, announcing his presence in the living room. I raise my head, and my expectations of seeing him in an untucked shirt and a pair of jeans are overshadowed by an eyeful of a man who was made to wear a suit. My eyes brazenly devour every inch of him. From his bare feet, to his mussed up head of hair, he’s gorgeous with a capital GQ written all over him.
“Will this work?” He smirks.
It takes me a few seconds to respond, but at this point, I’m in no rush. “Can you take off the jacket?”
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