“Victoria and I have a different relationship than you and I ever had. To compare the two makes no sense.”
“You brought me to visit your mom. You brought me to visit your daughter.”
“I thought my mom could help you. And no, I didn’t bring you to visit Andra. You showed up, uninvited, remember?” He looked up at his mom’s house. “I guess some things don’t change.”
“I can’t believe you’d deny your mom the opportunity to get to know your wife. It’s a surprise that you’d marry anyone.”
“I could have been married,” he said. I paused, holding my breath. “I thought I’d marry Lydia.”
Lydia. It reminded me of how I’d felt when I’d come upon the photograph, how Six had told me she’d killed herself. Her ghost taunted me, reminding me I was the hiccup between Lydia and Victoria, the women Six loved enough to want to marry.
“Does it make you think how your life could have changed if you’d chosen another way? If you’d stayed with her?”
“I believe in fate, Mira. I believe in choices. I had a choice to stay with Lydia before I knew about the baby. I chose something else. And that took me down another path.”
A path to that eventually led to me.
“And that’s why I was so angry with you. Why I’m still angry with you. In the hospital, you didn’t give me a choice.”
“The choice was to watch me hurt myself.” Admittedly, not the best choice I’d ever given someone.
His eyes lit up in the dark, almost as if the green in them had burst into flames. “That was not a choice, Mira.”
There was the fire again, blazing through him and into me. How he had the power to bring me to life, I’d never understand. But there it was, lighting us both us.
“It was a choice, Six. It was one you didn’t want.”
“An unfair one,” he told me. He clamped his jaw shut so quickly that I heard the snap of teeth. “It wasn’t a real choice.”
“We would have split up eventually. We would’ve had to. I had to figure out that I could be sober on my own. I had to figure out that I could support myself without you there, ready to catch me every time I fell.”
“But we’ll never know, will we? Because you decided we’d have an ending.” He brought his face down to mine. “You chose that. Not me.”
“If you’re so mad, you should have let me cut myself and then you’d have seen how fucked up I was.”
“I already knew you were fucked up. I’m fucked up, too. But I wouldn’t let you hurt yourself.”
“At least I wouldn’t be hurting you.”
“That’s exactly what you did, though. Each time I found you bleeding, I ached too. Do you think I could really shut myself off to what you were doing to yourself?” He gripped my upper arms, yanked me to him. Like the serpent, my hands found his chest, holding him to me. There was a gentleness about it. He didn’t want to hurt me; he just wanted me to understand. “You told me once that when you cut, it was to keep from hurting others. But you were wrong. I hurt. Every time.”
I wanted to reach between my ribs and stretch them open just a little, to allow me to actually catch my breath. “It’s just skin.”
“Shut up. Just…” He shook his head. “Shut up. You’re not an idiot, so don’t act like one.”
I snapped my lips shut and started to feel angry, too. “I’m only human, Six. I make mistakes.”
“Are you saying that kicking me out of that hospital room was a mistake?”
“I don’t know. At the time, it was the only thing I could do to survive.”
He let go of my arms. “Explain.”
“Your grief, Six. It was eating me alive. I needed you, but you needed me more.” I shook my head and then pushed my hair from my face. “I’ve always needed you. Always. You needed me, and I couldn’t deal, I couldn’t be what you needed.”
He dropped his head back and shook it before lifting it and pinning me in place with his stare. “Is this a joke?”
“I’m not laughing.” I wrapped my arms around myself and stared him down. “My feelings are not your ammunition, so please don’t use them to hurt me.”
“I needed you then, yes. I agree.” He paused. “But I always needed you. How can you not know that?”
I shook. “No, you didn’t.” There’d always existed an imbalance between us. Six provided and I took. I wasn’t capable of more than that.
“Yes, I damn well did. If I didn’t need you, I would have never stuck around. I didn’t stick around to be a good guy, Mira. I’m not inherently good. I’m selfish. I may not have needed you in the same way you needed me, but I needed you nonetheless.”
My mouth went dry at his confession, and my breath became heavy. I didn’t know how to listen to what he was saying. I couldn’t absorb it as truth.
“I always needed you, Mira. Not just the one time. I need you still. The night you destroyed the realtor’s sign—do you remember?”
How could I forget?
“I never replaced the sign. I kept that damn house, even though I haven’t lived there. I couldn’t. It was like living in a mausoleum. But I kept it, hoping…”
Something was pressing my chest. I thought of my painting of the boa constrictor. Of the woman caressing the serpent even as it squeezed her chest. Without warning my hand reached out, made contact with his face. His jaw in my hand, his facial hair biting against my sensitive skin. He closed his eyes, and my heart shifted, trying to find space as it expanded.
With my hand on his skin, I realized what I’d been missing this whole time. I’d known Six was carrying a piece of me with him. But what I hadn’t realized was that I was carrying him, too. The ache upon my heart wasn’t from self-inflicted emotional wounds, but rather a piece that was yearning for its owner.
“Why did you choose Christmas Eve for your wedding?” I whispered, my hand still cradling his face.
“It’s my least favorite holiday.” His eyes opened. “It doesn’t mean what it used to.”
I understood then. He hadn’t done it to hurt me. He was already hurting, spending his Christmas Eves without me. His favorite holiday had become his least favorite in my absence. “I wanted to replace it with something better. But the fact that I thought anything could…” His voice trailed off.
“I’m sorry.” It was long overdue.
He sighed, his breath warm against my hand. “Me too.” He leaned in, kissing my forehead. I closed my eyes, feeling the heat of his mouth against my skin. I wanted this to stay in my memory, one last kiss.
My heart grew heavier and heavier, pressing on my lungs and making my breathing more rapid. He pulled back, looking at me under the moonlight. My hand on his face felt unbearably heavy, but I couldn’t bother to move it, to let go. I couldn’t let go.
His fingers moved to my mouth the moment my hand dropped from his cheek. It was as if he knew I was about to let go, and he couldn’t bear losing our connection either. He tipped my chin, bringing my face inches from him. His gaze dipped to my lips and back up to my eyes, that unanswered question in his, echoing.
I held my breath, even though my ribcage was tightening. I swallowed, and his eyes followed the movement, down my throat. He traced its wake with his fingers before looking at me again, his fingers coming up to trace my lips.
Kiss me, I thought. I knew it was wrong. But it’d been so long. I had his touch, his smell, his voice, the way he looked all in my head in this moment. I needed the taste.
He leaned forward, closing the distance between us millimeter by millimeter, until he was so close I couldn’t see anyone but him. I wouldn’t close my eyes, I wouldn’t forget this. I wanted to sear it in my memory.
“William?” I heard Elaine’s voice call from the dark.
“I have to go,” I whispered, dropping my hand from his face.
“What about us?”
You’re getting married. I swallowed a lump of regret. “There is no us, Six. There was. But there isn’t.”
I turned to
walk away, but Six’s hand gripped my arm, gently turning me to look at him. He said, “Can you honestly say you’re happy?”
I thought for a minute. “No. But,” I paused to inhale his scent, to absorb the moment, to relish my next words. “One day, when my body is six feet under and covered in dirt and grass, when my skin has turned to ash, and all I am is dust in a wood and metal box, I will still be someone you loved once. And that will be enough. It will have to be.” His eyes were dark, but I felt the tremble in his hand. “Please let me go,” I whispered.
Don’t let me go.
Fight for me.
Leave Victoria.
Love me.
Be with me.
He let me go, and I walked down the sidewalk. Alone.
When I got back to my apartment, I picked up the swirl painting and dipped my paintbrush one last time, adding black to the swirl and letting it continue around it until the paint had faded completely, obscuring its true end.
24
I waited, like a coward, outside the church on the day of Six’s wedding, bundled up in layers of fleece and frustration.
The doors opened, people pouring in, but he didn’t come out. I knew it hadn’t started yet, but I’d arrived early wanting to see the people whose day I was about to ruin.
Because I was hurting, I did the only reasonable thing I could think of – I’d come to this church to inflict some hurt myself.
Just as I was contemplating my game plan, a limo pulled up and parked in front of the large, ornate wooden doors. A driver scurried out of his seat and around to the curb, pulling open the back door and holding a hand out.
Tulle and satin came first, then a glittered shoe and her long, slender arms as the driver pulled her from the vehicle. Golden hair spun into a bun high on her head and a veil hung from the bottom of the bun, down over her back. She was beautiful, head to toe in varying shades of white and gold. Her wedding dress had a train longer than the limo and her bridesmaids scrambled to pick it up off the concrete, lest it get ruined before the festivities.
The bride turned her head over her shoulder, smiling as a photographer wielded a giant piece of equipment around her face. Her lips spread and people spilled from the large doors, squealing their approval at seeing the bride.
“Victoria!” I could hear from my vantage point, about one hundred feet away. They screamed, descending the steps towards the happy bride. She smiled, a picture of serenity, as they air kissed her cheeks to keep from destroying her perfectly-applied makeup.
I wanted to make her hurt. I wanted her to feel what I was feeling. I wanted to tell her that Six had promised her lies. I wanted to see her cry.
I wanted to fight. For me. For Six.
I wanted to hurt him, if nothing else but to prove that I could still.
She walked into the church, heavy wooden doors closing behind her.
I stood up from my spot, crouched behind the rosebushes, and started walking towards the church, preparing my speech in my head. My feet quietly scuffed the pavement as I crossed the street, but my heart thundered, the blood roaring to my ears. I held my hands in fists by my sides as I approached the sidewalk.
I put both hands on one heavy brass handle, felt the coolness down to my bones. I breathed in, out, in again.
And then, I opened them.
I awoke from the nightmare soaked in sweat. I slapped my phone to view the clock and then fell back into the sheets. Griffin, who’d made it up onto my bed somehow, groaned in her sleep and pushed her long feet toward me until her claws lightly scratched my skin.
“It was a dream,” I said to myself. I wouldn’t do that, would I? Go to the church on Six’s wedding day, ready to set the whole fucking place on fire? I wanted to believe I wouldn’t, but those parts of me that were ruled by impulsive selfishness weren’t as convinced.
Sitting up, I grabbed the water on my nightstand. My heart was still in a race in my chest, a race it was surely winning for how dizzy that beat made me. Six had inspired the nightmare. In less than three weeks, he’d stand in front of God and everyone and make this woman a promise he couldn’t make to me. But I didn’t blame him for that anymore. Engagement was entrapment, and if Six had set that snare for me when we’d been together, I would’ve likely grown to resent the pressure. I had to learn to be alone before I could learn to be with him, and I’d now learned how to be alone, but I couldn’t be with him.
Mira of years ago would take him for herself, even if he didn’t want her to. Mira of years ago would make him hurt for her hurt, pound for pound. Mira of years ago was still me but toned down a bit along her sharper edges.
He was now less mine than he’d ever been and each day closer to his wedding closed the gap of it ever being possible that he’d be mine again. And I couldn’t take him from Victoria. My tentacles, as Six had called them, couldn’t reach that far.
I was still fighting, each and every day. I would, for years to come. But sometimes fighting meant fighting your own selfish urges by doing nothing at all.
It was the night of the showing. I wore a strapless column of black silk and a nervous smile. Jacob came as my date, helping me feel at ease with all the people wanting to shake my hand or kiss my cheek or talk to me about my art.
It was weird to call it that. To put it on the walls here, filling the space like it belonged here. Like I belonged here.
Brooke ran the register and held up two fingers in slack jawed excitement, letting me know two paintings had sold. I let out a deep breath and then greedily sucked it back up.
Two hours in and four paintings sold, I was sweating-palmed and ready to go home. Jacob squeezed my hand from time to time, as if he knew I wanted to bolt the fuck out there in search of a place with no people and music loud enough to burst my eardrums. A place like my brand-new apartment.
“You’re doing great, Mira,” Jacob said beside me. I needed to hear it from him more than anyone else. While I was glad the showing wasn’t a total bust and that I’d sold a small handful already, I didn’t want to think about my paintings living in a home that wasn’t mine. Exposed for all kinds of people to bear witness to, to speculate on. To mock or to examine.
I schmoozed and chatted with everyone who admired the paintings. When some asked me about my style, I choked on my water. Style? I didn’t have a style. I didn’t study art. I studied life, people, things. I studied feelings.
Six’s mom came through and hugged me briefly before walking away to study the paintings. I wondered what she would think, as her opinion mattered more than most.
I looked for a shiny blonde head, but no Victoria appeared. I hadn’t imagined what she’d said at the restaurant; she’d definitely planned on coming. But she was nowhere. Not that I missed her, exactly.
I’d brought the swirl, but it was one of the few paintings I hoped didn’t sell. It hung on its own wall, tucked away in the back, away from where most people were clustering. It was mostly for me, but for some reason I felt I needed it here. It was my first painting, thirteen years of effort in one single, continuous swirl.
I leaned over the counter to talk to Brooke, wanting a reprieve from all the bodies. “Hey!” she said excitedly. “How’s it going?”
Her eyes were so bright, her face warm and friendly. Being engaged looked good on her. AJ had given her a future that she hadn’t thought possible after enduring the darker side of love herself with Norah’s father.
“It’s busy,” I said, which she knew meant good and bad things. Part of me fantasized not having anyone show up, being able to pack away my things without prying eyes, dissecting my thoughts and vulnerabilities. The paintings exploited my feelings and I was in constant war with myself to hide them and to put them on display.
“So busy! I think that man over there,” she pointed to a group of people, so I couldn’t make out a single person, “wants to buy one too. He’s asked about prices.” She waggled her eyebrows but I couldn’t return her enthusiasm, not when my stomach was in knots. “That’ll mak
e five.”
“Five.” I exhaled.
“Don’t go forgetting us at the restaurant when you get all rich and famous,” Brooke said, covering my hand with her own. “I couldn’t deal with Marco without you.”
“Ha. You managed just fine without me for seven years.”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Yes, but you know how he is. He was losing his shit this morning—it was a good thing you weren’t there.”
“What now?” I asked, watching more people coming in, most of them with faces I didn’t know.
“Someone canceled their catering order. That’s the gist. They paid the thirty percent deposit but missed the window of being on the hook for the rest, by just a few days.”
“That’s not all that uncommon,” I said. “We get cancellations all the time.”
“Right, but Marco made a special allowance for this one. He even passed on a contract for a company’s Christmas party to make this happen.”
Something deep inside of me, too far to reach, itched. “What catering order was canceled?”
“I don’t know whose,” she said, and I deflated just a bit. “I just know it was for Christmas eve.”
Thunder roared in my head. The floor beneath me disappeared and my chest clenched.
On cue, Six walked in the front doors. He wore leather over a black plain shirt, and jeans, a vision of my past appearing in my present. The sea of people parted and he came forward, like a vision I had manifested.
“Mira,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you.”
Saliva pooled in my mouth and I nodded. “Okay.”
“Let me look around first.” He turned to Brooke and lost some of his seriousness. “Hi, Brooke.”
“Hi,” she said, glancing between us both until he stepped away. “Wow,” she said, eyes wide.
I watched him walk away, taking in the fact that he was here, alone, and Victoria was not. My belly filled with air. “Yeah, wow.”
“Is he… the blonde woman that came in to talk to you at the restaurant…?”
“Yes. His fiancée.” Or were they still? I tried to rack my brain for all the Christmas eve catering orders, because I knew there were a few. Had he canceled theirs? And if so, what did that mean?
Pieces of Eight Page 21
