METHOD

by Kate Stewart

  I deserve it, but the burn doesn’t give a shit. It’s eating me alive. I let it hurt and refuse to drink it away anymore. I have a son or daughter coming that needs a focused father. The problem is, I’ve lost all mine.

  And maybe for Mila, there’s no coming back.

  I twist the band on my finger, my only reassurance that we still exist. If she won’t let me try to heal us, I’m stunted. I can’t move forward without her, and I can’t go back.

  But I can get the fuck out of LA.

  My chair collides with the glass before I slide open the door and head into my closet. I grab a duffle and begin to fill it with all my shit. I can’t exist in this house anymore without her. I rip my clothes off the racks one by one and shove them into the bag. Tearing through the room with the sack in hand, I head to the bathroom ripping everything that belongs to me off the shelves. I make the decision that I’m never coming back to this house. Not without the life I had when I moved into it. Heading back into the closet, I pull shoes off the shelves filling another bag. In my haste, I knock down a Nike box. The contents come pouring out and hit my chin. Pissed off, I kick the box and see a tablet pop out with a card attached. Bending down I scan the note scribbled in Mila’s handwriting.

  In case you forgot.

  X

  I fire the tablet up, and my breath catches in my throat.

  Hundreds of pictures fill the screen in scattering pixels before coming together to form the words Happy 6th Anniversary, Hollywood!

  Slumping down against the shoe rack my heart cracks when I hear the first song start to play, and a picture fades in, a candid of us on our wedding day leaving the reception. She’s laughing, her head thrown back just after I’ve scooped her up to get her into the limo, lavender roses hanging from the hand she has draped over my shoulder. It’s the perfect picture of us, and I’ve never seen it.

  How much have I missed?

  That’s when I realize they are mostly all candid shots, trickles in time where we merely existed as ourselves even while in the public eye. It’s the best fucking movie I’ve ever seen in my life.

  Grunting at the ache, I rub the middle of my chest to try to subdue it. And then…it starts. And it’s us, our life in music and pictures. Some I don’t remember taking, parties I don’t remember attending. It’s then I know she’s the true storyteller, our memory keeper. Tracing her picture with my finger, recognition sets in and I rip at my hair.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  And that’s when I see us. A choked gasp leaves my throat as razor-like pain rips through my chest. We’re both clad in our black tuxes and lavender vests, wine country blurred in the background. Blake’s standing tall, a huge shit-eating grin on his face, his arm slung around me. I’m turned into him, hysterically laughing into his shoulder, my fingers gathered at my watering eyes.

  “You really did it, huh?” he says, approaching me as my bride is whisked away for pictures. “No turning back now.”

  I grin, catching my bride’s eyes as she tosses a look over her shoulder. “I got the girl.”

  He hooks my neck, pulling me into him and runs his knuckles through my hair. “Congrats, bro.”

  “Stop it, you dick,” I half-heartedly gripe. “Mila will be pissed if you fuck up my hair for the pictures.”

  He releases me and rolls his eyes. “Already catering to the wife. Life as you know it is over. Before long, you’ll be carrying a dad bag, changing shitty diapers on the plane, and saying things like “yes, dear.” Gone are the days of careless living.”

  “If I recall correctly, your ring finger is occupied, and I don’t see you carrying a dad bag.”

  Studying me, he pulls a cigarette from his pocket, pinches it with his lips and lights it before releasing a slow exhale. “I’m not terrorizing the population with my offspring.”

  “Lucky us.”

  “Hey, you two,” one of the photographers says, approaching us and crinkling her nose at Blake’s cigarette. “Put that out. Let’s get one of you two with your jackets buttoned.”

  Blake and I do her bidding and button up to pose.

  “This shit here is why I eloped,” Blake snarks.

  “Yes, I know, I was there. Suck it up, asshole, I’m only doing this once.”

  “I’ll have you know I’ve been on my best behavior these last two days in bumfucked wine country,” he chides, following the directions being spouted at us.

  “Yeah, well, you haven’t given your toast yet, so the jury is still out,” I remind him.

  He scoffs. “I intend to say the most honorable things. I’m going to make your toast look pathetic.”

  “There wasn’t a dry eye in the house when I gave mine, you included.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, you’re going to use your speech to compare swords with me?”

  “Absolutely. May the ‘best’ man win.”

  The photographer chooses that moment to speak up. “Blake, if you don’t mind, switch places with Lucas on the incline, he’s got you by a few inches.”

  And that’s when we both lose it, and the shutter is pressed.

  Leaden legs lead me down the path I swore I’d never take. Each step becoming more sluggish as I keep my gaze down. Once there, I close my eyes, turning my head in one last attempt to avoid the truth but the effort is futile. When I finally focus on his headstone, it’s all I can do to keep standing.

  He’s gone. He’s really gone.

  Birds sing nearby, and it’s not a pleasant noise, nor is it white. It’s a sign life keeps moving on without him.

  Breaths burn like acid going in.

  I have no words, none he can hear. He took that away from me, and from everyone else that loved him. We don’t have a say. We don’t get a goodbye. He robbed us of all of it with the way he left.

  “Jesus, Blake,” I grunt out as I grapple with the permanency of his absence. No matter how many times I spoke it aloud, how many times I tried to acknowledge it and let the reality sink in, it never caught, until now.

  He’s gone. My best friend is dead.

  He’s part of half of the life I’ve lived. He’s a contributor to who I’ve become. He’s imprinted in me.

  There’s no more denying it. There’s no more avoiding it.

  He’s gone.

  Fuck this life and the next one, I don’t want to be the good guy in either one of them.

  Blake wasn’t the best role model, and he didn’t always give sage advice, but he was there for me when I had no one and nothing. I spent a lot of our friendship trying to understand him. No matter how much of an enigma he was, the role he played in my life could have never belonged to anyone else.

  “You were a good guy, you just didn’t believe it.”

  Hanging my head, I give in to the wave and let it crush me.

  Choking on a fiery exhale I kneel down, pulling the coin from my pocket, I palm my forehead as the ground shakes beneath my feet. “If you asked me…I would have been there. I would have done anything… Damn you,” I rasp out, cracking wide. “I know you did what you did to protect us from the truth. I’ll never understand it. But now it’s my turn. I won’t let you down.” I try to compose myself and fail as I bury the last piece of him where he lays, pressing the coin firmly into the dirt beneath his name. “I love you, rest now, brother. I hope you found peace.”

  “I think everybody should get rich and famous and do everything they ever dreamed of so they can see that it’s not the answer.”—Jim Carrey

  Mila

  “Hey lady, what are you up to?” Amanda’s voice sounds over the line.

  “I’m in the midst of developing Madame Bovary syndrome.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Ah, it’s an old cautionary tale about a Parisian housewife who gets bored and spends all her husband’s money replacing love with possessions.”

  “Ah, retail therapy.”

  “Exactly, but this time I have a good reason. I have a Martian about to take up residence, he or she
will need things.”

  “I still can’t believe you’re pregnant.”

  “The daily vomiting declares it so. Are you doing okay?”

  “Getting better. I got a job down here close to my mom. I just want to wait things out a little longer.”

  “If that’s what you need, I’m glad, but are you really okay?”

  “No, but I will be one day. And I wait for it every single day.”

  “I’m here for you. I hope you know that.”

  “Same goes for you.”

  “Let’s not lose touch again, okay? No matter what.”

  “Deal.”

  Ending the call, I change clothes and make my way to the rose garden. It’s a new routine I’ve found solace in since returning from the winery. It keeps me invested in something, keeps my mind focused on my goals. Waiting has always been the hardest part. No matter what role Lucas took on, it’s always been the anticipation of when we could resume our life together that was the hardest. He usually sleeps for a few days, and we take small steps to carry on whatever becomes our new normal. On my knees in the thick of the bushes, I’m unsure of what this normal will bring.

  Have we grown apart? Has he changed his mind? Have I?

  We’re in pieces because he took this burden on for love of his brother and expected me to understand.

  And it took time, but now I do understand, to an extent. It doesn’t mean I don’t deserve answers instead of excuses. It doesn’t mean I can’t be furious he refused to let me in on his plans. After the day he got his star on the Walk of Fame, I decided I would wait for him to come to me. He needs a sort of clarity I’ve been unable to give him, and it’s the perspective my mom gave me that keeps me idle. We have a hell of a lot to fight for, but I can’t do it alone. Though his apologies are sincere, and I know he means them, this isn’t a simple fix. This hurt runs soul deep.

  My husband loves me, but he broke my heart in a way I can’t just bounce back from.

  These last four months have been a blip on the radar in the map of our relationship, that much is true. That’s what Lucas counted on, my memories of our past, the trust I swore I had in him, the unbreakable bond we built, but expectations like that are unrealistic and lead to failure. Humans are gloriously flawed, and some types of love are never truly unconditional. A lot of my mistake was expecting our love to stay perfect, because a lot of the time, it was. It’s wanting our love even after we’ve seen the imperfections that makes or breaks us.

  Pulling my earbuds out, I grip my pruning shears and snap off a half dozen roses for my bedside vase. The simplistic act of gardening has given me momentary peace. I find it ironic that the garden represents our relationship in a way. For the moment, I’m stuck being the lone laborer to something we started. After a few minutes of removing the thorns, I stow away my tools and round the house, coming to a dead stop when I see Lucas standing in front of his Land Rover…crying. He doesn’t see me, so I stand back and watch him. He’s staring at my front door, biting his lips, his face twisted in anguish. His Adam’s apple repeatedly bobs while he bats tears from his face with impatient fingers.

  It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him cry. And his suffering is so palpable that I’m frozen where I stand, witnessing his painful indecision to stay or go. He shakes his head and then looks at the ground before peering back up at the door with fear. He’s breaking, visibly breaking in front of me and it’s draining what’s left of my anger. I grapple with it, keeping what I have left close because I’ll never respect myself again if I go to him without fighting for what I’m worth, for what our child is worth, for what this family is worth, being first.

  Stunned by the agony etched on his face, the pain pouring from him, I have to shake myself to propel forward. A groan escapes his lips as he cries openly in front of his truck and the sound cuts me in half, pausing my steps. Gripping his hair, his features twist as another harsh cry escapes him. My heart shatters at my feet when I see the depth of the emotion he’s been hiding.

  The second I take a step from the side of his house, his eyes drift over to mine, a breath rushes out of him, and his tears fall more rapidly. His hesitance breaks my heart as he searches my eyes for some sign of acceptance. But he doesn’t clear his face again. For the first time since Blake died, he lets me see he’s broken.

  And that’s when I know we’re going to be okay.

  He’s overcome as he stares at me, his eyes trailing to my stomach as he swallows air in an attempt to stifle his cries.

  I extend the flowers in his direction for his inspection. “These are so beautiful, don’t you think?”

  Twin tears streak his cheeks, and he slowly nods, his jade eyes piercing.

  “They are all in bloom.” I tilt my head and gesture for him to follow me. “Come see.” He runs a hand along his face and pushes off the hood of the car, following me to the side of the house.

  Looking back at him for his reaction, I don’t miss it when he sees just how magnificent the landscape is with the flowers having grown slightly wild. “It’s magical, right? We’ve been missing out on this.”

  His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks. “Beautiful.”

  “I’ve been working hard out here.”

  His raspy voice sounds from right behind me. “I took for granted that they would always be taken care of the way they needed.”

  I don’t miss his double entendre, but I’m doing my best not to throw myself into his arms, which I know are waiting. Audrey was right, my love grew right along with my resentment.

  I look back at him over my shoulder, trying not to crumble at the helpless expression on his face. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “Stop, don’t be kind to me. I don’t deserve it.”

  “Am I kind?” I ask softly. “I hope I am.”

  “Mila,” his voice breaks as he bites his upper lip, tears sliding down his jaw. “I don’t know how to make this up to you.”

  “You will,” I say through my own trembling lips. We stand there in silence which gnaws at me. “I can’t give you the words. You have to talk to me.”

  He stares at the gravel between us before lifting his eyes to mine. “I don’t know how to say I’m sorry.”

  “You just did.”

  “I have no right to ask you to come home.”

  “Sure, you do. I’m your wife.”

  “Come home.”

  “I can’t yet. I need more words, Lucas.”

  His demeanor sinks and is a bleak contrast to the sunshine that highlights his frame. “Dame,” he whispers. “I don’t deserve you at all.”

  “Well, that’s dramatic.”

  He coughs out a tight laugh and clears his throat. “Yeah, well, I’m done with that.”

  “Done?”

  “I’m done acting, I don’t want to do it anymore. That was my last movie.”

  “Now that’s dramatic,” I say, alarmed. No matter how many times he’s come back exhausted, he’s never once mentioned quitting. Mom was right. I knew it, but he’d just confirmed it. It wasn’t just the loss of Blake. His death was what triggered it. What happened was a culmination of everything my mother had put a voice to. I owe her because if it weren’t for her, I’d still be lost. But as of now, I refuse to let Lucas get away with minimal statements. He owes me more than ‘I’m sorry, come home.’

  “Can you forgive—”

  “I already have,” I say softly. Face crumbling, he takes a step toward me, and I shake my head, dying for the touch of his hands, and his apologetic kiss, but the physical contact will have to wait. I need to know where we stand.

  “I don’t have it all figured out, but I’m done acting.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “It’s served its purpose.”

  “That’s a big decision you made, and without me. You seem to be doing a lot of that.” Lifting the roses to my nose, I inhale their fresh scent and meet his eyes over the bouquet. “Sometimes I feel like maybe I never knew you, not the way I’m suppo
sed to.”

  Shoving his hands in his jeans, he nods, his eyes cast down. “That’s my fault. The boy I was…was raised to be a movie star. That’s all I’ve known since I was eight years old, Mila. It’s the only thing in my life I knew I was supposed to do, and it was the craziest damn road to be put on as a means of survival because it’s the quickest way to fail. But that was my skill set. I still can’t believe I pulled it off,” he says, rolling his eyes upward. “The whole idea was insane in itself.”

  “But you did it.”

  “Yeah, I did. And you were the only thing I was drawn to just as strongly. I had the same green light inside when I saw you. I can’t explain it any better than that. And you’re right, I don’t have a script for this. And for the first time in my life, I don’t want one.”

  Fearful eyes meet mine and then spill over.

  “Baby, I’m lost, and I don’t know how I got here,” he croaks, “I don’t know…I don’t know what the point of this is anymore. I don’t know why I’m doing it or if it even matters.”

  Nodding, I let the tears flow down my cheeks while he rubs his forehead with his palm.

  “I’m just…lost.” He looks over to me with red-rimmed eyes. “This doesn’t feel real to me.” His lips part exhaling a rough gasp. “Do you know what the definition of hell is? Because I do. It’s getting the life you wanted only to fuck it up because you didn’t know how to embrace it and be happy.”

  “Lucas, you don’t have to quit, you can take a break.”

  “No.” He shakes his head firmly. “No, this ambition isn’t helping me anymore, it’s killing me, Mila.” He points at his chest. “It’s like a sickness now, and I don’t want to give it any more power over me. I convinced myself as long as I was this product of success, all that other stuff didn’t matter, but it hurts, it hurts so bad.” He exhales a long breath. “I’ve been hiding from that kid in these scripts forever. And I thought this was the best way to do it but when the credits roll, I’m still here and none of this, none of it makes sense. I don’t want to keep existing like this.”