by A. K. Rose
Through It All
A.K. Rose
© 2015, A.K. Rose. All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
OTHER SHORT STORIES BY A.K. ROSE
We Need to Talk
Second Chances
Let Her Go
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This is part three of Laura and Mel’s story. Some slight overlap is provided but, it may be helpful to read We Need to Talk and Second Chances before Through it All.
PREVIOUSLY, IN SECOND CHANCES . . .
“That was amazing,” Mel said as they walked back to the rental car.
“That . . . was not what I expected,” Laura countered, still in shock about what had just happened. She’d blown into town because of an emergency, because her mother had a heart attack of all things, and she left having outed herself, and had started the process of building a relationship with the woman she’d thought of as a nuisance, an obligation.
Mel was good for her, in more ways than one. Her relationship with her daughter showed Laura how things could have been—how they could be—if only she’d tried harder.
“You know, your daughter is indirectly responsible for this day.”
“What now?” Mel was confused, rightly so.
“Yeah, she is. If she weren’t who she is—if she hadn’t pressed you to come back to New York, to track me down—if you’d never had her, I wouldn’t have had this unreal moment with my own mother. Do you know that not once—never once—had I talked to my mom about my love life. Never. Until today. That is pretty crazy. Life never stops surprising me.”
Just then, Mel stopped walking. They were no more than fifty feet from the car, but she stopped, unannounced, and stood there. In a parking lot in Cleveland, it was time. It was not an ideal location—she could have done better—but when it’s time, it’s time.
“Mel? Are you coming?” Laura called back, unintentionally ahead, confused by the sudden lack of forward momentum.
“Laura, I need to talk to you about something, come back here, okay?”
This was perhaps not the best way to summon the uncertain Laura Brighton. Not with their history. Her mind went into overdrive, her subconscious already fighting.
No. You are not leaving me again.
“Mel, no. Whatever it is, just—no. We are not talking about it here, in a hospital parking lot . . . in fucking Cleveland.”
“Laura,” Mel started, slowly crouching, placing one knee on the concrete, wincing as the little pebbles on its surface penetrated denim and pierced her skin, “my love, my soul mate . . . come here.”
This is a twist, Laura thought, for the second time that afternoon, and obeyed orders, perplexed.
“I have loved you since the day I met you, since the moment you shot me down in a coffee shop, since the first time your hand took mine, and I haven’t stopped. I didn’t stop loving you while I was in London. I didn’t stop thinking about you, or dreaming about you, or needing you. I have made some stupid decisions in my life, yes, but walking up to you in that Starbucks and saying hello was the best decision I ever made. And, I hope, this will be the second best.” Mel reached into the pocket of her leather jacket and pulled out a small black box, popping it open to reveal a princess cut diamond ring shining brightly against the blue velvet of its case.
Laura was flummoxed. This was not happening. Not here.
What the hell? She came with a ring?
“I didn’t intend to do this here—in a parking lot in Ohio after meeting your mother under less than normal circumstances—but, when the time is right, the time is right. Laura Ann Brighton, what I am trying to say . . . what I have been trying to ask you, is, will you marry me?”
For the woman who loved words, who needed words, who based everything she knew on words, this moment didn’t require many. Laura bent to her knees, looked straight into the dark green eyes that had mesmerized her since she was twenty-three years old, and mouthed only one word: “Yes.”
And then, her overactive brain kicked in, her curiosity overpowering, unable to just let the moment be what it was. “You brought an engagement ring to a hospital to meet my mother?”
“I did.” Mel answered, “Because I wanted to get her permission to ask you. Though the truth is, I was going to ask no matter what she said. Lucky for me, she gave her blessing. I’ve had this ring for weeks, waiting for the moment to be right, for the time to be perfect.”
“You asked my mother for permission to marry me? This day just keeps getting weirder.”
“Yep, when you were talking with the nurse. What can I say? I’m old-fashioned.” Realizing that they were still kneeling on hard concrete in a parking lot, Mel leaned in, kissed her fiancée, and said, “Come on, let’s go home. We have a lifetime to start planning.”
ONE
As they rode back into the city, the adrenaline lingering from their trip to Ohio faded, the high of such an emotionally-charged journey giving way to the even-keel of normalcy. The comfort of home beckoned. A fiery mix of reds and oranges bounced off the metal and glass of tall buildings as the sun set majestically.
Manhattan in its finest hour, Laura Brighton thought, taking in gravity of the newly finished World Trade Center tower standing prominently in the foreground. Her life had changed so much since the first time she saw the city’s skyline all those years ago, and the world had changed too.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Mel coaxed, slipping her phone into her pocket, drawing herself back to the moment. Work could wait.
“I’m thinking about all the little decisions. The times I could have done or said something differently, but for some reason, didn’t, that led me here. To this. To being . . . engaged . . . to you. To admitting who I am to myself, my mom, the world. It’s pretty heavy stuff, you know?” Laura was still deep inside her head, trying to make sense of the total up-ending that had occurred in the months since the love of her life re-appeared out of the blue. “This is all a little much. I mean, I went to Cleveland to check on my mother who just had a heart attack, ended up outing myself, introducing you two, getting her approval of my lifestyle . . .” Laura made air quotes with her fingers as she said the word lifestyle, “. . . I don’t even know how that happened . . . and then, you drop down on one knee in the parking lot of the hospital and ask me to marry you? I have an active imagination, but even I wouldn’t have predicted the activities of the past twenty-four hours.”
“Yeah, I know,” Mel agreed, holding the hand of the over-thinker, the academic blonde who came into her world as an insecure young woman and now sat beside her an accomplished literary agent, a best-selling author, and her newly-named fiancée. Laura overthought things, but that’s what made her who she was, and it was one of the many reasons Mel loved her. “That’s the whole point of life, you know. The little moments. The little decisions that you didn’t realize were important until much later in the future. I’m sorry I missed so many of those moments in your life, and if I can help it, I won’t miss any ever again.”
Beneath the put-together exterior, Mel was less polished, more human. She still beat herself up for blowing it with Laura the first time they were together. She made a mistake. Having her daughter, Laura—Lolly, as she called her—was not the mistake, not at all. Where she wen
t wrong, aside from that little issue of infidelity in the first place, was that she ran, she hid. She was too proud to admit she’d strayed, so she disappeared. For fifteen years. Disappearing was the mistake.
“Mel, it’s okay. You know that? It’s okay. You can stop apologizing. It was forever ago. We are both different people now, and maybe your disappearance was meant to teach us something. I wouldn’t have written a book based on our story if it had been happily ever after, which means I’d be almost forty and still chasing that dream. Maybe I would’ve had another idea, who knows, but you have to feel it to write the way I did for that novel. Really feel it. And, I probably wouldn’t have worked my way up in publishing if you’d stayed—I don’t think I would’ve had the drive to do it if I was distracted.” Laura squeezed the sultry brunette’s hand just a little bit tighter, “Besides . . . I never told you this, but I used to think about what our kids would be like, and you are giving me an instant kid. It’s okay.”
Laura was honest. She used to dream of a house in The Hamptons and kids and what it would be like to be a family, though her dreams didn’t present themselves in quite the fashion she’d imagined. She hadn’t pictured a fourteen-year-old half-English step-daughter coming into her life because of her lover’s one-night stand.
“You thought about kids? Really?”
“Yeah, I did. After we’d been together a while, when we were comfortable. I thought I wanted the whole white picket fence thing and a couple of babies, you know, something I never had when I was growing up. It was just me and my mom, always struggling to get by, and I wanted what I didn’t have. I was young. I was idealistic. Reality turned out to be different, but I’m okay with how it worked out. Really.”
“It’s not too late, you know . . .”
“What are you talking about? It’s too late. Besides, you have a kid, and she’s great. I’m coming in just in time for the anger and resentment that’s about to come your way. I can be the one she loves when she starts to hate you.” Laura placed a quick peck on her lover’s cheek, flippancy on full display, a smudge of cherry red lipstick staining Mel’s skin.
“Oh now, that’s not fair. Anyway, I’m optimistic that she’s not going to hate me, if the past is any indication . . . but I’m serious, you know. It’s not too late. To have a family. Together.” Mel wasn’t giving up, but then again, Mel didn’t give up. It wasn’t in her nature.
“Not now. Mel, not now. Let’s live our lives. Let’s share a closet. Load the dishwasher. Manage teenage crises—that I am positive are coming—first. Let’s get a cat. Isn’t that what our people do? Get cats?”
TWO
They arrived to see a note on the refrigerator that the sitter had taken Lolly to the movies.
“We just missed them,” Mel said, matter of fact, abandoning her roll-aboard suitcase as she moved closer. “We have at least an hour, maybe two. An hour is more than enough time . . .”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well,” she started, taking a strand of Laura’s blonde hair and twirling it around her finger, “would you like to dance with me? We have never danced together, you know . . . it seems like it would be good to practice . . . for the wedding.”
Laura knew full well this request wasn’t really about dancing, but kicked off her heels, sending a silent message of approval, the smooth finish of the wood floor slightly slick under stocking feet. She held up her arms, swaying as if she were already dancing, already stirred by music that wasn’t playing, “I thought you’d never ask.”
They moved together in silence, slowly, careful to avoid the coffee table, hands intertwined, hips separated by mere millimeters. Feet in perfect sync. Music wasn’t necessary, not for this dance. There was something romantic about dancing to a melody that didn’t exist, creating their own rhythm, their own soundtrack. Laura rested her head on Mel’s shoulder, and they danced. Thoughts evaporated. Time slowed down.
Mel danced them right into the master bedroom, aware that they would only be alone for so long.
“Do you think I’m that easy?” Laura asked, putting on her best hard-to-get routine. “Do you think you can get me into your bed after one slow dance, I might add, you didn’t even have music for? Is that what you think?”
“I don’t really care if you’re easy, but I think you’re sexy as hell,” Mel said softly, drawing out her words while her hands moved under fabric, while her fingers skimmed across her lover’s bare skin, using her teeth to tease that spot on Laura’s neck she knew drove her crazy.
“Okay, so I’m easy . . .”
Mel had been imagining this moment all afternoon—on the plane, in the car—hopeful that they’d arrive to an empty apartment, even just for a few hours. She longed to touch and taste and love the woman that would soon be hers for the rest of her life.
Just as they were slipping under the feather duvet, an unexpected voice called from the front of the apartment.
“Mom? Are you home?”
“Be right there, Loll!” Mel answered quickly. “I guess we didn’t have as much time as I thought—the joys of parenthood,” she whispered, motioning for Laura to stay where she was. “Wait a few minutes and then come out. Be casual, it’s fine.” Quickly, she managed to dress and greet her daughter.
“Lolly! I missed you,” she offered, giving her daughter a big hug before acknowledging the sitter. “Thanks Penny. Let me get your check.”
As she filled out the check, Mel learned of the events of the past two days, what had happened at school—“not much”—and what Lolly thought of her new algebra teacher. Apparently, the original teacher was on an indefinite leave as he recovered from a serious case of pneumonia. Just as the sitter left, Laura emerged from the bedroom.
“Hi Lolly,” she said sheepishly, unsure how to proceed in this situation. The girl was smart enough to know what was going on, but polite enough that she wouldn’t ask questions.
“Hey, how’s your mom?”
“She’s . . . she’s good, I think. Thanks for asking. It was a long couple of days, that’s for sure.” Laura was impressed, as usual. Lolly seemed to genuinely care about other people.
“Listen, Lolls, there’s something we want to talk to you about,” Mel started, not wanting to wait any longer to share the big news. “Here, let’s go sit on the couch.”
“Is everything okay?” Lolly was unfamiliar with the nervous tone in her mother’s voice.
“Yes, it’s very much okay. It’s great, in fact. It’s just . . . honey, we have some big news. While we were in Cleveland, I asked Laura to marry me and she said yes. We’re getting married.” Mel paused, giving her daughter time to react. She knew Lolly was open-minded, they wouldn’t be back in New York without her pushing, but for a parent to get married was a big deal. It would change things. “How does that make you feel? You can be honest with us, you know. It’s okay.”
“I think it’s great,” Lolly answered with a smile as she got up to hug her mother, then Laura.
“You do? Are you sure? I know this could impact you. What people say, how you’re treated.”
“Mom, kids really don’t care about this stuff. Really. I think it’s great. If you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”
“Okay, if you say so, but if you want to talk about it, come to me anytime, okay?” Mel was certain there would be questions. It couldn’t be this easy, even with her very easy-going daughter.
“Sure. Well, I guess I do have one question.”
“Anything.”
“What will I call you?” Lolly asked, looking in the direction of her future step-mother.
“You can just call me Laura, okay? No change. I’m still Laura.”
“Lolls,” Mel added as her daughter headed to her bedroom, “I haven’t told your dad yet. It’s fine if you want to talk to him about this, but just let me call him first, okay?” Clark wouldn’t be surprised, but Mel didn’t want him finding out second hand. Her getting married in the States meant she wouldn’t be bringing Lol
ly back to London other than for short visits, and she wanted to share the news as gently as possible.
“Okay, yeah, no problem. ‘Night.”
THREE
“Laura, could I talk to you for a second?” Lolly asked. It was a crisp Saturday morning in late fall, and Mel was off jogging in Central Park, making the most of the nice weather before the harsh reality of winter set in.
“Of course,” Laura offered, patting the cushion beside her on the couch as she folded the newspaper she’d been reading. “What’s up?”
“Well, we’ve been reading Shakespeare in my English class . . . Romeo and Juliet . . .”
“I know it well.”
“Yeah, I figured. Anyway, we have to write a short story with a modern day take on the original. Like, how it would play out today. I guess the idea is to get us to think about the story instead of just reading the words and forgetting about it. Most of the kids in my class hate Shakespeare—it’s so hard to understand, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. The vernacular is hard, but Shakespeare had a really creative—or maybe really disturbed—mind, I don’t know which. I’ll give your teacher some credit—that’s a pretty interesting assignment. So, do you need help with it, or . . . ?” Laura was happy to help with this request, to step in and offer mentorship in an area where she was quite comfortable.
“No . . . well, yeah, sort of. I wrote my story, but, I don’t know if it’s any good. I was wondering if you’d read it for me? If you could just see if it’s any good?” Lolly studied her sneakers as she spoke, her legs crossed on the couch, her eyes focused intently on the bright laces. She wasn’t one to ask for help, but knew Laura was a good writer, that she would be able to help improve the story. She’d had aspirations of being a writer herself, and it was obvious she already had the self-doubt and insecurity that came along with her creative inclinations.
