I didn’t like it either. From Saturday through Thursday, I thought of her every other minute. So many times I caught myself wanting to bring up her name to Scotty, so it wouldn’t be such a shock to bring her into our life as someone who was important to me but completely unknown to him. A gradual approach would be better.
And she would be so great with him, wouldn’t she? She’d understand his mind and his quirks and his sweetness better than anyone could, not only because she loved and understood me, but because she was a pediatrician, which meant she’d dedicated years of her life to helping kids feel better. What more could I ask for?
She’d been totally right about the lucky stone idea. After the Thursday math test debacle last month when he’d wet himself in the attempt to get out of school, I’d purchased a satiny smooth Petoskey stone for him at a gift shop and told him it was a lucky rock. He kept it in his pocket at school, and when he felt anxious about a test or an assignment, he’d take it out and hold it in his hand or put it on his desk where he could see it.
When I’d thanked her for the idea and told her she was brilliant, she’d blushed and said how happy she was to be of help.
So why the fuck was I so scared of taking the final step and letting her all the way in?
I’d made a thousand excuses in my head—it was too soon, it wouldn’t be right for Scotty, it would take away from our alone time, she was only saying she wanted to meet him to be polite, my family would criticize me, Scotty might act up…
But the truth was, I was scared.
And I hated myself for it.
But I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that she wanted me that much. That she’d be willing to stay once she saw that some days, I was barely holding things together. That she’d be willing to love a child that wasn’t hers for me, when I hadn’t been enough to make even his own mother stay.
I hadn’t loved Tara, so her leaving didn’t hurt me, but her abandonment of Scotty had scarred me in a different way.
There were times in the last eight years when he’d needed a father and a mother, when I’d needed someone with whom I could share the beautiful, painful honor of bringing him up in this world, someone who understood the blame I placed on myself when things didn’t go well for him, the way he could break my heart and put it back together again.
I hadn’t counted on falling so hard for Jillian. What if Scotty took to her and she didn’t take to him? What if she did but decided she couldn’t handle the way we had to live? What if letting her in only meant revealing to her all my weaknesses?
What if she left? Then what?
When Tara left, it had been hard, but it hadn’t broken me. I’d been solely concerned with my son.
If Jillian left, it would break me.
And maybe I would deserve it for my shortcomings.
I couldn’t put it off forever. But I had to protect myself a little longer.
Twenty-Four
Jillian
The week after Thanksgiving, Levi and I made a date to do some Christmas shopping at the mall and have dinner. I knew it was pointless to ask, but I did anyway.
“Does Scotty want to come along? We could go out for Italian after.”
“No. He doesn’t do well at the mall. Too many sounds, smells, noises. It’s overwhelming for him.”
“OK.”
The week after that, Scotty was sick and Levi didn’t feel it would be right to leave him. “Poor thing,” I said. “What does he have?”
“Just a virus, I guess. We saw the doctor this morning. He’s pretty miserable.”
“Why don’t I bring you both some dinner? I don’t have to stay. I can see you for a minute and bring you something to eat so you don’t have to cook.”
“You’re sweet to offer, but no. I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”
“I’m a pediatrician, Levi. I’m around sick kids day in and day out.”
“I know, but it’s OK. If my mom comes down tomorrow, maybe we can have coffee or something.”
My stomach churned. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
We hung up, and I was so worked up that I went to the gym and got on the treadmill, walking fast and hard for forty solid minutes, huffing and puffing, my anger boiling inside me.
This was not OK. It was one thing to accept being less than the top priority in his life; it was another to accept being treated as if I were frivolous, insignificant, good for a laugh or a fuck, but not essential.
This wasn’t asking too much. I saw that clearly. I wasn’t asking for a ring. I wasn’t asking to live together. I wasn’t even asking for a promise that those things would happen. I was asking for a chance. I was asking to be given the opportunity to love them both.
To deny me that at this point was unfair.
My sisters were right. Levi was right.
I deserved more.
I loved him with all my heart, but I couldn’t go on feeling like this—like I wasn’t enough.
Of all people, he had to understand that.
He texted me the following morning. It was Saturday, the first week of December, and I was spending the morning catching up on housework.
Hey, beautiful. I miss you.
I miss you too. How’s Scotty?
He’s OK. Still has a fever. I’m so sorry about yesterday.
I understand.
My mom said she’d come down later. Can I see you?
Yes. I’d like to talk.
It took him a while to reply. I knew it would. Was he nervous? OK. Should I come over?
Well, it’s not like you let me come to your house. Sure. Time?
How about 5?
That works.
Good. I can’t wait to see you. Love you.
Love you too.
I spent the rest of the day scrubbing toilets and sinks, the shower tiles, and the kitchen floor. I vacuumed the carpet, swept the downstairs hall, and cleaned off windows and mirrors. I changed the sheets on my bed, washed a load of towels, and paid bills. The entire time I worked, I thought about what I was going to say to him, and what his reaction might be.
Would he get defensive? Angry? Sad?
Would he admit I was right but refuse to budge?
Would he try to sweet-talk me into waiting a little longer?
Would he put those hands on me in a way that would decimate all my carefully constructed arguments, render me completely defenseless against him?
Maybe I should tie him up. Put a bag over his head. Stick him in the closet and talk to him through the closed door.
If I saw him, heard his voice, felt his touch, it would be so much harder to stand up for myself.
But I had to.
By the time I was in the shower, I knew exactly what I wanted to say to him. I wouldn’t accuse or criticize. I wouldn’t yell or cry. I would calmly but firmly explain why I felt it was time for us to take the next step, tell him how much I loved him, and ask for the chance to love Scotty too.
He’d see that I was serious, that I was understanding, that I wasn’t expecting him to be perfect, just to be fair. I didn’t need everything, but I needed more. And I was worth it.
Needless to say, it didn’t exactly go as planned.
He knocked at twenty after five, and I opened the door to a blustery cold breeze and an apology.
“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late.” He grabbed me in a hug. “I had trouble getting out the door.”
“That’s OK.” I wrapped my arms around him, and we stood still for a minute, chest to chest, my head tucked under his chin. It felt so good that my resolve wavered.
“God, I missed you last night.” He kissed my head. “I’ve missed you all week.”
“Me too, Levi.” I pulled back. “That’s why I want to talk. Come on upstairs.”
He nodded, but I could see the anxiety in his expression.
I led the way up the stairs and went into the kitchen. “Can I get you anything?” I asked. “A drink? Some coffee? Something to eat?”
“No thanks.�
�� He took off his coat and hung it on the back of a counter stool. “Is everything OK? You’re making me nervous.”
On the other side of the breakfast counter from him—which wasn’t an accident—I took a breath. “I don’t know if everything is OK. I need you to tell me.”
“What do you mean?”
I tucked my hair behind my ears. “For the last month, I’ve been asking to meet Scotty, and you keep putting it off. I’m starting to feel like you’re delaying the introduction because you don’t have the feelings I do about us.”
“That’s not true,” he said, coming around the counter and taking my hands. “Jillian, I love you. I’m crazy about you. You know I am. I just want you all to myself for a while.”
Tears filled my eyes, and I knew my plan to remain calm and rational was futile. “I do think you love me, Levi. If I didn’t, this would be so much easier. We could call it quits, and I’d go nurse my broken heart.”
“Jill—”
“I think you love me and you’re just afraid.”
His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re using your son as an excuse not to let me into your life because you’re scared.”
He dropped my hands. “What the fuck, Jillian? I’ve told you why I haven’t introduced you yet.”
“I know. And those reasons made sense for a time. But if you really feel about me the way you say you do—if you really love me—you’d let me into his life too, because he’s everything to you. You’d give me the chance to love you both.”
“You said you understood,” he said, his jaw clenching, fingers flexing. “You knew from the beginning I had to put his needs first.”
“Stop blaming him!” I shouted. “This isn’t about Scotty’s needs, and you know it! This is about you being unwilling to let me in because you’re scared of something—and I don’t even know what! Do you think I won’t be patient with him? Do you think I might not love you if I see you make a mistake? Do you think I’ll try to be his mother? Or your mother?” I put a hand on my chest. “I’m not interested in criticizing you or judging you for the parenting choices you make. I want to be part of your life on a real level, not just a romantic interlude.”
Levi let me finish, but I could see his hands curling at his sides like they did when he felt attacked and on the defensive. Those fucking hands—I couldn’t even look at them. They never failed to arouse me, and that was the last thing I needed to feel right now.
“I told you,” he said, his tone bitter, “I told you from the start I couldn’t be what you wanted. I told you I couldn’t give all of me.”
“I don’t need all of you in that way,” I said, wiping my eyes. God, was he not listening? “I don’t need all your time or attention or love. But I want to see all of you. I want to know all of you. I want to love all of you. Why won’t you let me?”
“I don’t know, OK? I don’t fucking know!” He shook his head, his eyes closing. “I knew it. I knew I couldn’t do this right. I told you I was bad at balance.”
“You don’t need better balance!” I threw my hands up. “Don’t you understand? You need to stop being one person over here and another over there! You only need to be one man, one whole man, and realize that you have enough love for both of us! It’s not a zero-sum game!”
He struggled for words and retreated back into self-doubt. “Jillian, I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved any woman, but I don’t know how to do what you’re asking. I knew I’d be a disappointment to you. I’ve always said you deserve more than I could give you.”
I shook my head. “I don’t deserve more than you can give me, Levi. I deserve more than you’re willing to give me. And you know what? A few months ago, maybe I’d have been content to live like this, loving you from the outside. Looking in. But you gave me a taste of what it feels like to feel worthy of being loved, to feel like I’m enough. I want more of that.”
He sighed, his dark eyes sad, but his chin rising stubbornly. “So that’s it? You’re walking away?”
My throat closed as his walls went up. “If I have to. Let me in, Levi. Let me in, or let me go.”
His breath left him in an angry huff. “I always knew you would go.”
I crossed my arms and called his bluff. “Are you forcing me to leave now because you’re afraid I’ll leave later?” And then it dawned on me, the source of the fear. God, how had I not seen it sooner? “I’m not Tara, Levi. Stop letting fear of the future and guilt from the past prevent you from being happy. You’ve done it long enough!”
He reacted as if I’d slapped him, his eyes blazing with anger, his lips compressing to a thin line, his back snapping straight—and I knew I’d touched a nerve. Oh fuck. I shouldn’t have said that.
“Say something!” I yelled, my heart hammering. I’m losing him. I’m losing him.
But he said nothing. He backed away from me, grabbed his jacket from the back of the stool, and took off down the stairs.
A few seconds later, I heard my front door slam.
“Fuck you, you coward!” I screamed, my hands squeezing into fists too. I stood there seething for a moment, then burst into tears, weeping into my hands while I leaned against the breakfast counter for support, right next to the framed picture of my sisters and me that he’d given me for my birthday.
How had they done it? How had they figured love out and made it work? Had I fucked up? Should I have been more understanding? More patient? More flexible?
I ran down the stairs to my bedroom and threw myself on the bed, sobbing into my pillow for an hour. When I was completely cried out, I blew my nose and put drops in my eyes. Then I picked up my phone and called Skylar.
“Hello?”
“Hey. Are you busy?”
“Jillian? What’s wrong? Where are you?”
I took a shaky breath. “I’m at home. But I need to talk.”
“Let me call you right back.”
We hung up and I called Natalie. “Can I come over?” I asked her.
“Of course! Are you OK?”
“No. I’ll be there in ten.”
By the time Skylar called me back, I was on my way out the door. “I had to check with Mia and see if I could get off a little early,” she said breathlessly, as if she were hurrying somewhere on foot. “She said it was fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Go to Natalie’s house,” I told her. “I need you both right now.”
“Done. I’ll see you there.”
I hung up, taking measured deep breaths and telling myself I would be OK, even if I lost Levi.
I still had family. I still had love.
Twenty-Five
Jillian
On the ten-minute drive to Natalie and Miles’s adorable house, complete with white picket fence, a nursery upstairs, and a sign hanging on the front door that said Love Lives Here, I kept telling myself I’d done the right thing. I’d fought back tears the whole time, but as soon as I saw that fucking sign, I lost it. Natalie opened the door to find me wailing on her porch, and she opened her arms.
I went into them, crying into her shoulder like I was the baby sister needing comfort for once. Miles appeared and shut the door behind me, then rubbed my back. “How about a drink, Jilly?”
“OK.” I sniffed, picking up my head. “Got any whiskey?”
“I sure do. On the rocks?”
“Perfect.” I sighed, my shoulders releasing some tension. “I need a tissue.”
We filed into the kitchen, which smelled delicious, like when my mom used to make homemade chicken pot pie. It was a smell that reminded me of home, of family, of happiness. Would I ever have those things? I blew my nose, willing myself not to start crying over fucking chicken pot pie.
Miles brought me the whiskey a moment later, and Natalie rubbed my shoulder. “You look terrible. Your eyes are all puffy.”
“I know. I feel terrible.”
“Should we go into the family room?”
I nodded. �
�OK. Skylar’s on her way.”
“Good. Miles, will you check the pies and see if the crust is golden brown yet? If they are, please take them out and turn the oven off.”
“Sure thing.”
“Thanks, babe.”
I will not be jealous, I vowed. I will not, I will not, I will not. This is just a bad night.
In the family room, I dropped onto the couch and Natalie sat beside me. I couldn’t resist putting a hand over her belly. It was hard and round, about the size of half a basketball. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. He’s moving around in there a lot today.”
“Yeah?” That cheered me up a little, and I left my hand there. Took a sip of whiskey. A few seconds later, I felt it—that tiny little thump of life within her. I grinned. “Awww. There he is. Hi, baby.”
She smiled too. “He says hi back.”
“Any favorite names yet?”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, I have favorites and Miles has favorites, but if you’re asking do we agree on any names, the answer is no.”
I laughed, sniffling again. “What do you like?”
“I like James, Alexander, or Colin.”
“What about Miles?”
“Miles likes Gotham, Optimus, and Huck.”
“Huck?” I nearly choked on my whiskey.
“Oh, yes,” she said with a straight face. “Short for Huckleberry.”
“Miles wants to name his son Huckleberry Haas?” I shook my head, laughing. “That’s hilarious. And kind of awful.”
“Are you kidding? It’s totally awful, and somehow he thinks Gotham Haas is a nice compromise.”
“Oh, God.” I lifted the glass to my lips as I heard Miles greeting Skylar in the kitchen. This is what I need—a little whiskey, a little laughter, a little sisterhood.
Happy Crazy Love Boxed Set Page 65
