Everything I've Never Had (19 page)

IT’S LATE. I’M exhausted. I’m miserable. I’ve cried enough tears to last me a lifetime. Rolling over, I grab my phone and pull up Facebook to see if anyone else is still up at three o’clock in the morning. Yep, look at all those insomniacs. After a few minutes of scrolling through status updates and funny pictures, I toss it down and reach for my book. I try to read my latest romantic thriller to no avail. She’s an annoying lead who won’t confess her true feelings for the man she’s obviously fated to be with and that hits a little too close to home for me right now. My own indecision and lack of self-control is going to drive me to drink, so I don’t need any help from what should be my escapist reading therapy.

Lying there staring at the ceiling, I feel my phone vibrate. Hoping no one’s hurt or in trouble, I reach over and grab it. My eyes almost bug out of my head.

I’m sorry I’m such an ass. Can we meet tomorrow? Talk?

Still as a wooden plank, I lie there for a minute just staring at it. I know what I have to say but don’t want to say it. Not responding is not an option, though, because we have the same phone and he knows I’ve read his message.
Be strong, be strong!
I chant. Even though he can be kind of a jerk, he can also be incredibly sensitive. No matter which personality I get, I love them all because they’re what makes him so genuine and unlike anyone else. And, of course, I don’t want to hurt him—but it has to be this way. Like removing a bandage this must be done quickly to avoid inflicting even more pain. Here goes.

I think it best we don’t see each other for a while. I’ve repeatedly proven I’m just too tempted when it comes to you.

So...what I fought so hard to keep from happening is happening anyway?

My poor, tattered heart slows. How will it ever recover?

I’m so sorry that I’m not stronger. I’m not saying forever. I’m just saying for now.

I know he’s seen it, but I have to wait a while for his response. Every time I touch my screen to keep it from going to sleep, I offer a silent plea that we’ll be all right.

I understand. Does this mean I can’t see the boys either?

My response is quick and fervent.
Absolutely not! Of course you can see the boys. They adore you.
And so do I, which is why I have to let you go.

So I can just text you then to make sure we’re on the same page or not as the case may be?

Yes, that’ll be fine.

A full minute passes before his tenderness takes another swipe at my heart.

I’ll miss you.

Me too.

THE NEXT FEW weeks are pure torture. The boys know something’s not right. My friends know. I don’t go to any shows with them. Bonnie is even being sensitive and not bringing up Adrian at every turn like she had been. Louis is pissed at me because I hurt Bradford and he knows why. The boys are confused because Adrian’s not coming around to hang out like he used to. So in total, I’ve made all our lives fantastically miserable.

I keep waiting for this pain to go away. And it just won’t. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve never been heart-broken or rejected or rejected anyone, but it just hurts. All the damn time. I can think of it and nothing else, and I feel like such a fool. I want to challenge our family and go after what means most to me, but then I recall Adrian’s venomous statements that night and remind myself that, even when he was that upset, he wouldn’t say things that didn’t have a little bit of truth to them.

How can I risk everything for someone who doesn’t fully return my feelings? Yes, I know Adrian likes me, admires me, wants me. But that’s not enough for me. I know this because during this silence I’ve been able to recognize and admit something significant—I’m in love with Adrian Gabriel LeBlanc Hebert. Love without condition. Love I cannot escape. As in even though his feelings are only fleeting or physical or shallow, he dates a woman who looks exactly like me, and can make me angrier than anyone I’ve ever known, I adore him, desire him, need him. The intensity of all those emotions, emotions I’ve never felt at this level or all at once completely overpowers me, which is why, no matter how hard I try, I cannot resist him.

So I go about my business of taking care of the boys and working and trying desperately not to think of him and what could be. And pretending that my heart doesn’t resemble crackled glass every time I hear the doorbell ring, knowing it’s him here to pick up the boys.

I’m making the boys their favorite breakfast treat because it’s tedious and will keep my mind somewhat off what’s going on when I hear Paris hit the bar.

“Good morning, baby. How’d you sleep?”

“Good, Ma. Mmm...beignets. How about you? Do you feel any better?” he says as he rubs his hands over his face and ruffles that wavy brown hair. I meet his sleepy dark brown eyes and see so much heart shimmering there. My Paris—so wonderful.

“I’m good, sweetie. I feel fine.”

“Everybody knows ‘fine’ is girlspeak for not fine, but don’t ask,” he retorts.

I burst out laughing. He’s so right. “Where’d you hear that, crazy boy?”

“It’s on an episode of
Full House
that Finn has played about ten times lately.”

“Oh goodness. Y’all watch too much TV.”

He puffs out a little sigh of exasperation. “We don’t even have cable, Ma. How can we watch too much TV?”

“You know what I mean. Videos are still TV. And I really am fine. Don’t worry about your mom, OK?”

“And the first thing to do when someone says don’t worry—is worry,” he replies sagely. Shame on me for coaching my kids to always look below the surface of what is offered.
Total backfire!

I’m saved from anymore awkward verbal dodging when Archer and Finn enter the kitchen. Archer piles up next to Paris at the bar, but Finn makes his way to me and buries his face in my side. “Mmm...the beignets woke me up, Mom. What’s the special occasion?” Archer asks.

I put my arm around Finn’s shoulder and give him a squeeze. “No occasion. I just felt like making them.”

“You usually make us beg cause they’re bad for us. And they make Finn act like he’s on crack,” Archer jokes.

“You boys are full of jokes this morning.” I squeeze Finn a little more. “Hey you, you’re quiet. What’s up?”

“Nothin’”

I give him a final squeeze. “Go put a shirt on for breakfast, sweetheart. It’s almost ready.”

“I don’t wanna.” He hesitates and then mutters, “I’m too sexy for my shirt.”

“Huh?”

He lifts his head and I see mischief dancing in there. “I’m too sexy for my shirt,” he starts singing and moving around the bar, “So sexy it hurts.”

“Oh, yes,” I say with a laugh, “there’s my Finn. I knew the quiet was too good to be true.”

“You’d be bored if I was quiet,” he says as he runs out of the room to get his shirt, singing Right Said Fred at the top of his lungs.

“Wow!” I clap my hands and roll my eyes. “OK, boys, eat up. Louis will be here to get you soon. We’ve gotta get you packed for the weekend.”

“Are you coming up?”

“Umm...I may. I’m not sure yet. If I do, it’ll be Sunday afternoon.” I’m not jumping to spend time at the compound. And I didn’t know if Adrian would be there. “Who wants to do the powdered sugar first?”

“Meeeee!!!!” I hear Finn all the way from the back of the house. I drop my voice to a whisper. “Geez...that boy has excellent hearing.”

“I heard that,” he shouts again.

AFTER I GET the boys packed and off with Louis, who barely gave me an acknowledging nod, I get cleaned up and spend the day taking care of various errands. Tonight is girls’ night and I’m thrilled. While I’m out, I pick up everything to make cosmos. I’m in dire need of a little distraction. Getting home late, I run around the house throwing all my distractions in a tote—Scrabble, chick flicks, my recent photo shoot proofs. Running into my bedroom, I change into my comfy yoga pants and favorite threadbare Saints t-shirt. I’m planning to have a nice buzz, so I trade my contacts for glasses, throw my hair in a high ponytail, and slip on my flip-flops.

Dashing out the door, I decide to walk the four blocks to Bonnie’s. If I’m too inebriated to walk home, I’ll just call a cab. As I pass the block that Adrian’s apartment is on, my steps falter and I slow, glancing down his street to see if I can catch a glimpse of him. Willing myself to keep walking, I imagine what he’s been up to these last three weeks. It’s pure torture because, while I’ve been distracting myself with cooking and the kids and work, I can picture the black-headed, brown eyed distraction he’s had wrapped around him.

I promised myself I would stop these musings, but it’s so difficult. Feeling like a lovesick teenager, I chastise myself for the millionth time. Steeling myself, I straighten and walk with purpose. As soon as I focus my gaze ahead instead of behind, I see him exiting a corner store with the little lookalike tucked into his side, and I feel myself fold in like a falling house of cards.

His arm is thrown around her casually, and she is looking up at him like he is the greatest thing since stilettos. He’s looking down at her and laughing a little at what she’s saying. They are picture perfect, and it’s just too easy to imagine myself there in the curve of his arm. I freeze and do just that for a moment. Snapping out of it after a few seconds, I panic. Frantically, I glance around, looking for a place to hide, and figure I probably have ten seconds before I’m spotted.

Just as I move to hide behind a rack of tie-dyed t-shirts, Adrian’s eyes fly up and zero in on me. I see him stiffen and watch his arm drop. I move to stand behind the rack and drop my head, pretending like these are the most interesting t-shirts I’ve ever seen. I pray that he just keeps moving along. I don’t want the awkward conversation, nor do I need any more fuel for my already flaming desires.

As he passes me, I can’t help but look over. His gaze looks like it’s never left mine and it’s full of hurt and questions. He looks...wounded. I send him an apology with my eyes, and we maintain eye contact until he rounds the building and starts down his street.

Releasing a shaky breath, I collapse against the wall and try to calm my erratic heart. He looked so good. He had a little growth of facial hair and his hair was a little longer than usual, but he looked so good. I close my eyes tight for a moment. My appreciation of his aesthetically pleasing nature doesn’t last long before my brain switches to jealous mode.

Is he serious about her? I mean, honestly, I thought he was using her as some sort of replacement for what he couldn’t have and that he’d be over her by now. And shouldn’t I be happy for him? It’s good that he has someone. Someone who obviously makes him happy. This should make me happy for him, not stung because it’s not me. It can never be me, the rational part of my brain insists. Logically, I know this. Breaking this to my emotions is another issue, though. They do protest.

Finally, I pull myself from the wall and start to head toward Bonnie’s again. The shopkeeper gives me a dirty look for spending so much time and not buying anything. I just shrug and hurry my steps along.