Forget Me Not (9 page)

Corp.

His reply leaves me both overwhelmingly happy and yet baffled at the same time. I’m consumed with relief that I have some other form of communication open with him and that he actually replied. I was half expecting him to choose to ignore me for the rest of eternity. The joy of the simplest of emails is tainted with a need to dissect the content. The words give no clues as to whether I’ll be seeing him on Thursday or not. It sounds rather impartial and dismissive, but I hold on to the hope that at least he responded. If he wanted nothing more to do with me then the easiest thing to have done would’ve been to simply ignore my email.

I leave work in a slightly better mood than I arrived with and head to my parents to collect Benjamin.

Exhausted after a busy day but unable to sleep, I lay in bed texting Emma. I fill her in on the weekend’s events, to which she’s an enthusiastic listener. I then tell her all about my morning at work and my afternoon spent treating Benjamin to new DVD's and popcorn to see us through the miserably wet Monday. We talk about her day shopping for her daughter, Lily, and her never ending growth spurt. She eagerly offers her thoughts regarding mine and Jesse’s emails, God love her. We arrange to meet Wednesday with the kids and then say goodnight.

I roll over and allow the day’s events to settle in my mind, finally able to relax a little after being permitted to discuss Jesse with someone other than my far from approving mother and sister.

My heavy eyes have just closed when my phone beeps and lights up. I suspect it's Emma again, neglecting to tell me something, but I have to rub my blurry eyes when I see Jesse's name glowing at me from the screen.

Sorry it's late,
I’m just finishing work. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since your boring email, Ha! ;-) Hope you're okay? x

A kiss! I physically swoon at the playfulness of Jesse’s text message. His words are a million miles away from his response earlier. He’s more open and flirty. Maybe he’s had time to think, maybe he is drunk. Who cares? Playful Jesse is too much fun to resist.

That's okay, I’m awake, thinking of you too, actually. I thought my email was particularly appropriate considering the lack of communication that preceded it :-P x

I hug my phone close to my chest. My previous sleepiness has been banished from my body and I now worry that I won't sleep at all tonight. My phone beeps again.

Are you thinking about anything in particular? x

How do I respond to that? I could tell him that I’m imagining him lying next to me, that I ache to touch him, for him to touch me, that I want his lips on me and I want to hear him moan my name. Or, I could be honest and tell him that I need him to figure his shit out and come and be with me.

Just thinking about when I may be graced with

your presence again x

Soon I hope. Saturday seems a long time ago x

I've waited longer x

Don’t remind me. Get some sleep. Goodnight, sweets x

My eager thumbs and tired brain have successfully managed to push the love of my life even further away. I remind myself that when such a damaged soul tells you he is not ready to talk yet then you give him time. I know this, I appreciate this, but after ten years I’m just so desperate to lift the weight of a million questions from my mind.

After several hours beating myself up over my wayward tongue, or thumb, I finally manage a broken, uncomfortable sleep.

Chapter 11

The last couple of days have flown by, they always seem to when I have so much to do and not enough time to do it all in. It's the big day tomorrow and everything that can be done in Starling has been done. The rest will be completed when Zoe and I go to New York tomorrow morning.

Tonight though, Benjamin and I are meeting Emma and Lily for pizza at La Trattoria. She's not going to be able to make it to the exhibition tomorrow so she’s showing her support in the guise of a celebratory dinner. She was so enthusiastic on the phone, but there was an edge to her voice that I can’t place, which in itself is odd. I know Emma better than I know anyone.

We arrive at the restaurant late and Emma and Lily are waiting at our table. We love this place and often bring the children here. The food is rustic and Italian but they cater for kids and even have some ancient pinball machines at the back.

"Sorry we're late. Have you been here long?" I ask, clearly tense and out of breath. We sit quickly and I allow myself a moment to recover after rushing around manically to get here on time.

"It's fine, we’ve only been here a few minutes ourselves." Emma looks radiant and not in the least bit flustered like myself.

I’m still busying myself removing our coats and stuffing my bag under the table when the waiter comes to take orders for drinks. I wonder if I should have a glass of wine to relax or whether I’ll be able to stop at one. It’s unlikely, and I can't leave the car here overnight as I’ll need it first thing tomorrow. I reluctantly order water for us both, still tempted to call him back as he walks away.

"Michaela, relax!" Emma reaches across and touches my hand. I exhale dramatically and we chuckle. "Are you okay? You're flappy."

"Flappy?" I laugh. "I'll be okay. I just can't get my head out of work mode."

"You've been working too hard."

"I'll feel better when I'm there and I can just deal with everything myself, ya' know?"

The waiter arrives back with our drinks and we order pizzas and salad for the table to share. The food is delicious and I’m able to let go and enjoy both the meal and the great company. Benjamin and Lily are quiet and more than happy to sit nicely and discuss school.

Emma remains reserved and I can tell she wants to discuss something out of earshot of the children. Maybe she wants to ask about Jesse. She knows Benji knows nothing about him so maybe she’s waiting until we are able to speak privately before she mentions him.

As if on cue, Lily asks if they are both able to have a game of pinball. After emptying our purses they skip off happily to the back of the restaurant. Almost immediately, Emma shuffles her seat closer to mine and looks at me with the widest eyes. She’s trying to stop a huge grin from exploding across her face and I search her expression with complete bewilderment.

"I have something to tell you." The excitement is pouring from every ounce of her body. She doesn’t even give me a second to guess before the words spill from her mouth. "I'm pregnant!"

My mouth falls open and my eyes are now just as wide as hers. My mind is telling my mouth to speak, but it’s just gibberish that manages to escape. I pull her into my arms and squeeze her tight. I’m so happy for her! I knew that trying for a baby had been discussed but I didn’t know that they were actually trying.

I pull away gently to see tears glistening in her eyes and my throat tightens at the image.

"I can't believe it. I’m so happy for you all!"

“Thanks.” Her smile is infectious. "Lily doesn't know yet, I’m only eight weeks and we didn't want to get her excited until it's all confirmed at the scan."

"Of course. She'll be delighted." We are both silenced by the overwhelming brilliance of the news. We smile goofily and giggle. Onlookers must think we are mad.

"How do you feel?" I ask.

"Sick," she replies, forcing a laugh, but we both know that morning sickness is no joke. "Eating is the only thing that stops the nausea. I’ll be huge in no time."

"You’re allowed to be. You were so beautiful with Lily's pregnancy, I really wouldn't worry." I take her hand and she responds with a gentle squeeze before Benjamin and Lily arrive loudly at the table, forcing us to pull apart.

"Why were you holding hands?" Benjamin asks.

"Because that's what best friends do." Emma winks at me.

Dinner resumes with added positivity in the air. The broadest smiles linger on mine and Emma’s face throughout dessert.

When we leave the restaurant together, Emma holds me back and points to Benjamin and Lily as they walk in front of us...hand in hand.

Nostalgia fills my house that night. The thought of Emma having another baby brings back so many memories. Some painful, some so beautiful they make me cry. The memory at the forefront of my reminiscence is the series of events that followed the evening I told Sebastian I was pregnant.

We didn't have a typically romantic relationship. We never shared dreams of travelling the world or spending the rest of our lives together. The thought of getting married and having children had yet to occur to either of us. Our relationship was born out of friendship and shared interests and it just seemed like a natural evolution to then take things further. Eventually we were living together, but in a house shared with the rest of his band, and we were rarely alone.

We were young and having fun and this little person was going to turn that on its head. We’d been safe, but accidents happen and now we would pay for it with the death of our relationship.

He had such grand plans for his music and the thought of being held back by a child was too much. He told me that if I wanted to keep the baby then we couldn't be together. He was moving to LA soon and would be in no position to support me and the baby.

The next week I booked myself in for a termination. It was the hardest decision I’d ever made and I cried everyday leading up to it. I hadn't told anybody, not even my parents or Emma, and Seb didn't feel able to come with me for the scheduled abortion. Alone in every sense of the word, I walked through the doors to the clinic and walked straight back out, as if I was pulled from there. I don’t even consciously remember making the decision to leave.

I left Sebastian and went straight home to my parents where I fell into their caring arms and told them everything. They were understandably disappointed, but predominantly worried. After witnessing my very near demise just months earlier, they were frightened in case I regressed. However, despite their upset they looked after me like I knew they would.

As soon as I left the hospital with Benji I called Sebastian and left a message on his phone to tell him that he had a son. I never heard back from him. I wrote to our old address and included a photograph of Benjamin, but when I never received a reply I just assumed that he’d already left for LA. To this day I’m still unsure whether Sebastian knows that he’s a father.

I love Benjamin with every ounce of my being, he is my everything. That much is irrefutable. Nonetheless, this is never how I imagined I would start a family. I pictured an adoring partner wanting commitment and marriage, and I envisioned us travelling the globe and establishing a career before we settled down to bring a new life and responsibility into the world.

I cursed myself for a long time for the direction that my life had taken and the circumstances to which I had forced Benjamin to be born into. I even blamed Jesse a little. The adoring partner I envisioned was never a faceless person, and it certainly wasn’t Sebastian. It was Jesse. Always Jesse.

I’ve come through that now, and I no longer wish for it to be different. My son is my proudest accomplishment. Every day before him was spent pining over something I’d lost and every day since him has been spent loving something I have found. He’s the reason I work hard, the reason I want the best for us and the reason I will never give up. He is my savior.

It’s because of my overwhelming love for Benjamin that I feel sad to think he won’t have a brother or sister. The idea that I’ll ever find someone who I would trust enough to become a father to my children is unrealistic. Jesse is the only man that I ever imagined could fill that role, but with so many issues between us it would be stupid to rely on those dreams anymore.

The morning of my New York exhibition is full of promise rather than dread. It’s surprisingly warm today considering our recent prescription of rain, so Benjamin is spending the day with Tom and Lily in the sand dunes that border Starling. My parents are looking after him in the evening, now that they’ve had a few days recuperation. I hate having to leave him again, but I know it's just for one night, and knowing how much he loves being with his Grandma and Grandpa takes the sting out of our separation.             

Zoe and I make it to the city in record time and have chance to check in at the hotel early, which through careful planning is directly across the street from the venue.

My assistant, Davis, is punctual and his usual efficient self. He’s organized lunch for us all upon arrival and we gratefully tuck in. Once fully energized, we begin to hang the prints and Davis familiarizes himself with the images. We’ve met once before and we’ve corresponded at length about them and what I expect from the sales. If anything, I feel like Davis is more prepared for this than me. In his presence I’m finally at ease.

The event is taking place in a large space that was once used as a clothes store, still possessing an impressive glass front. The space has been used for many art exhibitions previously and it’s obvious that the owners of the building took this into account when decorating it. The exposed brick walls and solid oak floor help with acoustics while perfect lighting exists overhead. The space is split into two main rooms, the second reachable through a dividing arch that leads away from the entrance. My plan is for the first room to be the warm up act and for the second room to hold the key pieces.

Zoe, Davis and I have worked tirelessly all day and so after meeting with this evening’s staff who have been hired to welcome guests and hand out pamphlets and refreshments, all that is left is for us to get ready.

Once at the hotel my nerves return with a vengeance. I haven't had a spare minute all day to concentrate on the enormity of this evening, but now that I’m moments away from the biggest night of my career I have begun to feel physically sick. Zoe does all she can to put me at ease, but this is beyond her control.

I’m dressed as professionally as my wardrobe would allow, in tailored black pants and a white, sleeveless blouse that is high necked and has ruffles falling down the centre. My hair is pulled back into a purposely messy bun and Zoe has done a good job helping me with my makeup. Studying myself in the mirror, I’m pleased to see that I look the part. If only I felt it.

My phone has been alight all day with good luck messages, but with each new beep I feel the pressure intensify. We have an hour until the exhibition begins but I’m stupidly ready earlier than I need to be, leaving nothing else for me to do but stress. I check through the messages and briefly reply to friends and family. It buzzes in my hand, making me jump.

Good luck for tonight, sweets. Not that you need it, you’ll smash it. Hope to see you later x

I read it again. I haven't heard from Jesse in days. To be honest I’ve been so busy that for the first time in ages I haven't obsessed over him. Maybe that was the key all along, to be so stressed and hectic that my mind is too full for Jesse-led thoughts. I don't know which is worse.

Does this mean that he’s coming tonight? I hope with all my heart that he is, but I can’t allow myself to get distracted now.

"Drink this."

Zoe hands me a glass of champagne and when I taste it my face pinches at its ghastliness.

"Breathe, you look like you’re about to pass out." She puts a supportive arm around me and smiles kindly. Although she would be the last person to admit it, she is so much like her mother, in confidence as well as looks. I can’t tell her though. I need her in a good mood tonight.

"And terrible alcohol is the way to stop that?" I ask, before finishing the rest of the glass.

"How would I know? I’m not old enough to drink yet." She smiles mischievously before walking away to mingle with the guests.

There’s been a steady flow of people through the door for the last couple of hours and so far everything is going well. Better than I expected actually, as far as the reaction to my work is concerned, but I just can't shake my nervousness. Generally I handle these things well, but I’m lacking the enthusiastic encouragement of my friends and family. I guess I depend on their support more than I thought. 

I should be strong enough to handle this but I feel like I’m losing myself. I’ve been operating on autopilot for the last hour and after a string of repetitive interviews with various journalists my answers have become monotonous and the passion in my voice has waned. The room is growing busy and I start to feel myself suffocating. The heat from the crowded room is being raised to uncomfortable heights.

I need air.

I search desperately for Davis and find him chatting to a small group of suits. I interrupt his hard sell to tell him I’m going to the bathroom. He has everything under control and along with Zoe and everyone else in attendance he is oblivious to my elevating state of distress.