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“I can’t even be angry because she’s his wife, and what we had—I should never have given in. Or let it happen…”
I brush her copper tresses from her face. “I know that feeling.”
“Damon’s many things, but you can’t deny he cares.”
“He bought Monroe behind my back.”
The roll of her eyes is sour. “He bought you a company your father was going to sell. Read into the situation however you want, but you were never going to get Monroe. Your father was never going to give it to you.”
The truth hurts like the bite of a wild bitch.
“I don’t know what to do any more.”
Lacie sits up, wiping her tears. “Get over it or be done. Don’t drag it out, okay? You might not want to believe it, but your father is no better than Damon. He’s only better at hiding it.”
“Why didn’t he tell me though? Why?”
“Because he knew you’d see the worst and run. And he was right.”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t lie to yourself. It’s why you won’t let him see you. Why you won’t talk to him. Because you know that if you really listen to him, you’ll want him back.” She lies back down. “Or maybe you’re scared that face to face, that pain you feel without him will make it impossible to walk away ever again.”
Lying beside her, I stare up at the ceiling. “I don’t want to be bought. I don’t want to be that woman. Damon bought Monroe, and now he’s buying me all these things…”
“Those notes aren’t bought, they’re a piece of himself he’s sending you.”
“I know.” I turn to her. “It’s what makes it so difficult to keep him away.”
“Do you love him? Like really love him? To the point that you want to have that baby and watch him be a father to it every day for the rest of your life?”
It’s all I’ve thought about and imagined. The conversation we had about the future keeps replaying itself, and the longer I attempt to hold my ground the more it kills me inside.
“Fuck Monroe. Fuck CPM. Fuck every other fucking excuse you can come up with. Do you love Damon?”
“My heart is somewhere in this city, beating in someone else’s chest, and I don’t think he knows it.”
“Only you can fix that.”
“I know.”
“Good,” Lacie sings nasally as she gets up from the bed. Her eyes are still red, but there’s a smile on her face. “What’re you waiting for?”
“What?” I sputter as she pulls me to my feet and starts pulling me along behind her.
“No time like the present, babe. Let’s get you to your baby daddy.”
“Do you want me out that bad?” I jerk out of her hold.
“Babe, I love ABBA as much as the next person, but you have taken it to another level. And if he’s going to send you a mixtape of the same couple of songs, he can put up with your ass listening to it on repeat.”
“I haven’t played it that much.”
“My head is so fucked with it, that I’m mixing the ABBA lyrics with Patti Smith’s. And also, FYI, did you know she’s got hairy armpits on the cover of the album?”
“Eww!”
“Exactly. Thanks to you and asshat, all I’m going to think about when I listen to the damn song is hairy armpits.” She’s about to walk us out of the door, when I pull back.
