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Fuck.
I close my eyes against the pain. Will myself to move on to the next stage of grief—acceptance. But how can I accept this when my heart refuses to let go of the greatest love it’s ever known? How can I move forward when the only future I want is sitting right across from me?
I ask myself these questions over and over as the plane lands. As we settle in the car waiting for us on the tarmac. As we drive through the busy city traffic. As Jake’s hand stays firm in mine through the lobby of his apartment building and up stair after stair.
“Penelope? Did you hear me?”
I tilt my head to look up at Jake who has been on the phone since we landed. I’d tuned him out long ago. It was easy considering the thoughts in my head were screaming too loud for me to pay attention to anything else.
“Huh?”
“I said I have to go to the office. But I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
It’s then I realize we’re in his apartment. In the kitchen. I’m holding a glass of wine. And my calves burn like a bitch.
“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Okay.”
He frowns. Takes a step toward me. Does that fucking thing with his fingers and my temple. “You okay, baby?”
I clear my throat and swallow my emotions. “Me? Yeah.” I swat my hand in the air and force a smile. “I’m fine. Just tired from the flight. And the stairs.”
His smirk is as cocky as it is relieved. “Think you’ll ever ride in an elevator again?”
“One day. Maybe.”
“You know, I could always buy a helicopter. There’s a helipad on the roof.” A look of dread crosses his face. “Even though I hate those fucking things.”
“Then why would you buy one?”
He shoots me a look that suggests the answer is obvious. “For you, of course.”
I melt like butter.
There goes all my “stages of grief” progress….
“You’d buy me a helicopter?”
“To keep from walking up all those stairs? Absolutely. Although, I’d have to find a song like your elevator song to keep me calm so I don’t…what is it you say? Lose my shit?”
He winks.
I open my mouth to ask him to marry me.
His phone rings.
I hate that motherfucking phone.
“Yes, Sandra?”
My eyes narrow and I whisper shout, “Who the fuck is Sandra?”
“Assistant,” he mouths.
I thought Cam was his assistant... Or maybe I just assumed that...?
He tugs my hair until my head falls back then dips to kiss the place where my neck meets my shoulder before he walks away, chatting with this Sandra about important things that require big words that I don’t understand.
I will him to turn around. To ask me to go with him. To do something other than keep walking toward the door like I’m not even here. Because that sight—the one of him leaving—triggers something inside me. I don’t like the empty feeling growing bigger and bigger as he gets further from me. Or that voice in my head asking if this is what it will always be like.
Him offering to buy me a helicopter.
Kissing my neck.
Making me swoon.
Then running off to his office.
Or Africa.
Expecting me to be here when he gets back.
Because that’s what happens in a casual relationship.
But what about me? What about what I want? What about my life? My dreams? My home? I have a life too, you know? I do things. They might not be as important as saving the world with a sprinkler system and shit, but still.
Perhaps that’s why I feel like I’m drowning. Because not once has he asked what I want. Every minute of every day we’ve spent together has been about him. His life. His career. Is my life that insignificant to him? Or does he just not give a damn?
“Jake?”
He pauses at the door. Tells Sandra to hold on a minute before tilting the phone away from his ear to address me. “Yeah, baby?”
Baby.
“Do you know who The Proclaimers are?”
“The band?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“I’ve heard of them.”
“Well, you should listen to their Sunshine on Leith album. They have some songs I think you’d like. You know…for your helicopter fear.”
“I’ll do that.”
He winks and his lips curve into a smile.
That smile…it’s something to behold.
Something to remember.
To cherish.
But it’s the sound of the door closing behind him, and the punch-in-the-gut feeling at my core, that brings me to this….
Step 5: Acceptance
Our story could’ve been a romance novel. I mean, we had the makings of something great—I found my That Guy. I fell in love. He did too….
We had the chemistry. The build-up. The sex. The sixty percent mark where we found out why Jake was a dick. Then he redeemed himself.
I had a damsel in distress moment.
He did all that sweet shit like the hair-tucking and the bath and the whispering of shh, I got you.
We danced. We dated. We laughed. We shared. We bonded.
