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Lukas: Just give me a chance. I’m not a fuckup. I know what I want. Stop thinking about ages and looks. None of that matters.
Me: I have never thought you were a fuckup. Quite the opposite, actually.
Lukas: Good
Me: I should go to sleep. Thank you for the drawing. I can’t wait to see it.
Lukas: Sweet dreams
I toss my cell phone to the side of the bed and roll over, hugging my pillow. It’s still hard to sleep here in this room without Paul. We lived and slept here together for so many years that now it feels haunted with memories of him, like he is going to walk through the door at any moment. I’m starting to believe I really do need to sell this house and start over with new surroundings that aren’t tainted with memories.
My phone beeps again. Shaking my head and smiling, I reach for it, and what I see makes my heart literally jump. It’s a black and white photo of Lukas, lying against a black pillow, his hair falling over half his face. He’s naked from the waist up, covered in tattoos. A large cross hangs around his neck, resting against his muscled chest. He’s got a finger held to his lips. The room is dim and shadowy, and he looks hot as hell. I tear my eyes from the photo and read the word he’s typed in the next text message.
Shh . . .
Rest your mind, my love
I shall see you in our dreams
Open your heart, my love
I shall cherish you always
Shh . . .
There is only you and I
No need to be afraid, my love
Shh . . .
If you stumble or fall, my love
I shall catch you every time
No one has ever sent me a poem before. I read it ten times . . . no, twenty . . . okay, maybe thirty. I love it, even though I’m not sure what it means. I open up the photo again, drawn to the sensuality of it, wanting to be in that bed with him. Of course he has black pillows and sheets; somehow, I knew he would.
I should reply, but what do I say to this?
I poise my fingers over my phone. Do I say something silly to diffuse this, or say something more in line with his romantic flirting?
Lord help me. Tim was right. I have no idea how to do any of this. We didn’t have cell phone flirting when I was dating years ago. Is this why Macy is attached to her phone 24/7? This is so crazy.
Me: Between the photo and the poem, you’ve rendered me speechless. I can’t even think straight to reply.
Lukas: Mission accomplished then. ;-)
Ack! He makes me crazy, and I’m pretty sure I am starting to really enjoy it.
IVY
I TOOK A PERSONAL DAY OFF today, something I haven’t done in years. I thought I could see my hairdresser and get my hair cut and colored, but she’s booked for two weeks. So now, I’m standing in the hair color aisle of the local beauty supply store, completely confused and overwhelmed.
“You just mix two of these with this and put it on,” the salesgirl tells me, handing me three little boxes. “Mix it in this,” she says, handing me a little plastic dish. “And put it on with this.” She throws in a little brush thing. “And wear these.” She adds some black gloves. “Then use this conditioner.”
“That’s it?” I ask, skeptical. “Is it hard?”
She shakes her head of pink hair. “Yup, that’s it. It’s not hard at all. I do mine all the time.”
I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad sign. She kinda looks like twenty things not to do to your hair.
“I’ve never had my hair colored before, not even at a salon,” I say as I follow her to the register, clutching all the products she piled in my arms, and she glances back at me like I’m an alien.
“Leave it on for half an hour then rinse it. Don’t use shampoo. Leave the conditioner on for five minutes. Then just dry it and style like you normally do. Piece of cake.”
Okay. That sounds easy enough.
Next, I stop at the mall and buy a few new outfits and shoes, as well as a cute pair of black boy shorts with red hearts on them. I’m seeing Lukas tonight for my tattoo appointment, and I’m going to agree to have dinner with him tomorrow night if he still wants to. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, and he continues to send me flirty text messages at all hours of the day and night. Screw the age difference; I’m determined to have some fun for once.
The house phone is ringing as soon as I walk through the front door after my shopping spree. “Hello?” I say breathlessly, wondering who would be calling me at home now, when normally I would be at the office this time of day.
“Hey, it’s me,” he says. “What are you doing home?”
I throw my shopping bags on the couch, annoyed that he had to call today of all days. “How did you know I was home, Paul?”
“I called your office, and your assistant told me you didn’t come in today. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong. I just felt like taking a personal day off.”
“Hmm. That’s not like you.”
“What do you want?”
“I wanted to talk about Christmas. It’s next week”
“I know when Christmas is,” I reply, kicking off my shoes and sitting down on the couch next to all my new clothes.
“We haven’t talked about what we’re going to do with the kids.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my stomach already burning just from hearing his voice.
“Do you want them on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day? I’ll let you pick.”
Let me pick? “Paul, what are you talking about? The kids are staying with me both days. We’re going to my mother’s house on Christmas Eve, just like we’ve been doing for the past eighteen years, and Christmas Day, I’m making breakfast and dinner, like we’ve always done.” Does he seriously think I’m going to let him take the kids away on the first holiday since this mess started?
“So when the hell do I get to see them?”
“You can see them the day after Christmas.”
His voice rises. “What the fuck? That’s not the same.”
“Well, you should have thought of that before you left us for your girlfriend. Think of the kids for once, Paul. I am sure they will be much happier doing what they have always done on Christmas. They love seeing my parents and getting all those presents.” I press my fingers against my forehead, my head starting to pound. “And where are they going to sleep? Macy said you have one extra bedroom, and it’s filled with Charlene’s clothes.”
“There’s a bed in that room. We just have to straighten it out and put some things away.”
“Okay, you have two kids.”
“Then one will have to sleep on the couch.”
“Neither one of them is going to like that. Why disrupt them on Christmas? Just let them be to get used to all this before you go disrupting even more of their lives.”
He sighs on the other end of the phone. “Fine. This time, we’ll do it your way, but I’m going to talk to my lawyer about a set visitation, holiday, and summer schedule for Tommy. And the divorce. Have you gotten a lawyer yet? We’re going to need to sell the house and divide our assets and money. You can’t just keep everything.”
“I’m not trying to just keep everything. You left.
I didn’t have a choice, remember?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just stressed out.”
I laugh sarcastically. “Stressed out from what? All the fun you’re having with your new girlfriend?”
“Look, this has been hard on me too, Ivy.”
“I’d like to feel bad, Paul, but I can’t because all of this was your choice. The kids and I are the ones who have had to deal with the side effects of your affair.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, Ivy. We never used to fight.” I can’t believe he just said that to me. It’s true, though. Paul and I rarely ever fought the entire length of our relationship. We always talked things over calmly and reached decisions together. Neither one of us were ever the type to get mad and yell at each other. It wasn’t until he started to ‘work late’ that the arguing began.
“Isn’t that strange?” I ask him. “We never fought and were always happy together, yet you still had an affair and left.” I know I should stop making comments, but I can’t seem to control myself.
“Ivy, please.”
“Fine. You can pick the kids up the day after Christmas. You’re supposed to have Tommy this weekend. Are you picking him up today from school? He has a bag of clothes with him.” Macy has decided she doesn’t want to spend alternate weekends at her dad’s house, and I’m not making her. She’ll be going to college soon; I can’t be forcing her to spend weekends with Paul and his girlfriend.
“Yes, I’ll be there to pick him up.”
Biting my lip, I’m not sure if I want to ask him what I’m thinking about. “Paul . . . How is Tommy when he’s with you?”
He takes a few long moments to answer me, which fuels my suspicions that I’m not going to like his answer. “Well . . . he seems confused. He asks me to bring him home a lot. He asks me why I won’t come back home. He’s only seven, Ivy, so he really doesn’t understand what’s going on, but I think in time he’ll be okay. Charlene is trying really hard to be nice to him.”
