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“How do you like your grits?” he said, almost as if he hadn’t heard what I said about leaving.
“What?”
“Grits—how do you like your grits? I made bacon, too, along with some scrambled eggs.”
“I don’t even know what grits are.”
The look of shock and hurt that hit his face made me almost want to laugh. If I hadn’t felt physically and emotionally crushed to my core, he would’ve received a laugh.
“Grits are only the best breakfast in the whole world. It might be a Southern thing, but it’s a good Southern thing. I normally make cheesy grits, but I ran out of cheese. You can add a little sugar on top of them, though and muah!” He gave a chef’s kiss.
“I’m not really hungry,” I explained, feeling my stomach still flipping.
“I know, which is exactly why you need to eat,” he explained, grabbing a plate from his cupboard.
I shook my head. “No, really, Connor. I just need to go home. I feel…”
Awful.
Sad.
Broken.
Free?
Wait, no. Not that.
He looked at me, and his lips turned down into the saddest frown. He felt bad for me. I couldn’t blame him. I felt bad for myself, too.
“Are you sure you don’t want any food? I left out some more sweats so you can shower and change into them, if you need. Plus, maybe after you shower, you’ll want something to eat.”
I gave him a half-smile. “Yeah, thanks. Then I’ll get out of your hair.”
“No rush, Red. Truly.” Connor seemed unbothered by my broken-down appearance. He stood tall and calm as ever. “Your cell phone is on the dresser in the bedroom, fully charged. Take all the time you need, and when you’re ready, I can have my driver take you wherever you need to go.”
“Thank you.”
“Any time.”
I stood from the chair and began moving in the direction of the bedroom. Then I paused and looked back at Connor.
“Connor, wait.” He looked over his shoulder toward me, and I swallowed hard. “I know I don’t have a right to ask you this, but the thought just keeps running through my head, and I’m not sure I can make it go away unless I ask you…”
He stood silent, waiting.
I bit my bottom lip. “Was there another woman that you knew of? Was Jason seeing anyone else?”
The corners of his mouth twitched, and he slid his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.
His silence was my answer.
“Did you know her?” I asked.
“Don’t do this, Aaliyah,” he whispered.
“Do what?”
“Make it hurt more than it has to.”
His words stung me, yet it was my own fault, really. I’d known who Jason was from the beginning, and I still allowed myself to fall for him. I’d walked into his spiderweb, knowing I was an ant.
“Everyone always told me, in a way. At all those social events, they always hinted at the man Jason used to be.”
They were all right. I was just another mark on the timeline of women Jason crossed paths with. I had wanted so desperately for them to be wrong. I’d wanted to prove them wrong, and I’d wanted to prove to myself that I was enough. Now everyone was laughing at me from their mansions, thinking, I told you so.
I rose my head up to look at Connor.
Except for him.
His eyes were on me, and he wasn’t so quiet. I didn’t mean in his tones, but rather his stance. The way his shoulders were low and his lips slightly moved. The way his arms crossed and his head tilted to the left a little. The way his blue eyes seemed as calm as the ocean at nightfall.
Nothing about his body language read “I told you so.” Nothing about Connor was laughing in my face at my stupidity for loving Jason. Nothing about him was calling me a fool.
All that sat in his eyes was sorrow.
He felt bad for me.
I had to tear my stare away from him, because his sadness for me only made my heart ache more. I went to take a long, hot shower as my tears intermixed with the water droplets slamming against my body, and I welcomed the sadness. I didn’t try to fight it. I didn’t try to avoid it. I didn’t try to talk myself out of the hurting. No, I allowed the pain into my heart. I let it burn.
17
Aaliyah
I often wondered who the first person was to ever fall in love.
Did they know what it was right away, or did it feel like extreme heartburn? Were they happy? Sad? Was the love a two-way street, or was it a solo affair? How long did it take to get there? How many days, months, and years did they travel before the love arrived?
Were they scared?
Did they speak the words first or wait for the other to do the talking?
In all of my favorite storybooks, there had been an insta-love moment. I loved when a character said they fell completely in love the moment their eyes met. While I’d always been a hopeful romantic, it was hard to believe that would ever happen in real life, yet still, I loved the idea of it all. I loved that it could happen, maybe, even if only in make-believe worlds. I loved the idea that love worked in whatever way it wished. I liked the thought that love swept in at its own speed, not believing in time, space, or constraints.
