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“So you want me to what? Bring the ring back and force it onto her?”
“Are you seriously that dense, Ash, because I swear—”
“You want me to find her and tell her how I feel. How I started to feel, at any rate. You want me to put it out there that I’d like to get to know her minus the curse. That I’d like to take my time getting to know her, and one day, maybe she’ll be my soulmate and get the ring anyway, and that maybe I’d want her to have it.”
Granny hoots a cackly laugh straight into my ear. “Dear lord, boy, I hope you come up with something better than that. Finesse. It’s all about finesse. Use the right words. Not flowery shit but good shit. Anyway, just find her before it’s too late.”
“What about the article?”
“Leave that to me. I’m not a force to be reckoned with for nothing. People know they can’t fuck with my family. I’ll squash the article and make sure it’s removed from every outlet that published it. Don’t worry about how much it’s going to cost. I’ll take care of the details. You just go and get your soulmate back.”
“What if she doesn’t want to have anything to do with me?”
“Tough luck. The ring chose her, and she’s cursed. It’s better to be cursed with you than cursed apart. Maybe try that line. It’s quite lyrical.”
Click.
My granny just hung up. I slowly shake my head and set the phone down. Sadly, my mouth still tastes like copper and bitter regret. How did I not see this coming? Why did I act the way I did? I have to phone Meryl and apologize for this, and I have to do all this damage control now. I hurt people and humiliated others, but I did all that because I was running away scared like a buffoon.
However, Granny was right about one thing. In trying to avoid love or at least something that feels pretty nice and warm and funny in my chest—or attachment because let’s go with safer words for now—I ran straight into it. Why that’s no longer a horrifying prospect, I’m not entirely sure. I just know the old terror that used to strike sure and deep every time I thought about the concept isn’t there anymore.
Instead, Ellis’ face is. She’s there, laughing, smiling, and joyful. She’s there with the frustration and sorrow brimming in her eyes when she left her dad’s house the first night, and she’s there with the relief, gratitude, and love when he wrapped her arms around her the second night. She’s there soaking her hand in oil to try and get the ring off, she’s there with a look of wonder at getting our tarot cards reading, and she’s there covered in paint after attempting an abstract art herself. She’s there, dripping wet from the shower and in the black dress my cousin brought for her, she’s there in her loose jeans and her long-sleeved shirt, she’s there in her blouse soaked with dishwater, and she’s there with her eyes closed and lips parted while in the throes of pleasure.
She’s there, and that’s the point. She’s so firmly there that there is no digging her out. There is no running in the opposite direction, and this is just after a few days. I can’t imagine what it would be like after a few weeks, a month, years, a lifetime. I should want to run and give the ring to some unsuspecting soul before getting the heck out of New Orleans for good. I should also want to hire another fake fiancé or get another fake wife to save me from making the mistakes of my father, doing harm, and having it all go to shit.
But maybe mistakes don’t always have to be bad. I already know I’d never do what my father did. I’d never hurt another person that way. Yes, things don’t always work out, but sometimes it can be amicable. People do grow apart, but they don’t always have to. They can respect one another, and they can actually try. If the divorce rate is fifty percent, as I always liked to point out, then it’s technically a glass half full, half-empty kind of scenario. It means just as many people make it as those who don’t.
And it means I’m a glass half full kind of hopeful if you ask me.
I would never have admitted it before. I’m the son of a man who left his wife in the messiest, meanest way possible, who abandoned his family, and who didn’t care whether he heard from his children or not for months or even years at a time. I’m the child of a broken marriage, but I’m also the son of a mother who didn’t abandon her children. A mother who fought like hell to get over what happened to her and give us a good childhood. I’m the child of a man who eventually wanted to mend his ways and bridge the gap back into my life. And I’m the child of a family held together by our love for each other, even through adversity. I include my brother, cousins, and aunt in this because we all came together. And, of course, my granny. I always saw love through the eyes of my dad leaving us, but I was looking at it wrong. That wasn’t what love is. Love is what my mom and aunt did for us, and love is how they stayed. Love is my brother and cousins, and love is my crazy meddling Granny cursing us all because she couldn’t bear for us not to have it.
