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11
Sadie
Iwas a busy woman. Too busy, certainly, to deal with heartbreak. Or rage. Or absolute and devastating hurt.
I was a mother of three. I supported my mom with the bills and help around the house. I was a chef who made sure the food was perfect for hundreds of boarding school students.
I wasn’t a woman who had time to loaf around and pine after what could’ve been and second-guess her every move.
I was only a woman who took advantage of her blistering work and life schedule to shove those feelings deep, deep down and hope they never escaped.
If I thought of the way Mikhail had been so casually nasty to me, I just wiped down the countertop of the school kitchen with more vigor, welcoming the burn in my muscles as a distraction to my feelings.
If I remembered the way it had all begun, with the despair of Mikhail leaving and me certain that he would never come back, I’d just hug my children tighter and propose a raucous made-up game in the yard, running around like a lunatic. They loved it. I was a good mother. I was more than enough for them — they didn’t need a father. Especially not one who didn’t want them.
But it was the good memories that were the most insidious of all. The ones that would spring up, unbidden, in the days that followed the falling out Mikhail and I had. The little things — like the soft touch of his fingers as he tucked a curl behind my ear. The exact shade of his blue eyes. His sly grins when he thought he’d gotten away with something. Those were almost impossible to shake. I’d find myself smiling at just the thought of something he’d said and have to shake myself from it. I didn’t want to think about him. I couldn’t.
And Mikhail wasn’t making it any easier. He was calling and texting me multiple times throughout the day. I wasn’t answering, but every time I saw his name flash on my phone screen, it made me want to throw the device. It didn’t help that my heart lifted every time too. Stupid, stupid heart.
I just needed time and space to figure out what I needed to do.
On the way home from work one evening, things just came to a head. I was fine one moment, driving along the road. The next moment, I was veering off to park in a sprinkling of gravel on the edge of the trees, grappling at my seatbelt as if it were trying to strangle me.
I was walking through the forest, holding one hand in front of me to keep the pine branches from whipping my face, before I really understood what I was doing. It was dusk beyond the trees, but it was deep evening beneath them, the thick leaves and needles overhead blocking out the last of the sunlight.
I was going back — back to the abandoned estate where Mikhail and I had first made love. Back when everything seemed possible and wonderful. Back when everything changed.
How different would life have been if we’d been smarter? Older? More prepared? Less willing to sneak around?
The triplets never would have been born. And maybe, once Mikhail had gotten that call about his parents, he would’ve never come back to see me. We’d be different people. I’d learned a long time ago that it wasn’t worth my time to wonder what could’ve been if, say, he’d remembered the condom and forgotten the bottle of wine.
And I’d never wish away my children. I loved them so much, and I couldn’t imagine life without them.
But just when I’d started becoming accustomed to the idea of life with Mikhail — and with him actually being a father to his children — everything had gone wrong.
The surf below the cliff edge roared as I emerged from the forest and found myself face to face with a shiny chain-link fence. This was new. As was the bright red “NO TRESPASSING” sign fastened to it.
I laughed, the sound drowned out by the waves below. Somebody had actually bought this old dump. I hoped they just pushed the whole thing off the cliff and into the ocean. Maybe if this fence had been up back then, Mikhail and I never would’ve had sex inside. We could’ve parted ways and saved each other the heartache.
I didn’t realize I was crying until the tears dripped down onto my chest. Jeez. This was so stupid and pointless. I’d been surviving just fine without Mikhail. Life would go on. It had proven that it would before. I didn’t have the time now to be all depressed about everything.
I just thought that maybe I could go inside and have a look around. Maybe find Mikhail’s cellphone as proof that he was telling the truth about not contacting me. Take a few minutes to myself and really kiss this whole thing goodbye.
Because how was I supposed to forgive him for the things he’d said? The fact that he would assume I was only trying to tie him down for his money was ludicrous — and downright offensive. I didn’t think he was capable of acting like that, but a lot could change in four years. Plus, when people were confronted with hard things, their true colors could really show through. Mikhail didn't want to be a father. He’d said ugly things to push me away.
It didn’t matter that he was blowing up my phone trying to reach back out to me. I hadn’t read the texts or listened to the voicemails. What could he say to me to change anything he’d already said?
I let go of the chain-link fence and turned back. It was getting late. The kids would start asking about me — I could’ve sworn that they had highly accurate little internal alarm clocks to track the things they knew were supposed to happen throughout the day — and my mom would worry.
I didn't have time to mope.
When I got home, I just couldn’t hold it together anymore. And I didn’t want to hide.
It was probably the kids.
“When is Mush coming back?” Fern asked, not a minute after I’d hung up my coat. “We never played Twister.”
“Mush has the best food,” Cooper added. Ever since Mikhail had been here, Cooper was speaking up more and more. I had no idea why.
