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“Huh. Just when you think men might be interesting…” She turns back around.
This is getting me nowhere I want to be. I’ve apologized. I’ve tried teasing her into a conversation. Nothing. It’s like talking to a brick wall. At work, I used a striking tool—a sledgehammer or a battering ram—to get through a brick wall. Maybe I just need a better tool.
Aria is not acting like the woman I met that night. She’s not open or relaxed. She’s guarded. Something has happened to her that’s made her shift from happy-go-lucky to ice princess. How do you help someone let down their guard?
9
Aria
This can’t be happening. The guy I thought I knew, the guy who gave me the best, most terrifying gift in the world…is here. Right behind me. Right now. Breathing into my hair. His heat fills the spaces between the curly strands, and it warms me despite myself. I hate that. I hate him.
Why does he have to be alive?
It’s foolish to wish otherwise. Not a rational thought in that at all. But a long time ago, I’d talked myself into believing he was dead. It was strangely easy to think of him that way. Comforting, really.
If he were dead, I couldn’t hate him for not being there during my pregnancy, for not being there for us. The two a.m. feedings. The colic. Making rent. I couldn’t resent him for leaving us behind if he were dead. It was a carefully crafted, time-honed lie that held me together for years.
The thought of hating my son’s father hurt. It wasn’t rational, and it wasn’t something he deserved. I pride myself on being rational and not holding people accountable for things they had no control over. But being a single mom, it was hard to avoid. So, it was easier to think of him as dead, even if that hurt, too.
Tonight, he ruined my cold comfort with his warm breath. Just being near him is wrecking me. This is too much.
For years, all I had was the memory of a great night and the lie I told myself about him. Those two things held back a wave of anger and disappointment that I repeatedly told myself didn’t exist. After all, I was too rational to be mad at a man who didn’t know he left me pregnant. I was too kind for that to be the case. How could I reasonably hold it against him? It was ridiculous.
But in the darkest nights, I knew it was there. The irrational part of me who raged against the man who left me behind. The cruel part of me who wanted to make him suffer as much as I had.
Now, with him right behind me, the lie is gone, and there is nothing to hold back the tide. The anger. The disappointment. Every nasty thing I thought about him and never said to anyone. It all sits on my chest, squeezing the air out of my lungs. My pulse pounds at my temples. I want to scream at him, and I can’t. Not with these people around. I’ve seen at least four of my student’s parents, so I’m not allowed to have emotions here outside ofhappy party guest. It’s stifling, and if I don’t get out of this mansion soon, I’m going to erupt.
The coat check attendant says, “Next,” and we all shuffle forward. Soon, I can escape. Only two more to go.
Maybe, if I try to talk to him right now, I can let out some of the steam before I burst. Maybe I shouldn’t have run from him. Just talk to him on the dance floor where people were less likely to hear us. Music can hide a conversation well. But the thought of all those other people nearby, seeing me emotionally stripped bare…it’s enough to make me want to run headlong into the chilly night without my coat. Talking to him now would yield the same result, except worse, because people in line can hear us. Not an option.
Just ignore him and hope he gets bored. That’s what I usually do with my kids who act out. Those vying for attention will do almost anything to get it. The trick with them is to ignore them while keeping an eye on them. Otherwise, they could hurt themselves or someone else for attention. They wouldn’t mean to—they’re four. They almost never mean to do anything unless it’s showing kindness.
He does not have that excuse. He hurt me, and he was old enough to know better.
I steam at myself over the unfairness of that thought. He had an early flight, but he made sure to make me coffee before he left. We pointedly did not exchange numbers. We agreed it was just a moment in time. Not a romance, not a love affair. We were strangers. I cannot hold this against him.
Not rationally, anyway. And I cannot tell him about Owen.
I don’t know anything about him. Not really. What if he wants to know his son? Or worse, what if he wants nothing to do with him? I can’t take that kind of disappointment, and I know for a fact that Owen can’t. It’s probably for the best if I leave this as a Schrodinger’s cat situation. The son who does and does not exist.
He could hate me for not telling him, but that’s fine. The petty part of me has spent over five years hating him. We’d be even.
“Next,” the attendant says. One more to go, and I still can’t keep my thoughts together.
It would burn if he hated me. He’s even more handsome now. More rugged somehow. More confident. His muscles have grown and his smile is even easier, or it was when he spoke to Cormac. Even though I hate him in some petty way, I was still attracted to him in the ballroom. And now, with him breathing into my hair? I’m fighting shivers every time we step forward in line.
Finally, I reach the front of the line and pass my ticket to the attendant. I force myself not to look behind me. Nothing good can come of it. While I walk toward the exit, I fasten my coat into place and step lively. I have to outpace him and he’s tall.
The winter night air tries to steal my breath, but that’s already been stolen tonight, and it doesn’t stand a chance. I’m too determined to get to my car. I know he’s going to follow me out. It’s just a fact. I can practically feel him staring at my backside on the way to my car. I will not run, though. For one, Mom’s shoes wouldn’t hold up to it, and for two, I am not a coward.
I’m just leaving a party because I saw a ghost from my past. Not cowardly at all.
Sure.
When I get the key into the lock, he pops up on the other side of my car. It makes me blink at him. “How the hell did you get ahead of me?”
He grins rakishly. “I know a shortcut.”
