Alex never cried for me, at least not that I ever saw. Not when my mom died. Not when I cried for the loss of his friend and his hands. Not when he ended our marriage.
I rub my wet fingertips together, still in disbelief that I matter so deeply to any man other than my father. “I want this life,” I whisper. “I want you.” Every piece of what gives me life feels like it’s slowly dying.
“But …” He hunches his back more until his cheek rests on the top of my head.
I rest my palms against his chest. “But …” My eyes close.
But humans take on many forms of love, and right now my father needs the love of his only daughter, just like Harrison needs his father’s love. This just isn’t our time.
But I can’t make sense of it to my heart or Flint’s. It just hurts.
When my gaze meets his, there’s no need to say anything.
He knows.
I know.
So we say goodbye over the next few hours. It’s the most painful missed opportunity. It’s like trying to breathe but there’s no oxygen. I will forever wear his touch on my skin as a reminder of the life I want.
In the early morning, when his breathing evens out and his hold on me relaxes, I slide out of bed before the sun and before Harrison awakes—in silence and darkness—like I was never here at all.
“I love you,” I mouth, standing in the doorway to Flint’s bedroom as he sleeps. “Goodbye.”
I walk away, leaving him blind to my departure and deaf to my last goodbye.
Hours later, after the sun brings forth a new day, there’s no call, no text. He’s letting me go—as if he has a choice. As soon as the movers arrive, I give them instructions and turn in my keys to my landlord. My rats and I are on the road to Cape Cod before ten in the morning.
Someday I’m going to get to live my happily ever after. No more packing up and driving away from the man that I love. Everyone has their time. I will find mine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Flint
“You look like hell,” Amanda greets me.
“Thank you.”
“It’s four days until Christmas. I thought you’d have your holiday spirit by now.”
I take off my overcoat and hang it on the coat tree in the corner of my office. “Nope.”
“Cage called here this morning. He said you’re not returning his messages. He’s worried about you. I’m worried about you. When you start to ignore your only friend, it’s a bit concerning.”
I grunt, taking a seat and turning on my computer. “Why does everyone think Cage is my only friend? And is there a spot on my tie? Spinach between my teeth? What exactly makes me look so hellish this morning?”
Amanda turns her back to me, pounding away at the keyboard to her computer. “It’s the bags under your eyes and the deepening lines on your forehead from wearing a constant scowl. Are you drinking?”
“Amanda.” I snap at her with more of an edge to my voice than I intended to do.
She shrugs, still with her back to me. “I’m asking for a friend. And that’s not code. I’m literally asking for a friend—your friend. Oh … and your parents will be here tomorrow. They called me too. Did you lose your phone? And your mom said she’d call and invite Sandy since she knew you would not.”
My parents and my mother-in-law. Happy fucking holidays to me.
“Can I say something as your friend?” She turns in her chair.
I glance up. “How can we be friends if I only have one friend?”
Amanda smirks. “Why don’t you call her or go see her?”
“Am I supposed to know to whom you are referring?”
“I bet Elle would love to see you. Take Harrison to New York or Boston for New Years and then drop in to see her.”
“What would be the point?” I return my attention to my computer.
“Spreading holiday cheer.”
Ellen walked out a week before Thanksgiving. We haven’t made any sort of contact since then. A clean break. That’s what it had to be. It’s like marking off days on a calendar of Ellen sobriety. I can’t see her and start the whole fucking process again.
“I think I’ll be plenty busy spreading holiday cheer right here.”
She snorts a laugh. “Okay, Boss.”
*
After picking up Harrison from school, we get groceries and head home.
“Grab the mail,” I tell Harrison, pulling up next to our mailbox before pulling into the driveway.
He retrieves the wad of envelopes and advertisements, plopping them onto his lap. “Look! Elle sent me a postcard.”
I glance over, sure enough, it’s addressed to Harry Hopkins.
Happy Holidays! I hope you’re playing lots of music this season. We miss you like crazy!
~Elle, Beethoven, Bach, Chopin, Mozart, & Lady Gaga
He flips the postcard over. “Ha! Look at this.”
It’s a photo of her and her rats and they’re all wearing Santa hats. She looks happy. Good for her. I swallow the fucking razor blade in my throat and pull into the garage.
“I’m going to video message her.” Harrison hops out of the car, leaving a scattered mess of mail on the seat.
I change my clothes and head out to my greenhouse to make sure the temperature is staying steady. When I come back inside, Harrison’s at the kitchen table eating an apple and talking to the screen of his iPad.
“Man, I can’t believe you’ve had so much snow already. It’s just cold as crap here.”
I shoot him a frown for his language.
He rolls his eyes. “Sorry. It’s cold as crud here. My dad just came inside and he’s giving me his pissed off look because I said crap.”
I wash my hands and shake my head. This kid …
“Wanna say hi to him?”
My body stiffens.
“Um … sure.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard her voice in over a month. I don’t know if I can see her too.
“Look out her window. See all the snow?” Harrison brings his iPad over, giving me no choice but to see all the snow. But all I see is her and how fucking beautiful she looks cuddled in a chair, wearing leggings and a sweatshirt, auburn hair covering her neck and chest like a scarf—and those blue eyes.
“Lot of snow,” I say.
She smiles and speaks softly, “Hey, Flint.”
I try to smile back, but it’s hard to do.
“Happy holidays.”
I nod, still searching for something to pass off as a smile.
Before I can find anything to add to my “lot of snow” comment, like, “How is your dad?” Harrison takes off with his iPad. “He hates the holidays.”
“That’s too bad. I love the holidays.”
Of course she does. People who hum and sing all day have to love the holidays. Just like Amanda, who says fantastic all the time—holiday lover.
“I get three weeks off for break.”
“That’s awesome. What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. We never do anything.”
He makes me sound like such a great dad. Do-nothing scrooge.
Ellen chuckles. “I’m not doing much either so don’t feel too bad. But I have to go get dinner started. My grandparents went home a few weeks ago, so now I’m in charge of the meals.”