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The life I want
MIA
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IT’S DECEMBER 21st when I pull up in front of Jer’s apartment, park my car in the guest parking lot, and ride the elevator up to the penthouse floor.
I had to leave Stranger this morning. I didn’t want to. I’d have stayed forever if he’d let me. In the five days I spent living with Stranger and James, I had a glimpse of a life I could have, one I’ve always wanted.
So, step one toward getting that life: end it with Jer.
It’s time. He’s back from China. I can’t put it off any longer.
The door is ajar.
Jer’s making pasta, barefoot at the stove wearing jeans and a wool sweater. The homey smell of carbonara wafts through the air, garlic and onions.
Two glasses of red wine sit on the counter.
He hands me one. “I opened a San Giovese.”
Seven months ago, this would have been my idea of perfection. That was before Stranger though, and before I realized I could connect with someone the way I do with him, could trust someone so completely to respect my feelings, to be honest with me, to care about the same things as me.
Jer’s not all bad, but he’s not good for me either.
I take the wine glass but set it down on the counter. “We need to talk.”
“So you said. What’s up?” He turns back to the stove, stirring the sauce.
Long, deep breath. “I don’t think I’m ready to get married.”
His back is to me, so I can’t see his face, but his shoulders square, and after a long pause he sets down the spoon on a plate nearby. “That’s crazy.”
“Not really. I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”
He takes a long sip from his glass. “You never said anything.”
“I did, sort of. You know I wasn’t happy with your attitude about my writing.”
He turns now. “This is about your writing? I don’t care what you do. Write, don’t write. It doesn’t matter.”
I drag my fingers through my hair. “It does matter. To me, it matters so much. I want to be with someone who’s supportive of me, not merely tolerant at best.”
“Fine. I’ll be supportive. What do you want me to do? Go to a book signing with you? Do you even have those?”
My heart sinks because he struck a nerve. No, I’m not famous. My fans are loyal, but there aren’t that many of them. And HE did that on purpose. He wanted to hurt me. Remind me that my writing is small potatoes. “Not yet.”
He turns back to the stove.
I twist the ring off my finger, set it on the counter, pick up my purse and walk quietly to the door.
It’s only when I open the door that he leaves the stove. “Mia, you can’t do this. We’ve set a date. You’ve got my ring. It’ll be so embarrassing. We put down deposits on the venue. Sent out save-the-dates. You’ve got a dress.”
“The ring is on the counter. Maybe you can use it to pay off some of your debts.”
That wasn’t nice, but I’m not perfect.
“Is that what this is about? I won’t be in debt forever.”
“It’s not about the debt.”
His shoulders sag. “What can I do?”
I lean my hip against the door, touching the straps of my purse with my fingers, looking at the floor so I don’t have to see the shock and panic on his face. “I just don’t think we’re a good fit.”
“Of course, we are. We’ve been together for so long.” His voice rises. “I love you.”
No. He can’t really love me, if he kept secrets from me. After all this time, there’s so much about him I don’t know. And if I’m honest, there’s a lot about me that he doesn’t know. I’ve never been truly honest with him. Only with Stranger.
I look at Jer’s face for a long time. He looks tired. There are lines around his eyes. Gray at his temples. A pair of wrinkles between his brows. We met when we were in college, just kids. I see him like he was, hopeful and happy, and my heart turns over. We were happy. Once.
“We’ve just grown apart.”
“No.” The muscle in his jaw ticks a beat. “It’s Christmas. Let’s just get through the holiday, reevaluate when we’ve both cleared our heads.”
I don’t need to clear my head. I don’t need the holiday. But maybe it will help him get used to the idea.
He pulls me into a tight hug that smells like cologne and wine and detergent.
“I’m not coming to Florida.” I pat his shoulders, pulling away.
“That’s fine. I’ll stay here with you. We can open presents in our pajamas like we did in college.”
“You need to see your father. You can’t stay on my behalf.”
He sighs. “You have terrible timing.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I should have done this months ago, maybe years.”
He backs away, looking broken and defeated. “We’ll talk about this when I get back.”
Talking won’t change a thing. I’m in love with another man. I don’t say that, though.
So instead I say, “Have a nice trip. Hug your father for me, and your mom. Merry Christmas.”
His face twists at that, like he’s thinking about my bad timing again, but he just shrugs and drops his hands in his pockets.
The look on his face stays with me as I take the elevator to the lobby and walk to my car. It looks the way I imagine a man looks when he’s standing on the edge looking down.
Before I climb into my seat, I text Stranger.
Mia: I did it.
Stranger: How did he take it?
Mia: I think he thinks it’s temporary. That I’ll change my mind.
Stranger: You okay?
Mia: I’m fine.
Stranger: Can I come down?
Mia: Yes.
Stranger: Now?
Mia: Want to stay for Christmas?
Stranger: Feliz Navidad. Hell, yes.
Mia: Say it in Hawaiian.
Stranger: Mia Kalikimaka.
Mia: LOL. The island way.
Stranger: I’m going to fuck you in a Santa hat.
Mia: Me in the hat? Or you?
Stranger: Both. Light up your tree, put on a red bra and some green panties. I’ll be there in a couple hours.
Mia: What about James?
Stranger: He’ll be happy for me.
Mia: Bring Gogo?
Stranger: You sure? I can leave her with James.
Mia: Don’t forget her dog food and a bed.
Stranger: Who’s dog is she?
Mia: I just want you to be able to stay without worrying. Drive safe.
Stranger: Get ready.