Man of My Dreams (10 page)

“I’m not ready to talk to him yet, Grace. I can’t look at him without feeling like the walls are caving in.” I hear the girls rustling through the baby monitor. I can’t cry again now. I don’t need them asking more questions. Forcing back the tears, I brush her off with, “The girls are getting up. I have to go.”

“Get them dressed and tell them they’re spending the day with cousin Brandon, Nana and Papa. You need this. It’s okay if you’re not ready to talk to him, but you can’t shun me away too. Let me be here for you, please! It’s all I can do!”

Great! Now
she’s
crying. “Okay, okay. Should I come get you on my way from my parents?”

She’s sniffling now, finishing up her effective demonstration of tears. “No! You think I’m dumb enough to leave matters in your hands? I’ll be there in half hour to get the girls. You take a shower, put on some make-up, and I’ll be back to get you.”

“Yes, boss. And Grace?”

“What now?”

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

An hour later, the doorbell rings and instead of feeling dread for the plans that have been forced upon me, I’m looking forward to escaping these halls that are overdue to be undecked. My newly loose fitting jeans swish as I rush to answer the door, smoothing down an overlooked wrinkle in my cashmere sweater.

When I turn the doorknob and swing open the heavy mahogany door, I contemplate slamming it shut as my jaw drops to my chest.
Freaking Grace! I’m going to kill her.

“Don’t be mad at her, Mia. This was the only way.”

I can’t believe Grace and Declan were in cahoots...against me! He looks breathtaking, standing at the threshold,
our
threshold, wearing slim-fit, tan corduroys, and a spruce green pullover that exaggerates the gorgeous hue of his eyes.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
Why does he have to look so good? He should look as distraught and unkempt as I’ve been; sick with worry, suffering from our time apart and the outcome of our marriage.

He offers me a steaming cup of something from Starbucks, and by the sugary aroma alone, I know it’s my favorite; a caramel macchiato, extra caramel sauce.

I snatch the steaming cup from his hand, not to accept his peace offering, but because I need something to pick me up if I’m going to be face to face with him. “Did you really think Starbucks was going to win me back?”

“Of course not, babe.” He starts to walk into the house, a motion that’s so normal and habitual, but today watching him do it seems wrong...foreign...like he doesn’t belong here. And hearing him call me ‘babe’ makes me cringe. It’s too familiar, too soon. I can’t help but wonder if he called his whore that—or
baby
—during a heated moment of passion.

Tears start to push their way to the surface like a rolling wave ready to break violently. I can’t do this in front of him again. I’ve been weak enough already. Without further thought, I thrust the coffee back into his hand and start to push him out the door. “No. This isn’t happening today. I’m still not ready. I need more time. Just go.”

He looks at me astounded, completely stunned by my abhorrence to his presence. Is he kidding? What did he expect? A blink of his gorgeous eyes and a cup of Starbucks and I’d be forgiving him for his royal fuck-up? Nope, I’m not as weak as I seem.

“Mia, please. We need to talk. If you kick me out again...I’ll...I’ll just keep coming back until you hear me out. Please! Don’t make me stand out here begging in front of all the neighbors. I mean, if that’s what it takes to get you to listen to me, fine, but I thought we could do this like adults.”

Oh, so now he’s insinuating that I’m acting like something other than an adult. “How is someone who was cheated on and had her heart ripped out of her chest supposed to act, Declan? Maybe you should tell me how I should have reacted to the news that my marriage is over!” I’m screaming so loud my own ears hurt. So much for the neighbors not hearing.

“Mia, our marriage isn’t over. See...this is why we need to talk. Please let me explain. I can’t lose you. I need you to understand.”

“Why would I want to subject myself to listening to the tale of how you fucked some floozy after lying to me and your daughters about having to work. God, Declan, I’m not sure I can believe anything that comes out of your mouth. How can I ever...”

“I didn’t sleep with her, Mia.” He lets out a lungful of air, as if he were suppressing his breath since I first opened the door.

I stare at him in disbelief. Is this the truth? Or more lies? My demeanor softens, slightly. “Declan, how can I even believe that?”

“Let me in and I’ll explain. Everything. Please. You’re basing this entire thing on half-truths. You deserve to know everything before you make your final decision.”

I can’t ignore the regret in his eyes. At further inspection of his usually flawless face, it seems weathered, worn, full of grief and misery.
Good!
I hope the bastard hasn’t slept a wink since his Christmas party. But I can’t deny the fact that I am painfully curious to know if he’s telling the truth.

“Fine. Come in.”

Without really knowing why, we wind up in the kitchen. I take a seat at the table. He stands at the counter, leafing through the mail that’s been sitting there unopened.

“Don’t make yourself so comfortable. And I’ve been making sure the bills get paid. I can get by without you. I’m not as dependant as you may think.”

He chucks the pile of mail to the side and walks over to join me at the table. “I think you have this all turned around. I never once looked at you as dependent on me. It’s me who needs
you
. I haven’t been able to breathe these last few weeks. I miss you, Mia. I need you. I
love
you.” He reaches across the table, trying to touch my hand, but I retract, putting them under the table and out of his reach. I’m not ready to let him touch me and I’m still so very angry.

“Isn’t it funny how these things work themselves out? A few weeks ago I felt like a worthless, unappreciated housewife with no purpose other than to raise my kids. This time apart has shown me that I can do...this...without you. I was always so afraid of being stripped of an identity without you, but other than the anger and hurt...the house is still standing, the kids are still perfect, and I’m still alive.”
Barely.
I know this is a lie, but I hope that stings as much as I meant it to.

“You’re a strong woman, Mia. I never doubted that, but you’re talking about the end when it doesn’t have to be. I’m telling you it’s not how it seems. And if I have to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I will.” The look of desperation on his beautiful face almost makes me cave. Almost.

“Then explain, Declan.” Since he spit out the words that he didn’t sleep with her, whoever this
her
is, I’ve been working up the nerve to listen to what he has to say. I owe it to no one but myself to hear his explanation.

“Thursday night—the last night of the business trip—we were working late, never even had a decent break for dinner. A few of the guys decided to go back to their rooms to take showers, or rest their eyes before jumping into the next round of brainstorming. Instead of going back to my room, I went down to the bar for a drink. This woman was there, alone and she—before I say anything else, let me preface it for you. Not because I want sympathy, but you need to understand
everything
. I should have come to you as soon as I felt disconnected, but I kept thinking I was making things up in my head. I don’t know when exactly it started, but things between me and you felt...different, strained.”

I want to jump up and stop him right there. I blink my eyes, in disbelief. My fists squeeze into tiny balls of fury. I take deep breaths in and out, unable to control the way my body wants to react to the unexpected news that Declan’s been feeling
disconnected
from me. But instead of interrupting—hell, I have no intelligible words to even interrupt with right now—I let him go on.

“It’s no excuse. I know that, and I don’t know what I thought I would get out of some insignificant nobody at a hotel bar, but she was there and I was...”

Okay, now I’ve heard enough.
“You were what, Declan? Horny? Stressed? A fucking asshole? This is pure bullshit. I have
never
given you a reason to think I was uninterested or...
strained
? Really? I’ve spent the last seven years of my life completely devoted to you. When I met you I was okay with being single and playing the field for a long time. I never wanted marriage and kids straight out of college. It wasn’t the road I was headed on, but you came along and things changed. And I went with it, because you loved me and I loved you and it was all I needed. But obviously, my love for you isn’t enough. I can’t stand to hear you tell me that I wasn’t attentive, or that I gave you a reason to stray. This is your own fucked up problem! I will not sit here and let you put the blame on me!” I’m furious now. How dare he?

Declan focuses on the vein that’s protruding out of my neck. I don’t need his alarmed stare to remind me it’s there. I can feel it thumping, on the verge of spontaneous combustion.

He lowers his eyes to his hands now, fumbling and twisting them into uncomfortable-looking contortions. “I’m sorry, Mia. But what you said about this not being your plan—it wasn’t mine either. I never thought I would fall in love with the first girl I ever slept with. I didn’t have the chance to play the field and after meeting you, and falling so hard—I don’t know what you want me to say. Everything happened so fast and...”

Nothing I haven’t heard before, unfortunately.
“Who the hell told you to propose while we were still in college, Declan? My friends thought you were nuts, our parents were worried and I...I was in awe of how mature you were to know exactly what you wanted back then. But now...it’s all coming in to view. The marriage was one thing, but the minute you found out I was pregnant you felt trapped. I can’t believe I didn’t see this sooner. I just thought you were happy, that our little family was enough for you.” My tears stream down my face like a raging river, washing away any trace of the make-up I so carefully applied to please Grace and her scheming.
Grace!
Once I recover from the turmoil that’s taken place here today, I might have to rip her hair out of her head for subjecting me to this.
Some friend.

Declan is at my side now, his strong, beautiful, familiar arm enveloping my shaky shoulders. I don’t have the energy to push him off, even though his grasp makes me feel like I’m being held underwater, in desperate need of oxygen. He loosens his grip after a long minute, sensing my unwillingness to respond to his touch, and sits in the chair directly next to me.

“What I came here to tell you today is that I was wrong. I couldn’t go through with it. I thought I could. She flirted with me and it felt good. I felt wanted—like a twenty-six year old man, rather than a husband or a father for a minute. She gave me her room number and I told her that I had to get back to work, so we decided to meet up the following day to—I couldn’t go through with it, Mia. I just couldn’t. We did nothing more than kiss, and the second her lips brushed mine I knew it was a mistake. I made up an excuse about work and left, and I should have come right home, but I was too ashamed to face you.”

I won’t lie, knowing that Declan didn’t sleep with this woman is a huge relief. I don’t doubt he’s telling the truth. In fact, the truth pours out of his remorseful eyes, reflected in the shallow breathing he’s struggling to maintain. But the heart of this matter is that Declan has become the prime example of a person wanting a sample of the grass that seems greener.

I hear him confess about his resentments, only experiencing love with one woman, feeling dead-ended by two small kids at such a young age, a marriage proposal that seemed right at the time but seems hasty and impulsive now. Those may have not been the words he used, but that’s exactly what I heard anyway. No matter how much I want to take him back and pretend like none of this ever happened, I know I’d be a fool to overlook the blaring S.O.S Declan has unknowingly sent out today.