“We were supposed to dothistogether,” he told me, his voicehushed and rough. “That’s what’s supposed to happen when you choose someone tospend your life with. You do the big things together. Marriage. Kids. Careerchanges. Good times and bad. But nobody mentions that you do death alone.Nobody likes to talk about that and how life will just continue for whoever isleft over, and …” He covered his mouth with a hand and turned to me, fixatinghis eyes on mine as I fought so hard to keep my shit from falling apart. “And Idon’t want to do this alone. I don’t.”
My lips parted to saythat he wasn’t alone, that I was here, and I wasn’t going anywhere, but hecontinued before the words could fall from my mouth.
“I know it’s selfish,and I hate that it is, but I really want you there this weekend, Tess.” Hecleared his throat and wiped his hand over his lips before lifting the mug.“That’s all I really needed to say.”
I made up my mind thatI would find a way to be there. I would pay Tim overtime. I would call my dadand ask him to come down for the weekend. Hell, I would bring Grandma with me.Whatever it took for me to be there for them as they transitioned into the nextchapter of their lives.
After finishing my tea,I wished Jon a good night and offered a small awkward wave that would’ve beenso much better had it been a hug. I drove home, relieved Tim of his duties, andmade sure Grandma was sleeping soundly before retiring to my room.
I didn’t sit down at mydesk, as I usually did. I didn’t pour my heart into my writing, into a storyabout a sad, lonely man and his children. For the first time in weeks, I hadnothing to add that wouldn’t feel like a blatant re-telling of exactly what Iwas feeling.
Instead, I climbed intobed, laid my head on my pillow, and cried. Because I knew now that what I hadwritten was the hard truth. That after months of feeling unappreciated by myangry and bitter grandmother, all I truly wanted was to feel wanted. And insome nearly insignificant way, Jon wanted me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
JON
Inevermeant to beg.
That’s what I kepttelling myself after Tess had left and I washed the dirtied mugs in the sink. Inever meant to beg, spilling my guts all over the kitchen table in a way Inever thought I could and admitting things I never thought I’d say aloud. And Idefinitely nevermeant to pressure her into comingwith me to Connecticut. But I was being honest when I said I didn’t want to goalone.
I was never meant to doany of this alone.
It was a betrayal toBeth, to tell Tess the things I had. I knew that the moment the words tumbledfrom my mouth, but it was killing me to keep it locked away and I needed to letit out. Because I was moving on.
I think I had knownthat the moment I allowed Tess into our lives. I wasn’t willing to admit itthen, when the sheer thought was poison and enough to buckle my knees, but I’dsettled into it slowly. I was becoming more comfortable with the knowledge thatI needed to take these steps, to write my songs, and to be who the girls neededme to be.
They deserved more.They had always deserved more.
I laid a dishrag on thecounter and placed the mugs on top to allow them to dryovernight,andretired to my bedroom.
The notebook of songlyrics was laid out on my bed and I eyed it as I got undressed. It seemed towhisper sweet nothings, luring me to its pages and pleading to be filled withrhymes and confessions. But the things I’d write about …
Honey-coloredhair and crystalline eyes. Dancing to 90’s music nobody listens to anymore. Teaafter dark with someone who isn’t my wife.
Happiness.
Happiness.
Happiness.
Despite the whispersfrom weeks ago, telling me to not be afraid of writing my songs, I picked upthe book and stuffed it in the drawer. Because the problem was no longer that Iwas afraid.
The problem was that Iwasn’t.
And I’d confessedenough for one night.
***
A car came early on Saturday morning, andbefore leaving the apartment with my three girls excitedly dancing at my feet,I looked above the couch to Beth’s picture. My eyes met hers and I nodded withthe promise that I’d do my best, and that I’d see this through. If not formyself, then for her, and I closed the door.
Tess waited outsidewith a backpack slung over her shoulder, and the girls squealed at the surpriseof seeing her.
“You’re coming, too?”Lilly grabbed her hands and danced from one foot to the other.
“Well, someone’sgottakeep an eye on you little ladies while your dad isworking,” Tess replied, bending over to grin into my little girl’s face.
“Daddy puked in thepotty,” Shelly tattled, and I groaned.
