15
The autumn days both crawl by and fly past. Days can last for hours, and the weeks can vanish at lightning speed. I create a new habit in my day: I drop Aiden off at school fifteen minutes early. It means getting up earlier and getting us moving faster, but Aiden likes to help his teacher get ready for the day, and he helps Jamie get the kindergarteners off the bus and into their rooms—the opportunity to volunteer and help out makes Aiden feel important, and the extra time lets me get into my officer sooner which, in turn, means I can leave closer to the final bell.
And, by dropping Aiden off fifteen minutes early, I avoid having to see Jamie, as he doesn’t come outside for drop-off until eight fifteen.
I tell myself it’s for the extra office time, and so Aiden can volunteer, but really, it’s about avoiding Jamie; I’m not a morning person and never have been, so getting out the door fifteen minutes early when mornings are already hard enough is a pretty major thing for me.
It’s worth it, though.
I barely see him, now. Maybe the odd wave from a distance in the morning, and another wave after football in the afternoon; I watch practice from my car, now, and I don’t even pretend this isn’t about avoiding Jamie.
Aiden doesn’t ask about Jamie anymore, and I notice there’s a discernible reduction in the number of times Aiden quotes Coach Trent; I feel guilty about that because, on a platonic level, Jamie is a wonderful influence on Aiden.
But I try not to think about that too closely either, because letting myself think about what a wonderful influence Jamie is on Aiden only leads me down a what-if spiral:
What if itcouldwork…
What if Cora is right?
What if Jamie is right?
“I know a good and perfect thing when I see it and feel it, and I’m not the type to just let it go without a fight.”
What if I really am just using Aiden as an excuse, and I really am denying myself a good thing out of fear of getting hurt? And not just hurtagain, but hurt evenworsebecause, deep down, I know Jamie has the capacity to hurt me worse than Daniel ever could.
What if I’m denying myself the possibility of finding real, true, lasting, beautiful love?
What if I’m denying Aiden the chance to have an amazing father figure?
These thoughts flicker through me, and I shy away from them—recoil from them, more like. I shy away, I recoil, I deny, and I hide from them. They say the truth hurts; maybe I’m just pathologically unable to allow myself to think too deeply about it, to let myself really pick apart my truth from my fears.
I have to protect Aiden.
I’m fragile. I can admit that much—the miscarriage and my subsequent brutal depression, Daniel’s withdrawal, our eventual divorce…it all damaged me much more deeply than I think I ever understood, until Jamie waltzed into my life and made it all painfully apparent.
It’s all too much.
And this, friends, is why I don’t allow myself to even approach the edge of the what-if spiral; once I start spiraling, it’s nearly impossible to pull myself out of it.
I close my eyes and breathe, focusing on my breath, hold it, then breathe out. Focus on Aiden. Focus on Mom and Dad. Focus on Cora.
My students.
Push away thoughts of Jamie, his warm brown eyes, his ready, charming, boyish grin, his lean, muscular body. Push away thoughts of his gentle, strong hands sliding across my skin…
“Dammit,” I whisper to myself.
That’snotpushing the thoughts away, that’s daydreaming.
Ugh. Why is it so hard to stop thinking about him?
I’ve had Jamie on the brain all day, and it’s made work especially difficult.
Flu season is approaching and feeling queasy all day hasn’t helped. I know of at least six students who are currently out sick with stomach bugs, and the school secretary went home early. Schools are great big petri dishes; I’m denying that I have anything, or that I’m coming down with anything. I’ve just avoided eating, and have been sipping on peppermint tea all day. Once I feel better, I’ll make sure I get the flu shot.
Feelings will fade, desires will eventually go away. Need will subside. I’ll eventually stop missing him.
Right?
