The First Taste(104)
“You were in a lot of ways,” she says. “Except where Bell was concerned. She could do no wrong, and how was I supposed to compete with that?”
“I just—” I put my hand over my chest. “She’s my heart, Shana. She is everything.”
“She can’t be, Andrew. Do you know what it’ll do to her to grow up seeing you sacrifice everything for her? Does it send a good example that you’re giving up love, happiness, family?”
She says love, happiness, family with some timidity because she’s referring to herself. I don’t associate her with any of those words, though. Amelia’s the one I see. She’s the one I’ve given up, not Shana. Amelia has the potential to give me love, happiness, family—and with those, the potential to hurt me. “I’m scared,” I admit. Amelia knows I am. She didn’t disappear like Shana, but by believing she did, I had an excuse to push her away. “I’m scared to love her.”
“I don’t need you to love me,” Shana says, misunderstanding me. “Not right away. I just want my family back.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask.
“It means . . .” She takes a tentative step closer. “If you can’t love anyone, then can’t you not love me? I’ll come home and be a good mother to Bell. A good wife to you.”
She gauges my reaction, but I can barely think straight, much less form an opinion on what she’s suggesting. A pit is growing in my stomach. Amelia’s at her apartment, waiting for me. Hoping. Except that it’s getting late. Maybe she’s given up on me already. I’ve let her down by not showing up, and knowing Amelia’s history, I may not get another chance.
“Think about it,” Shana says. “If you really don’t love me anymore, then there’s no risk. We’ll be a family, and we’ll make it work, and maybe one day when I’ve proven myself, you’ll let me in again.”
Against my will, Shana paints me a vivid picture that differs greatly from what Amelia and I could be. No risk. A safe home, where I love a woman as much as I’m capable of, but not as much as I should. And she’s okay with it. She doesn’t ask for more. If she leaves again, it won’t hurt.
I think about the last month with Amelia. For the first time in a long time, I was excited about something other than Bell. Excited to see Amelia, to learn about her, to get overcome by intimacy I fought against. I don’t regret getting close to her.
It hits me—I don’t regret my time with Shana, either. It gave me Bell. It gave me hindsight—about the kind of partner I was, and the ways I f*cked it up. I’m a better man for having loved her. I’m a father because of her. The pain she caused me is nothing compared to the joy she brought into my life. And there might be more happiness out there if I push past my fear and go get my woman.
Shana, of all people, has opened my eyes. But about one thing, she’s wrong—she and I weren’t made for each other. And I don’t love her anymore.
“I can’t,” I tell her.
“Because you’re afraid?” she asks. “How would you feel if Bell never tried anything because she learned not to from your fear?”
“It would kill me,” I admit. I can’t pass that onto Bell. I need to man up and face what scares me. “But I’m not saying no because I’m afraid. Maybe things would’ve turned out differently if you’d stayed, but I don’t think so. I think eventually, we would’ve realized that this,” I motion between us, “was real, but it wasn’t right.”
“How can you say that?” she asks. “It was incredible. Not all the time, but . . .”
“It was good.” I nod. “But when it got hard, we failed. That isn’t the kind of relationship I want. Running away when things get difficult is not the example I want to set for our daughter.”
“So you’re just going to be alone forever?” She crosses her arms, frustrated.
“No.” Amelia and I were fools to think we knew better than the rest of the world. That we could willfully resist love.
I stamp out my cigarette and head back into the bar to tell Pico I’m borrowing his bike.
I need to get to the city fast—before Amelia loses all faith in me.
TWENTY-NINE
AMELIA
The bath I prepared earlier looks pathetic, the bubbles having fizzed and melted over an hour ago. I feel too pathetic to get in alone. I yank out the plug. The drain gurgles and sucks as I put on my robe and head into the kitchen. I put away the twenty-five-year-old bottle of premium Glenlivet I spent way too much money on during my walk home from the baby shower.
It’s past eleven. Four hours since I dressed in a silky, red La Perla negligée. Two hours since I drew a bath, hoping Andrew and I could sink right in, no bullshit, and get things figured out.
Well, I figured it out, but apparently too late. I want him. I know the price, and I’m willing to pay it. Even though it means putting my heart on the line again, that I might end up worse off, I can’t stop wondering what it’s like at that kitchen table with Bell. How it would be to crawl into Andrew’s bed each night. I’ve glimpsed a different kind of life, and while it was exciting at first, now it feels like a sickness—I won’t ever be able to rid my mind of that happy picture that was within my grasp.