Take This Regret

  A col ective gasp went around the room, and that shock shifted to unease.

  A mixture of embarrassment and anger flared on my face and heated my cheeks. This wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go. I’d wanted to ease the rest of my family into the idea of Christian being a part of our lives, not have Nat giving them fuel for the assumptions I was sure they were already going to make. She knew my mother didn’t know Christian had become something so significant.

  To the rest of these women, he was stil the “infamous Christian Davison.”

  “Are you back together with him?” Mom demanded with her brow knitted in what I could only assume was disgust. I couldn’t tel if that disgust was due to the idea of that being a reality or if she was hurt because she thought she’d been kept in the dark about something so important in my life.

  “No . . . no . . . of course not . . . he’s just . . . ,” I rambled, shaking my head, unsure of what to say because I had no explanation for what he was. I didn’t know myself.

  “Wel if you don’t want him, I’l take him,” Carrie piped up, laughing through slurred words as if it were the funniest thing she’d ever said. “That is one gorgeous man.”

  “Shut up, Carrie,” I spat in her direction. She had no right to say something like that, drunk or not.

  She laughed, not even fazed that she’d upset me.

  She’d probably not even noticed.

  “I mean, come on, Liz. Have you seen the man? You think he’s going stick around? Wait for you forever?

  Somebody’s gonna catch him.” She shrugged and smirked. “Might as wel be me.”

  My hands shook and tears pricked at my eyes. Right then, I hated my little sister.

  “Shut up,” I said through gritted teeth, seething before I stood and slammed my wine glass down on the kitchen table. “Just shut the hel up!”

  She sat back, shocked by my reaction before a horrified expression crossed her face when she realized she’d real y hurt me. “Oh, my—my God, Liz, I . . . I’m . . . ,” she stuttered, reaching for me.

  I held up my hand and shook my head. I couldn’t listen to her right now.

  I stormed from the room to the sound of Sarah’s mock applause. “That’s real y great, Carrie. Real cute.”

  “I didn’t mean . . . ,” Carrie said, trying to defend herself but stopping short when Sarah’s voice rose above hers.

  “Just shut up, Carrie. You’ve said enough tonight.” The door closed behind me, leaving me with trembling hands and the sound of muddled, heated words coming from the other room. I rushed to get my jacket on, shaking as I fumbled with the zipper on my bag and then flung it over my shoulder and onto my back.

  The door swung open, and for a moment Aunt Donna’s words became clear as she scolded Natalie and Carrie as if they were schoolgirls who’d been caught smoking in the bathroom,

  rebuking

  their

  banter,

  criticizing

  for

  inconsiderate words. Mom stood in the doorway, her eyes sympathetic and worried. As soon as they landed on my face, I broke. Tears rol ed down my cheeks, hot and angry and hurt. She crossed the room and took me in her arms.

  She wiped my tears and whispered that Carrie didn’t mean what she’d said.

  I shook my head against her shoulder, al owed myself to fal apart in her comfort. “I don’t know what to do,” I cried again and again, desperate for Mom to understand, to have an answer.

  I don’t know what to do.

  She shushed me, pushed the matted hair from my face, and shook her head in empathy.

  “Oh, Elizabeth, honey.” She tightened her hold and ran her hand through my hair. “I can’t tel you what to do, sweetheart. That’s something you’re going to have to decide for yourself,” she murmured against my head, a hopeless consolation.

  I cried harder, clung to her, wished for the day when just her touch had eased my every fear, her advice an answer for my every question.

  How could I ever decide if I could never know for sure that he wouldn’t hurt me or wouldn’t leave me once again?

  She stepped back and lifted my chin, searching my face. “You stil love him?”

  I was sure she knew I did, had probably always known although every word I’d ever spoken of Christian to her had been riddled with scorn.

  Closing my eyes, I nodded once against her hand.

  She released a heavy breath, and I opened my eyes to her slowly shaking her head. Her eyes were sad, and she seemed to struggle with what to say.

  After what he’d done, I knew it would take a very long time for her to forgive Christian for hurting her child so time for her to forgive Christian for hurting her child so deeply, and I could see in her face that she was scared for me, scared for Lizzie. But I also knew she’d never ridicule me if I chose to be with him.

  She turned up a smal , understanding smile and reached out to squeeze my hands, a reiteration. You have to decide for yourself.

  I squeezed back. “I love you, Mom.”

  Her smile grew just a fraction. “I love you so much, Liz.” She looked over her shoulder, back to me, and tugged on my hands. “Come on. Let’s not let this ruin our night.” Grimacing, I stepped back and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “I think I’m going to go home.” There were too many thoughts racing through my head, too much confusion, too many suppressed emotions vying for release.

  Mom’s face fel . “Liz, honey . . . it’s late, and you’ve been drinking.”

  “I’l cal a cab. I just want to be alone.” It wasn’t real y the truth. I just didn’t want to be here.

  She sighed but offered no further argument and instead, stepped forward to take me in her arms again.

  She made no false promises, didn’t tel me that it would be okay, and didn’t tel me that it’d al work out. She simply smothered me in her warmth, showered me in love and unending support.

  Final y, she dropped her arms and told me to cal her if I wanted to talk.

  “Night, Mom.”

  “Goodnight.”

  I stepped out, the cool night biting my flaming cheeks. I tugged my jacket tighter and hugged myself. I was feeling embarrassed, foolish about my overreaction, vulnerable in my thoughts.

  Sniffling away the evidence of my tears, I dug in my purse to find my phone and dialed the number I’d seen plastered on the side of taxicabs so many times before.

  The night was quiet, the city covered in a heavy sheet of dark grey sky. I breathed in the damp air, lifted my face to it, never felt more alone.

  It took only a few minutes before headlights cut through the night and lit the street, and a taxicab came to a stop in front of my mother’s house. I stole one last glance behind me before I climbed into the backseat and gave the driver directions to my home.

  Blowing the air from my lungs, I tried to clear my mind.

  My head lol ed against the dingy vinyl seat, and I was unsure if the sick feeling in my stomach stemmed from the excess alcohol in my system or from the confrontation I’d just had with my sister.

  My phone buzzed in my lap with a text message, then buzzed again and again with a progressive string of apologies from my little sister begging for forgiveness, promising she was just kidding, that she didn’t real y mean it, that she loved me.

  I knew I real y wasn’t upset with my sister, but with the truth of what she’d said. Christian wouldn’t wait around forever.

  Could I handle it when one day he came to me, his blue eyes dancing as he told me that he’d met someone, as he confided in his friend that he had fal en in love?

  Would I be able to smile and tel him how happy I was for him? Could I give him encouragement? Offer advice?

  I rol ed my eyes at myself.

  I couldn’t even handle my little sister joking about it.

  I typed back a quick response, one that would ease her and let her know it was okay, that she was forgiven—a simple I love you too.

  Fifteen minutes later, the tax
i pul ed up to the curb in front of my house. The windows were dark and the faint yel ow glow of the porch lamp offered the only light.

  Alone.

  The driver looked over his shoulder, frowning.

  Shaking myself out of my daze, I pul ed my wal et from my purse and handed him a twenty, mumbling a quiet thank-you, as I floundered my way from the backseat of the car. He waited until I opened the door to the emptiness of my house before he drove away.

  I locked the door behind me and dragged myself upstairs. I washed my face and brushed my teeth, couldn’t keep the thoughts at bay.

  Brittany.

  That name had eaten at me over the last couple of months. Unknown pictures of her had swam through my head as I imagined what she had been like and what had drawn him to her, and I’d often fal en asleep thinking of him fal ing asleep with her.

  The shame had been clear, as he’d admitted his past to me, the many faceless women he’d been with, those whose names he’d probably not even known. It wasn’t those that had bothered me, though, those that haunted me in the night, those that evoked an ache in my chest and made it hard to breathe.

  What bothered me was that he’d found someone he’d cared enough about to lie beside night after night, someone he cared enough to hold and to share the day-today.

  How long before he found someone like her again?

  It was with those thoughts that I found myself sitting up in bed in the darkness of my room, clutching my phone with my eyes closed, wil ing myself to stay strong—to ignore the need to hear his voice. It was only after midnight, not so late that he would think it strange that I was cal ing, asking about Lizzie an easy excuse. Would he know that it wasn’t the true reason I cal ed? Would he know I was already certain that my daughter was fine, safe and happy and resting easily in the smal bedroom that her father had set up just for her?

  Would he know that I longed for his warmth, the way his voice would wrap around me just as if it were his arms?

  Would he know that I needed him?

  Once again, I found myself on the edge looking down, wondering when I’d get so close that I’d fal . Or maybe I’d just jump.

  I shook my head.

  No.

  No.

  I talked myself back from the ledge, forced myself to place the phone down on my nightstand, and cried myself to sleep.

  “Hey, Liz,” the deep voice cal ed from behind.

  I stood at my kitchen counter, my fingers wet from slicing tomatoes in preparation for our barbecue, and glanced over my shoulder at Matthew standing in the archway. In my humiliation, I turned away and focused on the task in front of me.

  “Hey,” I mumbled toward the counter.

  Matthew approached, stood next to me, and wrapped an arm around my back with a gentle squeeze. “You okay?” Nodding, I leaned into him a bit and felt myself relax against my friend. While I was embarrassed, I knew I real y had no reason to be. Matthew only cared, and I knew he wouldn’t judge or tease, would offer no ridicule for my actions of the evening before.

  “Nat and I brought your car back.” He smiled as if nothing had happened, case closed, and went to the fridge to grab a bottle of beer and walked out the back door.

  I could sense Natalie hovering in the same spot where Matthew had been. She was fidgeting and feeling as unsure with me as I felt with her. I wasn’t exactly mad at her, but I wasn’t thril ed with how she’d acted last night either.

  She released a soft but audible sigh as if she needed to make herself known, to warn me of her presence, or maybe even needed reassurance of her welcome.

  “Hey, Natalie.” It came out low with a hint of disappointment, but it was mostly fil ed with my need to make things right between us.

  It was enough to bring her across the room, her feet light. She rose up on her tiptoes behind me, rested her chin on my shoulder, and wrapped her arms around my middle to hug me to her chest. “I’m so sorry, Liz.” Far from flippant, her apology was solemn and sincere. “We were just messing around. I shouldn’t have . . . I know how . . .” She swal owed heavy with remorse and shook her head. “It was rude, Liz. We made light of something that causes you pain, and for that I’m so sorry.”

  I tilted my head to hers in a smal embrace, and I set the knife I was holding on the cutting board so I could reach down to cover her hands with mine. “It’s okay.” I rubbed my thumbs over the back of her hands.

  We stood like that for a few moments, looking out the window into the backyard. Matthew and Christian sat at the smal patio table, chatting as they sipped their beers, laughing as if they were old friends. Lizzie was perched on Christian’s knee, grinning while she played with the smal dol s in front of her. It seemed that without thought Christian would run his fingers through Lizzie’s long hair flowing down her back and play with the ends.

  “Sweet, isn’t it?” Nat murmured, her attention focused on Lizzie and Christian.

  “Mmm hmm,” I said from somewhere in the back of my throat, unable to voice how it real y made me feel; how it made my heart soar and made me question everything I’d held onto for so long. How it made me want to believe he would treat me the same way.

  “You don’t have to be miserable anymore, Elizabeth,” Natalie whispered as she pressed her cheek into mine, a gentle encouragement.

  I closed my eyes to block my mind from what I so desperately wanted, shook my head ever so slightly, and disagreed. “I’m not miserable.”

  She snorted although it sounded like sympathy and hugged me closer before she walked to the back door, only to pause just before she stepped out. “That’s not what it looked like last night.”

  She slid the door closed behind her, pul ed a chair out from the patio table, and sat down with her back to me.

  I gazed out at my family, the family that had grown by one, and couldn’t imagine it any other way. Christian caught me staring and looked up at me with eyes fil ed with adoration, need, want, tender affection, and overt desire.

  For once, I didn’t look away, and I hoped he’d see in my expression that I felt the same, that he’d know that I loved

  him even though I’d never al ow myself to say the words.

  The afternoon stretched on, peaceful and without strain. For once, my nerves were quiet as I rested at the table with those closest to me. We’d eaten, joked, and shared the trivial events of our week. Matthew and Natalie never mentioned the night before, the incident forgotten. Lizzie played on the grass, soaking in the last few rays of light as the sun hung low in the horizon, each day shorter than the last as October threatened to give way to November.

  It was odd to witness the trust that had emerged between Christian and Matthew, their conversation casual and unlabored, genuine. Years before, when Christian and I had been together, the disdain Matthew had held for Christian had been clear. It had been as if he could foretel the future and he’d known of Christian’s betrayal before it had ever been committed.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what he saw now, what had changed as the two men talked as friends that I now believed they considered themselves to be. Our conversation continued on, uncomfortable silences unheard of on this perfect Sunday afternoon.

  Christian was laughing loud and unhindered when his phone rang out from within the confines of his jacket pocket. Stil chuckling, he patted his coat, feeling for the phone, pul ed it out and said, “Excuse me a second.” We al quieted, lowering our voices so he could take his cal .

  I tried to focus on what Natalie was saying but couldn’t ignore the way Christian stiffened and his tone hardened when he answered, “Yes, this is Christian Davison.” Natalie stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes darted between Christian and me, her brow creasing with worry as the silence on Christian’s end wore on. I watched as Christian slumped forward and dug his elbows into his thighs. His knuckles were white from the force with which he held his phone, and his other hand jerked incessantly through his hair.

  “What?” he final y choked out in anguish. There was another long b
reak, this time his hand fisting in his hair.

  When he spoke again, he sounded detached, stunned, his voice so quiet I was sure whoever was on the other line didn’t hear him. “Okay, thank-you.”

  I wanted to drop to my knees to draw his face to mine, to comfort him for whatever was causing him this reaction.

  But I was frozen, the blood sloshing in my ears, making me sick with unease as I waited.

  Christian sat up, his face portraying nothing, void of emotion, pale and unfeeling. Shocked.

  “Christian?” I began but stopped when he glanced in the direction of my voice and then back ahead, unseeing, muttering in disbelief.

  “My father is dead.” He squeezed his eyes shut, blinked them open, and said again, “My father is dead.” Oh no.

  My hand covered my mouth as I tried to suppress the cry that bubbled up, a seemingly inappropriate sound for a man I had only despised but couldn’t help but mourn if solely for the fact that he had fathered Christian.

  “I have to go,” Christian said in words that were barely audible, directed at no one at al . He stood and moved as if on instinct but without comprehension. The three of us watched in shock as he disappeared inside my house before my senses final y caught up and I shook off my stupor.

  Christian needed me.

  I jumped up, knocking my chair over in the process, and raced inside to catch him only to trip over my feet when I got to the living room. Christian was on the couch hunched over, his hands clutching his head, bal ed up in a position so similar to the one he had been in just seconds before.

  Faster than I could give myself time to think, I was on my knees in front of him and whispering soothing words. I pried his hands from his hair, held his beautiful face, and ran my thumbs under his eyes.

  It was as if he didn’t even know I was there.

  I’d never seen him act this way, and I heard myself pleading. “Christian, please say something.” He shook his head and stood as he once again said, “I have to go.”

  Natalie and Matthew stood in the archway, watching with horrified expressions. I looked helplessly to them and mouthed, “What should I do?”