An (Almost) Perfect Love Story (Love Story Book Three) (21 page)

“You don’t know—”

“I don’t care! It doesn’t matter what was wrong with your marriage, you don’t do this! You have problems, you try and work them out! If you can’t, you get divorced. You don’t have an affair.”

It felt good, losing my temper. I had never actually fought with my mother before—I was always too worried about upsetting her. That worry was gone now. I didn’t care if I made her mad, disappointed her, hurt her feelings. None of that mattered to me. It was strangely freeing.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with him,” she whispered, a tear falling down her cheek. I stopped cold.

“You love him?”

“Oh, Ashley, of course I do,” she cried, wiping her face. “Do you think I could do something like this if I didn’t?”

“I don’t know,” I said. All of my rage had been replaced by a sick, hollow feeling. The speed of the transition made me feel dizzy. “I don’t know you at all, not anymore. I have no idea what you’re capable of.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Like hell it isn’t. What’s not fair is this,” I spread my arms out wide, encompassing the room. “How could you let him pay for this? It’s disgusting.”

“Your father and I never divvied up our money,” she said, her voice defensive. “I might not have brought a paycheck into the house, but I did take care of everything else. His food, his home, his children, his dull work events.” Her voice was getting louder with each word, as if
she
had a right to be angry with
him
. “That money is just as much mine—”

“Bullshit,” I said. Her eyes grew large—I don’t think I had ever sworn in front of her before. I couldn’t care less. For the first time in my life, I was free from the desire to impress my mother. “It’s not yours for
this
,” I continued. “It’s not yours to pay for your…your fuck pad, or whatever the hell this is.”

“Ashley!” she cried, slapping a hand over her mouth. “How dare you—”

“You tell him,” I said, interrupting her. It was just like her to be more offended by a curse word than by her own cruel behavior. She was always,
always
more concerned with the superficial. Well, I didn’t need her recriminations; I wasn’t the one in the wrong here. “You tell Daddy that you’re having an affair. You tell him or I will.”

I turned to leave, sick of looking at her. At that moment, I was pretty sure I’d be happy to never see my mother again.

“Does it matter to you that I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life?”

I spun back around to gape at her. She was crying and trembling. It was the closest I had ever seen her to coming apart. “Are you
kidding
me?”

“I love Harold,” she sniffed. “He treats me like an equal. He wants to help me find a job. He thinks I should be putting my talents to use more than just as a housewife.”

“That’s nice of him,” I snarled. “And nice to hear my mother describe her secret affair as the happiest time of her life. Nice that she counts it as happier than, you know, raising her children.”

My mom closed her eyes. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I don’t know what the hell you
do
mean,” I shot back. “I thought I knew you. I thought we were so close.” I felt tears start to well up in my eyes, but I was determined not to cry in front of her. “I was always so proud of you, proud to call you my mother. But I never knew you, not at all.”

She drew back a little, as if I had hit her. I found that I didn’t care, not one bit. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to hurt her as much as I could.

“We are close, Ashley,” she whispered. “You have no idea how much that’s meant to me—”

I cut her off. “I don’t want to see you anymore, Mom. I don’t want you planning my wedding. I don’t even want you
at
the wedding, pretending we have this great family. Pretending like you’re a good mother. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Ashley,” she whispered, sounding miserable. I ordered myself not to care that she was upset. She deserved it.

“I mean it, about telling Daddy. I’m not letting him pay for this room or for your food or anything else. Your precious Harold can pay for it. You tell him or I will.”

“You think you just know everything about my relationship with your dad, don’t you?” she asked, shaking her head at me sadly. “You have no idea what it’s like to be married, Ashley. No idea at all. I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

“What are you talking about?”

Something close to a sneer twisted her features. “Chris is a lot like your father, you know. So good natured, so calm about everything.”

I swallowed hard, a cold sliver of something akin to doubt creeping down my back. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“You try living thirty years with it. You try living with a man that never has an opinion of his own, a man that never fights for anything. You try thirty years of
calm
. Thirty years of no passion.”

“Chris isn’t—”

“Your father has never once come to this hotel, did you know that? He knows where I am by now. The bills, as you pointed out, are going to him. But he’s never been here. Why do you think that is?”

I snorted. “Probably because he’s mad at you.”

“No, Ashley. It’s because it would never occur to him to fight for me, to fight for anything. He would much rather sit at home and wait.” A look of naked desire crossed her face. “I was just so goddamn tired of waiting.”

I stared at her, not knowing what to say. “So it’s his fault?” I finally asked. “Because he was too nice? Too patient?”

My mother sighed. “I’m not saying it’s his fault. I did something terrible. Do you think I don’t know that? But I knew if I stayed…” she covered her face. “Your sister went away to school, and suddenly my house was empty. For the first time, I realized I’d lived my entire life for other people. My children. Your father. Even my friends. Everything was for someone else, or because of how I wanted someone else to see me. I was so tired, Ashley. So…bored.”

“So if you get bored, have an affair and lie about it. Got it, thanks for the marriage advice.”

My mother looked at me, so much sadness in her eyes it made me wince. “I hope you never understand what I’m talking about, sweetheart. You can hate me all you want, but I’ll still be your mother, and I’ll always love you. It might be easier for me if you could understand, but I don’t wish it on you.” From across the room, her eyes met mine and I felt another shiver run down my spine. “I hope, if you do get married, you never get to a point where you can understand why I did what I did.”

Chapter Twenty-one

I drove home from the hotel feeling sick to my stomach. I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. Instead, I heard her words over and over again in my head. “Chris is a lot like your father…
if you
do
get married
…” By the time I pulled into my parking lot, I felt like I might go crazy, or throw up—whichever came first.

I stormed up the stairs to our apartment, praying Chris or Emily would not be there. I didn’t think I could bear to see anyone. Even though it was barely eleven a.m., all I wanted was a large bottle of something that would burn on its way down and make me forget about this terrible day.

To my intense relief, the apartment was empty—then I remembered. They were both gone for the weekend. I didn’t even bother taking off my shoes before I went to the kitchen in search of some liquor. I pulled open the fridge, sure we had some vodka there, and swore out loud to find it missing. We had probably drunk it all that night Ryan had been here, before Valentine’s Day. It was the last time I could remember really drinking. I found a bottle of red in the cabinet and decided wine would have to do.
Drinking alone before lunch
, I thought as I pulled out a clean glass.
A new low.

I poured myself a glass and sat at the kitchen table, burying my head in my hands. I wasn’t sure what was worse—finding out my mom was having an affair, or what she had said about marriage and my dad. I had thought it was bad when she moved out, completely shocked to realize my parents could even be having problems. But now this. Listening to her talk, I guess she must have been absolutely miserable. And for how long? How had I never seen it? How could I have blindly believed she’d been happy with her life all these years? Had she ever really loved my dad?

I was terrified by the realization that I hadn’t seen what was right in front of me. I had thought they were so perfect because I never saw them fight. But looking back, maybe that had been the problem.
You try living with a man that never has an opinion of his own, a man that never fights for anything
, she had said. It was true. My mother made all the decisions in our house. My dad never raised his voice, never argued or complained. He seemed happy to go along with things, happy to let her steer their ship. And look where that had gotten them.

What else had I been wrong about, if I was so wrong about them? How stupid could I be, to think they were happy?

It wasn’t just them, either. Just two years ago, I had been wrong about Emily and her then-boyfriend Greg. I had thought he was perfect for her, because he was so charming and rich and handsome. I snorted into my wine. Just like me, to focus on completely the wrong things. The shiny, fairytale exterior, nothing deeper. It had been the same thing with Brooke and her ex, John. I only saw what I wanted to see, two gorgeous people who were “perfect” for each other. I just never got it, not when it came to love.

Chris is a lot like your father, you know.

Oh God. What if I was wrong about Chris? What if we weren’t right for each other? The night he proposed, I would have bet a million dollars that we’d be together forever. But would I have said the same thing about my parents? How were you supposed to know, really know, that something was going to work out?

If you do get married...

My phone rang, startling me. I looked wearily at the caller ID, not wanting to talk to my mother or my fiancé. Luckily it was Ryan. “Hey, Ry,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

“What’s the matter?” he asked immediately. I could never fool him.

“I went to her hotel room,” I said dully. “You were right, about the man. His name is Harold and she’s very much in love.”

He swore on the other end of the phone. “Are you alone?”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

“I’m on my way, okay? Just sit tight.”

I paced the living room drinking my wine, trying to stop myself from thinking about my parents…or about Chris. I felt tired and angry and so scared. When Ryan rapped on the door, I ran to let him in, so happy for the distraction I could have kissed him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, taking my arms and looking straight into my face.

I shook my head miserably. “How could I have been so stupid, so wrong about them?”

He gathered me up in his arms. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I really am.”

I realized that, out of everyone, Ryan would understand this best. His own parents had split up when we were nineteen. His dad had waited until his fatherly responsibilities were over before breaking the news. Once Ryan was away at school, his dad had come clean; he’d had a mistress for the past ten years, and he was leaving to go live with her in Tampa, where he got a promotion and a new condo to go along with his new wife.

“It just scares me, you know?” I said, pulling away so I could see his face. “How am I supposed to be sure of anything anymore?”

Ryan gave me a rueful smile. “You’re talking to the guy who dealt with his parents’ split by becoming a man-whore. And continues to deal by self-sabotaging every relationship that makes him halfway happy. So maybe I’m not the best one to ask for advice.”

“You’re not making me feel better here, Ry.”

“Sorry, babe.” He took my arm and led me over to the couch. “Listen, I lost a lot of my faith in people when my dad left. For a while, I didn’t think the whole love thing was even possible anymore.”

My stomach dropped. “But you know what,” he said, sitting up taller as he spoke. “I kept watching sappy movies, didn’t I? And I kept dating. And I kept rooting for you and Chris, and for Emily when she finally decided to get serious about romance.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that, even in my cynicism, I still must have believed in it, deep down. Otherwise I would have given up completely, right? Maybe there’s hope for me yet.” He bent his head a little so he could look straight into my eyes. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anyone as perfect together as you are with Chris. Please don’t let yourself doubt that, Ash.”

I leaned back against the couch cushion, sighing. It was all well and good for Ryan to say that, but if I had learned anything lately, it was that we rarely understood what was really going on in someone else’s relationship.
If I couldn’t be sure, how could Ryan?

“Hang on,” he said, standing and pulling out his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m calling Brian to cancel our plans.”

“No way,” I said. “You’re not cancelling.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. Like I’m leaving you alone right now. We’ll get some food, drink some more of that wine and gossip all afternoon.”

“Ryan—”

But Brian had already answered the phone. Ryan walked into the kitchen, and I could hear him talking softly, explaining that I was having some issues and needed him to stick around.

“No problem,” he said a moment later, coming back to the living room and tossing his phone down on the coffee table. His tone was light, but he looked stressed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Was he mad?”

“No,” he said, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Ryan,” I groaned. “You are not getting in a fight with him because of me. Call him back right now and tell him you’re on your way.”

“Not, it’s not that. Really. Things have just been a little…off with us. That’s all. Nothing to do with this, promise.”

“Off how?”

Ryan sighed. “Can we focus on one problem at a time, please?”

“Ryan—”

“You’re so stubborn.” He put his hands on his hips and looked down at me. “I’m up to my old tricks, okay? Messing things up for myself. It has nothing to do with you.”