The Ground Rules (29 page)

“A person should not even play with fire,” she adds knowingly.

I smile down at her. “You’re right Claire. That’s absolutely right. You’re a smart girl.”

Smarter than your mother.

“It was pretty,” she says, her eyes serious. “The dress.”

“I know.” My heart fills with sadness.

I shouldn’t have burned it. Unimaginable regret washes over me. It felt good at the time, but now I just feel empty.

“Why did you do it, Mommy?” Claire clearly wants to understand. I realize this must be so confusing to her, and I struggle to find a way to explain it.

“It made me feel really sad,” I start. “The dress reminded me of someone who’s gone—someone I miss very much.”

“Did they die?” she asks, eyes wide.

“No…” I hesitate, searching for words. “They moved away. And they gave me the dress. And if I looked at the dress, I would think of them.”

“But you didn’t
want
to think of them?” she asks, confused.

“Exactly, sweetie.”

She looks at me for the longest time, seemingly in deep thought. And unexpectedly, her face lights up. “Maybe, you could get a new pretty dress.”

I smile down at her. “Yes, that’s a great idea, Claire. Maybe you and Chloe could help me pick it out. We’ll go shopping. I’ll talk to Chloe about it when she gets back from dance class.”

She smiles and finally closes her eyes, apparently exhausted by the conversation.

I kiss her again on the forehead, on each cheek, and on the tip of her nose.

And my heart sinks, remembering Weston had done exactly this the last time we were together—he knew it would be our last time.

…it was a really, really, really long time.

I W
AVE
G
OOD-BYE
T
O
M
Y
S
TUDENTS
, thankful my first week back at school is finally over. I’ve been in a particularly sour mood all week, and the kids haven’t seemed quite as charming as they usually are at the start of the year.

I linger behind as always. On Friday afternoon, every teacher in the place practically sprints to get out for the weekend. But I like to trail behind, avoiding the rush in our cramped parking lot. I figure I’ll probably be the last one out again as I fiddle with my notebooks. The girls trail behind me patiently, as they always do. They are in the habit of hanging around my class while I gather my things and tidy for the next day—on a good day, they actually help out.

As we make our way out, Chloe ventures, “We should go to McDonalds.”

She always makes this suggestion on Fridays—she’s nothing if not persistent. Who knows? One day, I might just pipe up and say, “Yes, let’s go to McDonalds,” but it has yet to happen.

I scrounge in my oversized purse for my keys.

I don’t see him right away. He’s standing against a brick pillar just at the entrance of the school—but he catches my eye for a split second—a tall, shaded, dark stranger, wearing sleek, silver-rimmed sunglasses.

And as I approach him, I recognize him. My hearts starts to pound…hard. I have absolutely no control over the damned thing—if it’s anything, it’s damned, this heart of mine.

“I thought you would never leave,” he says, his voice friendly.

I’m at a loss for words—I am completely shocked to see him standing there—in the front yard, at my school.

The girls reach us, and Claire cozies up to me, hugging my skirt, as she always does when confronted with a stranger.

Weston seems surprised by their presence. “Uh…are…” he stammers. “Are these your girls?”

“Yes.” Part of me is happy he finally gets to meet them. I’ve dreamed of this moment often…but it was never quite like this.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft. “I didn’t realize you were going to be with your girls. If I had—”

“It’s fine, Weston. They go to school here, and they always ride with me. I’m much faster than the bus.”

He smiles, extending his hand to Chloe, who’s been studying him like she studies the little creatures she captures in her bug gadget. He pulls his shades up, and I notice his bruised eye—and there’s a pretty nasty scratch just below his brow.

I got him good.

Satisfaction washes over me…he deserved it.

“I’m Weston. I’m a friend of your mother’s…and your father’s too,” he’s quick to add.

Chloe offers him a soft, “Hello,” staring blankly at his bruised eye.

“What happened to your eye?” Claire chimes in.

“Well,” he starts, his expression grave, “I had a rather nasty run-in with a crazy woman.” He shoots me a sideways glance, his words playful. “But I kind of had it coming.”

“Did she go to jail?” Claire asks, full of questions.

I smile, kind of wanting to laugh.

“No, I’m afraid not. The justice system simply isn’t what it used to be.”

Despite myself, a slow smile creeps up on my face—my heart betrays me.

Claire extends her chubby hand and says, “I’m Claire. It’s nice to meet you, sir. You’re tall…like my daddy.” I smile a little—Claire has always had a way with people, just like her father.

Weston smiles at her—that huge genuine smile that makes me melt…
still
makes me melt. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it directed at anyone other than me before. “Nice to meet you too, Claire,” he offers, kneeling down to her level. “You are a very charming girl.” He seems completely at ease. For all the socially awkward behavior I’ve observed from him in the past, there’s no hint of it here—I’m taken aback.

Claire smiles brightly—she has taken a liking to him—who could blame her.

He stands and looks at me again. He looks delicious, despite the rather impressive black eye, and I almost want to apologize—but I don’t.

“I’m not sorry.”

His gaze is fixed on mine. He doesn’t say a word. “Well, I am…sorry. I’m sorry we left off the way we did, Mirella.”

Suddenly, images of the meeting in his office come rushing back to me…and the anger comes back in full force.

I take a step back. “Why are you here, Weston?” I ask, my words clipped.

“I…” he starts, “I wanted to apologize for the way things ended…how we left off. Perhaps I didn’t go about it the right way.”

The girls are listening carefully, confusion on their faces. I can tell they want to understand.

“Girls,” I say. “Could you go sit on the bench while we talk?”

Chloe gives me a medal-worthy eye roll. “But, Mom, I wanna go home.”

“We’ll go in a minute,” I promise. “I’m sure you have some stuff in your bags to keep you entertained for a minute.”

They reluctantly leave us, shoulders hunched, feet dragging. They understand this is a “grown-up” conversation.

“God dammed straight…you didn’t handle it right. How dare you break up with me like that. You should have talked to me. Just
you
and
me
.”

“I’m sorry. When I told Bridget I wanted to end things, she insisted on doing it this way.”

I jerk away, not wanting him to see my reaction. “Oh…of course…Bridget,” I scoff.

“It wasn’t just her. I just couldn’t go through with it.” His voice is soft. “I was planning on discussing it with you on our last date…but then, when I saw you…you were so beautiful and sexy.” His expression is full of regret. “I just wanted to be with you one last time. I’m sorry…I was a coward.”

I look up at him, understanding—remembering the time I met up with him to end things…when we ended up making love for the first time.

He rubs the back of his neck—he seems completely torn. “I want to say a proper good-bye. What we had was too wonderful to end things this way.”

He doesn’t realize what he’s doing to me—he’s making it harder. I much preferred when I hated him—when I wanted to never see him again.

I glare at him. “Well, it obviously wasn’t as wonderful for you as it was for me,” I hiss. “You have no idea how much I cared about you.”

He reaches out to me. “I do. And I cared about you…
still
care about you.”

He’s being nice again. I can’t stand it—I’m still mad as hell.

“I burned the dress you gave me.”

He jerks back. He seems taken aback. “You burned it?” he asks, his eyes wide.

“Yep. I threw it in my fire pit and lit it up,” I scoff, satisfaction filling me. “It was a hell of a bonfire.”

He laughs a little. “You obviously have no idea how much that dress was worth.”

His words rub me the wrong way…they scratch me.

“Oh…I do, but heck, there’s a lot more where that came from right? Or did you forget your oh-so-generous offer to help us out whenever we needed.” My words are filled with anger. “I could have sold it on eBay…but here’s a newsflash, Weston,” I say, closing the distance between us. “We don’t need the money.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have offered. I seem to have struck a nerve. I was merely trying to be considerate.”

“We don’t need your charity,” I snap. “What we really need right now is for you to leave us the fuck alone.”

I rarely curse. But it seems when it comes to him, I do. I know he hates foul language, and I want to hurt him. I want him to despise me as much as I despise him.

“Mirella,” he says softly, grabbing a hold of my wrist.

I jerk my arm away. “Do
not
touch me.”

He backs away. “I’m sorry.” I can’t count how many times he’s said he’s sorry now—and it’s starting to wear on me.

“You never loved me,” I whisper, still aware the girls are sitting not far away.

He sighs and closes his eyes. “Mirella…” he says softly.

“You’ve destroyed me,” I cry.

I see what I’ve been searching for in his eyes…pain. “The way I feel about you is the reason I had to do this.”

His words get to me.

“I’m falling in love with you,” he says, his eyes not leaving mine. “And I told myself I would break things off as soon as I could, if it ever came to that.”

It’s what I’ve wanted to hear all along, but somehow, it doesn’t change a thing now. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

He doesn’t answer. He looks away, toward the girls.

“Does Bridget know about this?”

He shakes his head, not quite looking at me. “She doesn’t need to know.”

“She should know, Weston,” I tell him, realizing I’m being a complete hypocrite. I haven’t told Gabe about my feelings either.

“It’s better for everyone if she doesn’t,” he stresses. “Trust me.”

“Doesn’t she wonder?” I ask. “Did she want to end things too?”

“No. Actually, we had quite the row about it. She really wanted to keep seeing Gabe.”

His words shock me. I had never stopped once to consider how Bridget might be feeling about all this. “Do you think she has feelings for him?”

“No,” he says plainly. “I think she just likes the sex, to be honest.”

“I don’t think they have what we have.”

Silence lingers around us as we look at each other.

His striking eyes draw me in…there is so much sorrow in them.

I still crave him.

But I can no longer have him.

I need to move on.

“You’re…right…Weston,” I struggle to say, my heart heavy. “It’s for the best. You made the right decision.”

He pulls me into his arms and holds me tightly. “I will miss you so much,” he whispers.

“I’ll miss you too.”

He holds me for a long time…for what seems like eternity.

We’re having bowtie pasta with sausage. The girls don’t particularly like it, but they seem to be making an effort to eat. I’ve been feeling uninspired these last few days. I’ve just been going through the motions, doing the bare minimum. Gabe hasn’t seemed particularly upbeat either, but I’m sure he’s doing a lot better than I am.

I think about Weston’s visit today, and it makes me feel better, but also worse. I should really tell Gabe about it, I muse, stuffing a fork full of pasta in my mouth—forcing it down. I’m eating for the first time since the meeting at Weston’s office—I’ve been sustaining on bananas and iced tea—heartbreak robbing me completely of my appetite.

“A man came to talk to Mommy at school today,” Chloe suddenly blurts out.

“They talked for a long time,” Claire pipes in. “We had to sit and wait on a bench. He was tall like you, Daddy…and he had a black eye.”

Gabe eyes me with a curious look, his fork mid-air. I sigh. I was hoping to bring this up myself…but, it
just
happened, literally less than three hours ago.

“Weston…” I say reluctantly. “He came by the school after class.”

“Why?” Gabe asks, his tone eager.

“He wanted to say a proper good-bye,” I explain. “I swear it was nothing more. He didn’t like the way we left off. You should have seen his eye…I got him good.”

Gabe smiles a little but seems concerned. He glances quickly at the girls, trying not to reveal too much. “Has he changed his mind?”

Claire and Chloe listen intently—probably trying to figure out our conversation.

“No. He hasn’t. It was actually good closure,” I admit. “I think we both needed that.”

“Did he tell you why they…ended things? They never really gave us a good explanation.”

I shake my head and decide to not tell him about the details of the conversation, about what Weston had mentioned about Bridget not wanting to end it, about Weston’s feelings for me, and about the true reason we had to let go of each other.

He doesn’t need to know.

“He gave Mommy a big hug,” Chloe tells him. “A really long hug that lasted like a million hours.”

Nice going, Chloe, you little snitch,
I think, feeling caught in the act.

Gabe cocks his brow and looks down at his plate, apparently deciding to let it go.

“It
wasn’t
a million hours, you silly,” Claire chimes in. Thank goodness for my sweet little girl.

“But…” she adds, tiny brows furrowed, little red mouth on bendy straw as she sips her chocolate milk, “it was a
really, really, really
long time.”