Hard Choices (26 page)

“Really?” We’d kind of forgotten about Claudia. “You’re living together? Kyle didn’t tell me!” she grinned and clapped her hands. “That’s great!”

“Kyle doesn’t know,” I said quickly. “And I’m not officially living with Matthew.”

“Yet,” said Matthew.

The yelling reached a cacophony that drowned out the music, then suddenly stopped. We heard the door to the garage open downstairs.

“Now get up there!” Becca said in her best imitation of my most imperious voice. “I MEAN it!”

My sons came up the stairs looking sullen and cowed, with Becca prodding them from behind.

“Matthew,” she said crisply, “my brothers have something they’d like to say to you.”

They looked at each other, and Becca reached between them and pinched the backs of their upper arms.

“OW! Goddamn it, Becca!” Kyle snarled.

“I MEAN it! Now!” she hissed.

Danny took a deep breath and looked at Matthew. “Matthew, my sister has informed us that our manners do not reflect our upbringing, and that our rude behavior is reflecting poorly on our mother. We don’t want that. She
did
teach us better than that. We both know better. And we’re sorry.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Kyle.

“Jesus, Kyle,” Claudia sighed under her breath, shaking her head in disgust.

Kyle snapped his head up. Claudia’s good opinion meant more to him than anyone else’s in the room, apparently, because he finally looked at Matthew. “Matthew, I am sorry. You
do
seem like a genuinely good guy, my sister is right. And my mom does seem really happy. So,” he held out his hand. “I’m sorry. Let’s start over.”

I was wishing I’d gotten Becca those boots in black
and
brown right about then. I hoped one day Becca would dish to Molly, because I knew I would never get the play-by-play of what went on in the garage. I figured I should just be glad I didn’t see my daughter’s handprint on her brothers’ cheeks.

Eventually, we sat down to eat, and my sons managed not to embarrass me – or Claudia, or Becca – again. They were polite and engaged. Matthew managed to be interesting without “douchebragging” as my kids called it. His pilot’s license came up in conversation; the fact that he owned his plane had not.

Matthew waited until we’d all cleaned the kitchen together and the kids had filed downstairs to watch a DVD.

“You know, I haven’t even seen your whole house,” he said looking at the art and photos hanging on the walls. “I really like your taste.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you just saying that?”

“No! I’m serious. Don’t you think my house is a little, I don’t know, cold?”

I did think that. Other than a few framed photos of his mom and daughter, Matthew’s house looked like something out of a design magazine. I shrugged noncommittally.

“Well, I think it is,” Matthew declared. “Maybe when you officially move in, you can redecorate for me?”

“Matthew, the idea of that about gives me a panic attack! You had that place professionally decorated!”

“Yeah, but it needs a woman’s touch,” he said the last two words in a bad Southern accent. “It needs your touch,” he said sincerely.

“One step at a time, OK? I don’t think my kids would handle it well if I moved out and sold or rented out this house right away.”

Matthew nodded, “Actually, that’s a good point. Part of Audrey’s little freak-out was that I’d sold the house she grew up in and ‘started a whole new life.’ I mean, she’s been gone for six years! But I guess it was harder on her than I realized.”

“That’s
another
reason to wait,” I said. “I know Audrey and Kathy seem fine, but that’s
their
summer house,” I shook my head, trying to not feel overwhelmed. This holiday had brought home to me that Matthew and I were not, in fact, an island of two.

“You know what?” Matthew pulled me into his arms, and kissed me absent-mindedly on the forehead, “We should just buy a place for us. Then it wouldn’t be weird for anyone.”

I froze in his arms. He felt me stiffen.

He pulled away, and shook his head in apology. “I’m sorry, Lyssa. I shouldn’t brainstorm out loud. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” I insisted. “But let’s just… one step at a time, OK?”

“OK,” he pulled my back into his arms, and I wrapped mine around him.

“Now show me the rest of your house!” he insisted. “I promise to only look at your bedroom from the doorway.”

I laughed into his chest, feeling like we were back on track.

“Oh, wait! I haven’t given you your gift yet!” The kids and I had done our gift exchange that morning, and I had completely forgotten that Matthew hadn’t given me my gift yet.

“Yeah,” I pulled away, feigning anger. “What gives?”

Matthew walked down the half-stairway to the coat rack and took a Christmas gift envelope out of the inside pocket of his jacket.

I had no idea what might be in the envelope. Matthew handed it to me, a slow smile spreading across his face.

I opened it and gasped: it was an itinerary. For two tickets to Lisbon.. “Oh, Matthew! Thank you!” I threw my arms around him and kissed him. But when I looked at the dates, my heart sank. “But I can’t go in February!”

“I know it will be too cold to enjoy the sea, but we can still enjoy the food, the wine, the culture – “

“No! I mean, we’re really busy in February at work.”

Matthew grinned again. “I
asked
Robert when I could steal you away for two weeks. These were the dates he gave me,” Matthew waved his hand at my protest. “Talk to your boss! I was prepared to wait until May or June, so we could swim, but he said, and I quote, ‘This has always been Lyssa’s dream. Go. We’ll figure it out.’”

My eyes welled up. I was finally going to Portugal! It was almost too much to take in. I could barely squeak out a “thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Lyssa,” Matthew said quietly. “You deserve it.” He kissed me again. “Now, show me your house!”

“Bedroom doorway only, though,” I said sniffling through my tears.

“Tickets to Portugal, and I don’t even get any out of it? Unfair!”

We laughed as I took his hand and pulled him down the hallway. But he really didn’t get to see the inside of my bedroom.

***

“Yeah, I know,” Molly said smugly over coffee the next morning. She’d come to get the scoop on all the meeting of families, and had not been surprised at Matthew’s gift to me.

“What do you mean ‘you know’?” I asked indignantly.

She smiled and explained, “Matthew told me about it because he wanted my honest opinion if it was too much. I told him no, it was perfect.”

“Well you were right!”

“Now, you want to tell me why your kids’ voices sound hoarse? Did you have a karaoke competition last night?”

“Oh god,” I dropped my head into my hands. “You won’t believe it,” I filled Molly in on everything that had gone on with my kids, with Matthew’s family, and what Matthew had told me I’d missed with Audrey.

“Have I mentioned lately that Rebecca may be my favorite person
ever
?” Molly started giggling again.

“I know!” I said wide-eyed. “She will be a formidable mama!”

“Was there ever any doubt?” Molly asked as she clinked coffee mugs with me.

“Hi Lyssa,” said a smooth voice on my work phone a few days later.

“Um, hello,” I floundered for a moment, not recognizing the voice.

“It’s Aaron.”

“Oh my god, Aaron!” I laughed. “I didn’t recognize your voice.” I didn’t think we’d ever actually spoken on the phone, when I thought about it. “Hey, how are you?”

“I’m good. How have you been?” he sounded subdued, somehow.

“I’m good. Are… are you OK?”

“Yeah, Lyssa, I’m great. I’m, uh, I’m in town for the holidays. I was wondering if I could take you out for a drink.”

I hesitated. It just felt like a bad idea. “I… I don’t think that’s the best idea, Aaron. Clean break? Remember?”

“Just a drink, Lyssa. Promise. It’d be fun to talk to you again.”

My gut said no. My head said no. But I realized he didn’t sound subdued; he sounded sad. My bleeding heart won out. “OK, listen, there’s a sports bar a few doors down from that fantastic deli I took you to – ”

“Yeah, I know it. Can you meet me after work?”

“Today?” I asked, glancing down at what I was wearing. Nothing too low-cut, a sweater and work slacks. I looked very business-like.

“Or tomorrow. Whichever works better,” he said quickly.

I knew the curiosity would kill me, so I said, “Today works. I’ll meet you right after work, a few minutes after five?”

“That sounds great, Lyssa. I can’t wait.”

I mumbled something noncommittal and I hung up the phone feeling flummoxed. He really had sounded sad. But maybe he was just tired. Law school’s brutal; everyone knows that. I started to text Matthew, trying to decided how to phrase it. I finally decided that the truth was just fine: I was meeting a friend for a beer. No big deal.

I texted Matthew:

A friend called out of the blue and wants to meet for a beer. Sounded like something was wrong. I probably won’t be too late, though. I’ll grab something to eat, so don’t wait for me to eat. I love you.

He texted me back a while later:

Whoa. Hope everything is OK. Call me if you have too many and need a ride ;) I love you, too

I put Aaron out of my mind and got back to work.

***

By the time five o’clock rolled around, I’d almost forgotten about meeting Aaron. I scurried out the door and drove the ten minutes to the bar we’d picked, with my curiosity growing every second. What could Aaron possibly want to talk about?

I parked and looked around, but didn’t see Aaron’s car anywhere. The wind was starting to blow, so I hurried into the bar. Ever the gentlemen, Aaron was waiting for me in the entrance.

WOW. He really was absolutely gorgeous. I smiled, genuinely happy to see him.

“Aaron! Hi!” I embraced him, and noticed he held on a little longer than I did.

“Lyssa,” still that smooth, sexy voice. “You look beautiful.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Always the charmer.” I looked around. “You want to grab a table? I could go for some really fattening French fries!”

“And a beer, I hope?”

“A beer sounds perfect.”

We found a table and seated ourselves. The waitress came over immediately and we ordered right away. I could feel a little tension between us. We made small talk until our beers arrived; I asked about school, he asked about the firm. We even talked about the weather. We’d never done that.

“This is weird,” I finally admitted.

“Why?” he asked as he took a swig of beer.

“Why are we so uncomfortable with each other? It’s been less than five months since we saw each other. It feels like years.”

“Are you happy, Lyssa?”

His sudden change of topic, and his earnest question, took me off guard. “Yeah. Yes, Aaron. I’m happy. Aren’t you?”

“No.” he looked down at the table, and it was so unpracticed and so obviously honest, it tore at my heart strings.

“Aaron,” I reached across the table and took his hand, “what’s wrong? Is it school? Is it your family? Is it your girlfriend?” It was telling to me that I had switched into friend mode, and that the thought of his new girlfriend gave me not even a twinge of jealousy.

“Lyssa,” he took my hand and looked me in the eye, “it’s you.”

“Me?” I squeaked out and sat upright. “What… why… what do you mean?”

He gripped my hand harder. “I cannot get you out of my head. I’ve tried. I can’t do it. I’ve tried dating. I’ve tried screwing. I’ve tried everything. No body measures up to you.”

I was flabbergasted. In my wildest speculations about what he wanted to talk about, this hadn’t even entered my mind as a possibility. I sat there with my jaw hanging open for a good ten seconds. Finally I took a sip of beer and looked away just to have something to do. I didn’t know what to say. Or do. Or think.

“Aaron – “ I started, but he cut me off.

“If you tell me it’s an infatuation, and I’ll get over it, I swear to god, I will throw this beer through that window,” he said through gritted teeth.

“No, I wasn’t going to say that,” I answered honestly. I didn’t want to know who had already told him that. Who had he talked to about this? I took a deep breath. “Aaron, I would never presume to tell someone else how valid or invalid their feelings are – ”

“And that is one of the many reasons no woman can measure up to you,” he said sadly.

“Wow, you’re not making this easy.”

“What’s ‘this’?” he said quietly.

“Aaron, we can’t be together. We just can’t,” I leaned forward. “You
have
to know that. There’s no way you don’t know that. Even if,” I held up my hand to stall his interruption, “even if you tell me you’re ready to give up on a family of your own, I would never really believe you. I would never,” I shook my head, trying to think of the words and wanting to be honest – with both of us. “I would never really allow myself to love you. I would never be completely open to you. Because in the back of my mind, I would always be thinking, ‘this is temporary. He’ll change his mind.’”

“You just told me you’d never tell me my feelings are invalid,” he said in a voice that was dangerously close to his lawyer-voice.

“True, but that includes
my
feelings. If that’s how I feel, you don’t get to tell me I’m wrong, either.”

He chuckled. “You’d have made a great attorney, Lyssa.” I shrugged. “Or a great therapist.”

“Well,
that
I have no interest in. But you’re my friend, and if I can help you,” I searched for the right word, “maneuver through this, I will do whatever I can. Because I don’t like seeing you sad.” I leaned back. “I can’t make you happy, I can’t take your pain away, but I can at least acknowledge it, if that somehow validates it for you. And,” I tucked my hair behind my hair, “while we’re being honest, and laying ourselves bare,” I sighed, “I didn’t even realize that was how I felt until just this moment. I just didn’t allow myself to consider us having a future. It was so much easier that way. It was so much more fun that way,” I smiled at him, without leering, or imbuing it with any sexual overtones.

The waitress had perfect timing. She plopped our fries and two more beers in front of us. I thanked her and told her we were good.

“So what now?” Aaron asked me as he reached for a fry.

“Now, we eat our fries. We drink our beers, and we talk as much as you want to,” I said honestly.

“You don’t owe me that, Lyssa.”

“I don’t ‘owe’ you anything. But I want to be able to talk to you. Look, Aaron, the safest course is for this to be our last drink together,” he swallowed and looked away. “We’ve both got to move on.”

He looked into my eyes, pointedly, almost accusingly. “Have you? Moved on?”

I didn’t want to lie to him. I just couldn’t make myself. So I looked him in the eye, and took his hand. “Yes, Aaron. I have. But I – “ I was startled when he jerked his hand away. He leaned back and ran his hands through his hair, taking a moment to gather himself, I think.

“Wow, that didn’t take long, did it?” he said coldly.

“Aaron,” I said warningly, “would you
rather
I lied to you?” I couldn’t even tell him that I wished we could be together, because it wasn’t the truth. He was a good man, I just didn’t feel for him what I felt for Matthew. There would always be that distance of more than fifteen years, of vastly divergent life experiences. I could never connect to him the way I connected with Matthew. But I was not going to tell him all that, either. There was no point in hurting him. The “it’s not you, it’s me” crap never sounded sincere. Or believable.

“No, Lyssa,” he sighed. “I don’t want you to lie to me. That stung, I admit. But I’m not a vindictive dick. I
do
want you to be happy.”

I smiled and shook my head. “And
that
my friend, is why you will make an outstanding husband and father someday,” he laughed uncomfortably. Suddenly a thought occurred to me. “Aaron,” I said thoughtfully, “do you think… maybe… never mind.” I took a sip of my beer nervously.

“If you’re going to psychoanalyze me, Lyssa, please feel free,” he said wryly but honestly. “Truly. Your insight is valuable to me.”

“OK, here goes: I think you like being with me because it’s easy. There never was, and never would be, an undercurrent of ‘When am I getting a ring out of this? When is he going to ask me?’ If we did continue a relationship, from your perspective, it would be pretty much the same forever: no marriage, no kids, no mortgage. No change. Change is scary. I think, with graduating from law school this year, you are facing so much change, that it feels good to try to hold onto something stable and steady. And if you and I did somehow decide to move forward together, you’d have an excuse – or a
reason
– to say, ‘I’m staying here, in my hometown, where I’m happy.’ Does that make sense?” Aaron looked sort of shell-shocked by my speech. He blinked once and sat back in his chair. “Aaron?” I thought maybe I’d gone too far. “Did I… was that... are you pissed at me?”

He shook his head slowly, but he took a moment to respond. “No. No, Lyssa. Not at all. I think you just,” he ran his hands through his hair again, “I think you just absolutely nailed it. I don’t know how you manage to remove yourself from a situation like that, and look at something with absolutely no ego, but… yeah. WOW.” He took another swig of his beer. “Are you
sure
you don’t want to be a therapist?” I laughed, and reached out and squeezed his hand. “Which is not to say, Lyssa, that
this
,” he gestured between himself and me, “was not real.
Is
not real. In another time, in another place,” I nodded. I knew what he meant.

With all that laid out on the table, we were able to really talk, laugh and enjoy our beer. But after about two hours, it felt like we’d talked ourselves out. The conversation sort of petered out. Before it could get really uncomfortable, I had a very convenient yawn.

“I think I’m cooked, Aaron. This is late for me.” I didn’t mention that with Matthew’s family finally gone, we’d been up late and up again early to “catch up” with each other. I stretched and gestured to the waitress in one motion. We gathered our coats, and argued over the bill when it came. I finally got him to agree to go Dutch, and we tossed some cash on the table.

Aaron held the door for me as I walked outside. We stopped outside the door to the bar, both of us realizing, I think, that this really was goodbye.

“Good night, Aaron, and good-bye,” I felt a little misty-eyed as I looked up into his beautiful face.

“Good-bye, Lyssa,” he said, almost in a whisper. He pulled me into a hug, and neither of us was in a hurry to let go. Then Aaron took my face in his hands, and kissed me tenderly on the forehead. I closed my eyes as I felt him lean down and put his forehead against mine. “You will always,
always
, have a special place in my heart,” he said in that same almost-whisper.

“You, too, Aaron,” I said sadly, putting my hands gently on his wrists. “I’ll never forget you, and I will always wish you well.”

We stayed like that a moment more, until we pulled away at the same moment. I watched him walk away, get into his car, and drive off. I just stood there, lost in my reverie for a moment.

My reverie was broken by a harshly stated, “LYSSA.” I turned abruptly, and smiled when I saw Matthew coming toward me. But my welcoming smile must have quickly turned to a look of confusion, a mirror of what I felt when I noticed the look of confusion and shock on his face.

“Matthew? Hi, what’s wrong?”

“
That’s
your old friend? THAT GUY?!” His tone was incredulous, shocked, and angry.

“Yes, he was our intern at the firm last summer. Why?”

“Why?! WHY?! You’re making out with him in a parking lot, and you want to know
why
I’m asking who he is?”

I shook my head, trying to clear my confusion. “First of all,” I said calmly, “stop yelling at me. Second,” I almost choked with indignation, “I was not ‘making out’ with him! I hugged him goodbye. That was it.”