#FollowingLauren- Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE


Blog Name: Divorcées confessions

Subject: Regret me not—Confession #122

Today, I thought I would change it up: instead of my usual desire of filleting my ex’s balls, I wanted to talk about regret. Have you ever felt a regret that completely consumed you? It wasn't long ago when the clicking of the keys on my keyboard would send a flurry of butterflies in the pit of my stomach. The age of technology was anew; the ping of an alert from an incoming message would literally send me into a lovesick frenzy. I was probably going a bit crazy, but who was I to fight this feeling? It didn't help that the message was coming from him.

Sean was the first and only man I could honestly say understood me. It didn't matter that we didn't actually know each other or that he was simply the hottest man I have ever met. Period.

Don't believe me? Allow me to describe him. Tall—six-foot-two to be exact—with broad shoulders, because he loved playing sports, like rugby. If you don’t follow rugby, then google Daniel Conn, you will thank me later. His golden brown hair was a contrast to his light complexion with a scattering of a five o’clock shadow across his chiseled jaw. In my opinion, it was a tease to his full lips, which I often found myself fantasizing about kissing. Did you google Daniel Conn yet? If you did, now read the above description of Sean—bet I know what you're thinking, HOT!

As crazy as it sounds, for me it had always been Sean’s eyes that made my heart skip a beat. His irises were a magnetic blue that had a direct link into my panties I may add, always left me with untapped desire. Yet in those eyes, I saw the sadness, but they were nestled within the most beautiful eyes that I have ever felt connected to. They called to me like a siren’s call, which solidified my desire for him.

Looks aside, Sean would always be my biggest regret, because I didn’t take a chance. If it weren’t for my daughter, Jocelyn, I think I would have jumped into the Grand Canyon, plummeting to my death. I have questioned my sanity many times. Why didn’t I fight for Sean? But, I did what everyone else wanted and ended up marrying Tim. After a decade of Tim’s cheating and mental abuse, I pondered constantly why didn’t I take a chance with Sean. I wondered often whatever happened to Sean; if his life turned out okay, but there was nothing I could do. We lost communication long ago, and now I will live with the regret of “what if.” Even after all this time, what gave me peace was knowing that together, we were still under the same moon.

My mind and body were completely immersed in the past while I wrote a post for my blog, Divorcee Confessions; my heart raced thinking about Sean. I felt flushed and utterly in need of a cold shower, but squeezed my eyes shut only to picture him once more. Breathing slowly, I stretched my back, pulling my arms above my head and tried to relax my muscles. After everything I have endured, nothing in my life has been able to accept that Sean was the one, and I lost him.

“Mom!”

“Ahh!” I screamed, grabbing at my chest entirely startled by my daughter, Jocelyn’s, sudden appearance in my office. “Jocelyn, you scared me. Since when were you trained as a ninja?”

“I’m sorry, but I was calling you.” After the divorce with Tim, Jocelyn had become my best friend and rock. At only ten, it was clear the girl was born with an old soul and an ability to radiate understanding beyond her years. There were times Jocelyn would unexpectedly say, “Everything will be okay,” especially when I felt the world around us was tumbling into chaos. My anxiety always felt worse at night when I would just let it all out, and she would sneak into my bed and hug me as I cried, fighting through a fit. Even so, as much as I loved my Jocelyn, my blog was my outlet to deal with the stress of it all. It allowed me to fight those anxieties of divorce and loneliness.

“Can I help you with anything, baby?” In the last decade, I prided myself in saying I knew my daughter. I could read her expressions. I knew what was behind her smiles and her frowns, especially when something was wrong. Today, her honey brown eyes seemed to lose their usual luster. Perhaps, it was how her forehead had a slight crease between her brows; I couldn’t help but feel my heart drop. I felt my anxiety peak its ugly head. Something was obviously wrong with Jocelyn, but maybe she was afraid to tell me or maybe I was afraid of what she would say? I wasn’t sure.

“What is it, Jocey? You okay?” Her head, full of brown curls, tilted to the side. I felt her look into my soul for the first time. Now I knew for sure who was afraid.

“Why didn’t you?” She finally broke the silence, and I couldn’t understand until I followed her eyes, which were focused on the screen. My heart plummeted directly into my feet. I could probably hear the squishy slush sound if I wiggled my toes within my ballet flats.
Well shit. I had no idea what she was asking. Why didn’t I jump into the Grand Canyon or maybe its about filleting her dad’s nuts? I was so not expecting this conversation today, but what could I do now? Avoid it? Hell no. My mom always avoided those conversations with me, and I refused to have that kind of relationship with my daughter. Very slowly, but cautiously, I did what any other mother would; I acted obtuse and answered a question with a question.

“Why don’t you clarify your exact question, because I’m kind of lost here, Jocey?”

“Why didn’t you just follow your heart?”

“Well, as you can see, it was different…”

“Mom! Love comes in so many forms and has happened forever. I mean Great Grandpa Joe used to write letters from war to Great Grandma Lucille, and they fell in love over the letters. So what’s the difference?” With that she walked away, leaving me with my mouth agape and asking the same question. What was the difference?

I stared at my Tiffany-blue office wall; my artistic haven where the world disappeared, and I could just design and write to my heart’s desire. Being happy has been my life's ambition for the last few years, and my art made me happy. In fact, the art in which helped authors fulfill their dreams was my form of therapy.
Words were my life now as much as they were when I would wait with bated breath to read the next email from Sean. Unfortunately, I was different now, no longer the young, hopeful woman. No, I was emotionally broken in more ways than I would like to admit, nor was I the size ten that Sean would remember, but a good size fourteen in some clothes. Who was I kidding? If they were stretchy, yes, I could squeeze my behind into a fourteen. But let’s face the facts; I rocked my size sixteen just as well. I went back to my blog and continued to write.

I came across something he gave me today, which led me to think about him. Sean went away on a South American Tour with his mates, as he would say, and I found the trinket he sent me nestled within my jewelry box. The outpouring of memories flooded my mind. Okay, I’m lying. I became a snot-filled, teary-eyed, hot mess, because I really do regret not following my heart. Have you ever done that? It also didn’t help that Sean was seriously the epitome of every kind of sexy in my book. How? Oh, did I forget to mention he’s English? Yes, English. Not British, because he really did not like being called British. He said he was proud of being English, and I had to respect him for that. With Sean’s English heritage came the sexiest, huskiest voice that I have ever heard, but combine it with his accent. I was a goner!

Well, my fellow shattered hearts, as you read these words, just know you weren’t the only ones. My little girl just read this, and asked me a simple question, “Why didn’t you follow your heart?” I have asked myself the same question for years, ten to be precise, and yet I admit now as I did then, I was scared as Hell. Now that ten years have passed, I am a divorced, single mom since my wonderful ex husband decided that fucking our nanny, Jenny, from here to Fiji would be better than being a loving husband and father.
What could I do now anyway? It isn’t like I can go look for Sean, now, right?

The melancholy I felt adding pictures to my blog post and clicking publish was supposed to be cathartic, but instead it was the complete opposite. I felt lonely and severely depressed when I closed my laptop, making my way into the gourmet kitchen that was yet another memento of my ex cheating bastard. Being married to Tim Fields was not for the faint of heart, but one of the few perks of our marriage (besides our daughter, of course) was this kitchen. When we were searching for our house, I fell in love with this land in the outskirts of Gilbert, Arizona, but it was this kitchen that sold it for me. By this time, I was told to accept my new life as Mrs. Timothy Fields, heir to Fields Farms. The new rules and expectations overrode all my desires and wants. Yet, this kitchen was the one fight I won. It was supposed to be the place where we would invite his family and all of their friends to have amazing dinner parties, but now the pencil dick fucker ruined it for me.

No matter how much I cleaned and bleached every surface, I was reminded of him fucking her on my counter. Her legs wrapped around his hips as he plowed her with his teeny weenie, but it was her ass that gave me nightmares. It was spread across my counter, making me gag bile back down into my burning throat. I felt angry, betrayed, and especially disgusted by their behavior, yet what was worse was they did it in MY KITCHEN! Fucking assholes.
The bitterness of our divorce was only adding to my anxiety, even as I started to cook dinner. I tried so hard to forget and move on, but this kitchen was a bitter reminder that I was now only cooking for Jocelyn and me. Every night when I cooked, it always pulled at my deepest regrets, which only reinforced how much I longed for a family and love. I needed breathtaking, mind-blowing, head over heels love. I needed to get out of this funk before taking Jocelyn to my best friend Bee’s house for a sleepover, or Bee wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. Jocelyn and her son, Isaiah, were the best of friends and Lord knew that I needed to get wasted on the two bottles of wine chilling in my fridge. I proceeded to make carne asada tacos and fresh guacamole.

“Mom!” My daughter yelled from the upstairs landing that overlooked the kitchen. I looked up, clearly annoyed, because Jocelyn knew how I hated for her to yell like she had no kind of sense. As a mom, there are things that our kids know and which buttons to push that pissed us off, but we each had a secret weapon. I had two. One was my eyebrow, which brought fear in most people’s hearts, and Jocelyn was not immune. I felt it was needed at this moment, even though my annoyance was highly due to an ass against my counter and not directed toward my Jocey. I quirked an eyebrow directly toward her where she physically flinched and quickly said in a quieter tone, “Sorry. Mom?”

“Yes, Jocelyn?”

“Where are my purple kicks?”

“Kicks? Seriously?” I asked, surprised by the new slang.

“What? It’s what Isaiah says,” she replied, innocently.

“If you mean your sneakers, then they are in the hallway closet. Is your bag packed for the night?” I asked, walking away.

“Um--Aunt Bee said I could stay the weekend. I can stay, right?”

“Jocey, she just had a baby and …”

“She asked for me to stay so I can distract Isaiah, Mom. Please!” she begged.

“Fine. You have ten minutes before dinner is done, and we can head over to your Aunt’s house,” I called from the kitchen.

“Yay! Thank you, Mom!”

“Yeah, yeah. Now scat!”

Well, my night turned into a weekend, but I wanted to call Bee to make sure. I pulled up my smartphone and video called my best friend since childhood.

“Hey, girl,” she answered while having her baby boy Marcel on her boob. I swear the boob was as big as her poor child’s face.

“Can he even breathe? Geez, girl, I bet Cam is really loving those right now.” I laughed, but she didn’t.

“Oh, hush. He can breathe fine. Now what I would like to know is why did I get my RSS feed alerting to this new post about Sean?”

“Well, dayum! I didn’t know you added automatic alerts and followed my blog like that, girl. What is wrong with Sean?”

“Not a damn thing was wrong with Sean. I said it then, and I say it now. That boy was fine, and you blew it by marrying the lamest man in all of Arizona,” she stated truthfully, rubbing her son’s head. “I mean really, Tim Shithead Fields was the biggest dog in high school. Why your parents insisted that you date the moron was beyond stupid, but to actually force you to marry him was just cruel.”

“Tell me how you really feel, Bee?” I laughed, but felt the taste of bitterness behind it.

“The only good thing that came from that man is my god daughter and that is only because he donated the sperm because Jocelyn is all you, baby girl.”

“Ha! Ha! Yes, I know, plus the extra weight I gained marrying the man. I need to go to the gym. Anyway, speaking of Jocelyn, she said that you wanted her to stay the weekend?”

“Will you shut up? You look fabulous in a size ten, and you look smoking hot in a sixteen. Stop putting yourself down girl. As for Jocelyn, yes! Please, I could use her help distracting Isaiah while I tend to Marcel. Hell, I’d keep her for a month until I went back to work since she is on summer break.”

“Tempting.”

“Well, if I were you, I’d take a trip.”

“Are you kidding? Where in the world would I even go?” I asked.

“I don’t know, maybe somewhere you can see red double decker buses, where people call underground train stations the tube, or even where the restroom is the loo.” She did a horrible impression, but laughed with each word.

“Ha! You’re hilarious. Anyway, I’ll be there later, okay?”
“Sure, sure. See you in a bit,” she said.

I disconnected the call and hustled Jocelyn into eating and getting over to Bee’s, because I needed to get wasted and the bottles were calling me. Don’t judge me. I never get drunk, but sometimes a girl just needs to get drunk off her ass and sleep into oblivion. Of course this girl would be dreaming of a sexy English guy that she would never have. But one could hope right?

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#FollowingLauren: the hashtag diariesL.P. Hidalgo