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“Some people don't understand the promises they're making when they make them," I said. "Right, of course. But you keep the promise anyway. That's what love is. Love is keeping the promise anyway.” JOHN GREEN
In hindsight, I should not have had that fifth mimosa at Breakfast with Santa. Or the sixth, seventh, and eighth.
In my defense, I would like to say that they were incredibly tasty and deceptively strong. In fact, I’m pretty sure the bartenders began adding more alcohol to them as the event wore on. And I needed it.
There was politeness, and there was loyalty, and I knew the damn difference, even if they didn’t.
Deep down, I’d known for a long time that my passionless marriage was disintegrating. I’d just been too scared to do anything about it.
Life was unpredictable, and just when you thought you had it all figured out, just when you thought winter was over and spring was right around the bend, you got hit with a late frost that killed every bud on the vine.
“I know your husband was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world. I know you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. And I know I should leave right now, before I do something stupid.” Her lips opened. She sucked in her breath, her chest rising. “Like what?” “Like this.” Sliding both hands into her hair, I crushed my mouth to hers.
We’re all just stumbling our way through life, hoping to arrive at the right destination. If something makes you feel good on the way, why not do it?”
For so long, I’d lived in fear of being abandoned, of being alone and having to start over, of failing. And I let that fear prevent me from leaving a marriage that not only didn’t fulfill me, but robbed me of joy, of confidence, of self-worth.
“So,” Noah said, tipping up his beer. “How long have you been in love with Sylvia?” I made a sound somewhere between a choke and a laugh. “Uh, since I saw her in that skirt?” Noah nodded and touched his beer bottle to my glass. “Good answer.”
Sometimes what looks like real love turns out to be infatuation. Sometimes real love exists, but people drift apart. Sometimes love is real, but the circumstances are all wrong. Love is tricky. And messy. And hard to explain.”
And every night, I lay awake yearning to be with her and wondering how the hell you got over losing someone who was never yours in the first place.
“Did you mean it? What you said? Do you really love my mom?” For a moment, I was completely taken aback. But I recovered quickly and looked her right in the eye. “Yes, I meant it. Yes, I’m in love with your mom.” “How do you know?” “What?” “How do you know you’re in love with her?” At first I wasn’t sure how to answer the question—but then I pictured Sylvia, and the ache in my chest intensified. “Because when I think about her, my heart races. Because when she’s in the room, I can hardly breathe. Because I want to be with her all the time. Because I want to do things for her that make her
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“I know you’re scared, and that’s okay. I know you’re not used to someone keeping his promises. And I know it’s going to take time for me to break down all those walls, but damn it, Sylvia, you’re going to let me try. You’re going to let me stick around. And you’re going to let me love you, and prove to you that we can build something so real and so strong, it’s unbreakable.”
Wrapped in Henry’s embrace, with new life growing inside me, I understood the blessings of home better than I ever had before. I was right where I belonged. THE END
