by L.J. Shen
I placed the Godiva chocolate box on her stand, right next to the orange gladiolas. The florist girl said they represent strength of character when I bought them.
I told her she had no idea.
Chocolate and flowers. That corny shit. But only for tonight, and only for Red. I hoped she’d find it funny, with her sarcastic sense of humor. I wanted to jump on bleachers and sing her a song. She deserved the whole nine yards.
But I also knew it was too late.
She looked at the flowers and chocolate and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.
“Thank you,” she croaked. But it was me saving her life she referred to. Not this stupid shit.
I took a seat next to her bed, looking down at my hands, or maybe my shoes. I wasn’t even aware of what I was looking at, but it sure as hell wasn’t into her eyes, because I couldn’t deal with what was behind them.
“Don’t mention it.”
I was going to do it. I was really going to do something selfless for once in my life since Cat and Brock happened. The last time I did something altruistic, it became my ruin. I was about to do it again, knowing it would hurt ten fucking thousand times more than it hurt when I broke off my engagement with Cat. Because, looking back, the pain of Catalina’s infidelity was nothing compared to the pain I felt knowing I inflicted misery on my wife.
And I was still going to do it, precisely because of that.
I really was a masochistic motherfucker.
“Are you all clear with the police and everything?” She sounded worried, but I didn’t fool myself.
“Yeah.” I inhaled, closing my eyes and falling backward on the chair with a soft thud. “I’ll be fine.” Sort of.
I opened my eyes and watched her for the first time since I walked into the room. She licked her dry lips, staring at the box of chocolate. This was us now. After doing the impossible and becoming something, this was us. Two strangers in a clinical room, looking for words that wouldn’t do justice to what we really had to say. Again.
“My mom…” She sighed. “I can’t believe you did that to her.”
“Me neither, Red.”
“Your father made you marry me. Why did you? Was there money involved?”
I nodded, peeling off a dead layer of skin from my palm. “The will said I’d get nothing until I married you. If we divorce, you get more than half.”
She let out a sarcastic chuckle. “I don’t need your family’s money. Everything you Brennans touch gets tarnished.”
“Nonsense. It’s yours. Always will be.”
“Let me go,” she said quietly, her voice cracking. “I need to leave.”
I nodded, knowing she was right but wishing she was wrong. Sparrow was my lovebird, and I couldn’t clip her wings anymore. I have bent her with the weight of my actions and lies for the past few months, and she took it all and took it well, but this was the last straw. If I bent her even more, she’d snap. Forcing her to stay was too dangerous for me and too destructive for her.
Some said that lovebirds could die of heartbreak. That was the myth, anyway. I didn’t look much into that, but I knew my lovebird, my Sparrow. She needed freedom, because even though she was incredibly good at accepting my shit, this was pushing it too far, even for her. I couldn’t hold onto her anymore, even if I wanted to. Now more than ever.
She was my beauty, and I was her beast. But this was not a Disney flick. In real life, the beast goes back to his solitary life, a freak who lurks in the shadows and watches as his girl runs away back to the arms of her family.
She was my only shot at a semblance of normalcy and happiness, and I had to let her go.
Slouching down, my head so low my nose almost touched my knee, I croaked. “You’re free.”
The most painful words ever spoken by me. Sparrow was free to go, to spread her wings and fly. I’d give her everything, as my father’s will ordered. And it still wouldn’t be as painful as seeing her go. “I’m just so fucking sorry. I know it sounds absurd, considering everything we’ve been through, but I never meant to hurt you that way.”
“I know.” Her voice grew cold. She was already slipping away from me. From us.
“My door’s always open,” I added, as if it mattered.
She tilted her head slightly with a nod. “I know that, too. Now, please leave.”
I got up from my seat. Walking in here, I thought I would never want to turn around and walk out. Thought I’d milk this conversation until the very last drop, get more time with her one last time before we said goodbye. But it turned out that when you really care, things don’t work that way. Her pain occupied the whole fucking room, invading my space and knocking me off my fucking ass, and I couldn’t tolerate it without feeling my pulse weaken and my body growing cold.
I reached for the door, about to walk away from her for the very last time.
“Just out of curiosity…would you have done things differently, all things considered?” she asked in her beautiful voice.
“All things considered,” I said, not turning around because I know I’d break and do my usual thing, coerce her, threaten her, force her to stay, knowing that she shouldn’t, “if I had known, I wouldn’t have waited until now, or until our parents were dead. I would have asked you to marry me when you were nine, on that dance floor at Paddy’s wedding, when you had your first slow dance, and damn the consequences.”
She laughed.
She thought it was a joke.
It wasn’t. This is what should have happened. We shouldn’t have spent a minute away from each other while we had a chance. Nothing bad would have happened if I told nine-year-old Sparrow that she was mine.
No Paddy.
No Catalina.
No Brock.
I would never lay a finger on her mother’s body, let alone hide it in the woods.
And now we were going to spend the rest of our lives apart. Damn that “Saving All My Love For You.”
TROY
Two weeks later
LAST TIME I saw him, Paddy Rowan reminded me that I couldn’t run away from my past. He was right. The truth was one hell of a runner, and it would eventually catch up with you. It caught up with him. It caught up with me. It was delivered coldly, like revenge, on a plate of misery, to my beautiful, wide-eyed, innocent, spitfire wife.
I wished I could cram all my lies into a ball of venom and shove it down my throat, swallowing the pain she felt, making it all better for her. But I couldn’t.
When I first married her, I didn’t tell her my father was responsible for our marriage because I didn’t want this to shame my family, my mother, myself. I didn’t want her to run off to the police with it. Didn’t even feel like I owed her shit. The truth was mine, and for me to stew in. Alone.
I couldn’t even stomach the fact that Brock and Catalina knew.
But as we got closer, things changed. I no longer cared about the stupid Brennan pride, but I still didn’t tell her. She didn’t need to know that her mom ditched her for a married man. Didn’t deserve to be saddled by more injustice and pain. For all she knew, her mom could have been kidnapped or murdered or just flat-out crazy, living with a herd of cats in the woods. I didn’t want to reopen that old wound for Sparrow. The parent-child relationship was the most complex thing in the human race, I knew that first-hand, and that scab was too deep and tender to dig open.
A lot of puss and blood hid behind that old scab. It was going to hurt like hell for her.
I wasn’t sure which part was the worst for Sparrow—how I hid her mother, got rid of the evidence, or that I didn’t tell her about all this in the first place. One thing was for sure, yet understandable—my apology was not accepted.
Two weeks after I left that hospital room, it happened.
I expected the phone call, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. I answered the call with one hand, using the other to shove someone’s head into a public toilet full of shit.
Not the best part of my job, but still better than ro
tting below fluorescent lights in an office all day.
I yanked his head back up and growled into his ear. “Last chance, buddy. Tell me where to find the scum who raped Don’s daughter and I’ll let you keep your balls.”
Jensen, who called me, spoke from the other line. “I don’t know any rapists.”
The hustler I was dealing with didn’t answer, so I shoved his head deeper into the toilet, this time keeping it for longer. Let him miss the privilege of breathing oxygen. Maybe that would refresh his memory as to the whereabouts of the guy who raped my client’s kid. After all, I got a hot tip that he was the one who helped him hide for cash.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” I told Jensen. “What’s good?”
“Your soon-to-be ex-wife’s bank account,” he said through tight lips. “That’s what’s good. It just got six hundred thousand dollars healthier.”
She’d cashed Paddy’s check.
“Thanks.” I hung up and threw my phone against the dirty, heavily graffitied wall. I let out a few juicy curses before pulling the man’s head back up. He was a little purple, but not enough for my taste.
“I just received some very bad fucking news, and I’m really in the mood for some torturing. One last time—where’s the fucker?”
“Alright, alright. I’ll tell you,” he whimpered.
Disappointment slammed into me. He was going to cooperate, after all. Shame. I was hoping to have some fun beating the living hell out of him.
Then I remembered nothing was fun anymore.
Nothing was worth doing when Red wasn’t around.
The only thing I wanted to do, and couldn’t, sadly was her.
SPARROW
Six weeks later
“THIS ONE’S PERFECT! Can we have it? Please tell me we can have it. It’s so, so, pretty. I really want it. It’d be perfect for us. So can we? Please say that we can. Lucy, tell her it’s the best. Sparrow, we gotta buy it.”
I leaned against Lucy’s rental car, arms crossed. Laughing into a foam cup full of goodness, I watched Daisy practically hugging the white and pink food truck. It really was beautiful, and honestly, it was also perfect for a pancake business. All sugary and sweet. I wouldn’t be surprised if Daisy started licking it, it looked so tasty.
“You don’t have to decide now.” Lucy bumped her shoulder into mine, laughing when she saw Daisy dancing around the truck like a drunk hippie.
We were standing in the middle of a trailer lot, looking for potential trucks for our new business. I was a few hundred thousand dollars richer than I was when I walked down the aisle with Troy, but also a few hundred thousand times less happy than I was right before our marriage fell apart. True to his promise, he’d never contacted me after that hospital visit. Not directly, anyway. Didn’t make any move on the divorce papers either. But I knew better than to think it was about the money.
We didn’t care about the money. It was about betrayal.
After I quit my job at Rouge Bis, he sent me my paycheck to my dad’s house. I bet he knew I no longer lived there, that I moved in with Lucy, since now I could afford the rent. I appreciated him not giving away he was still watching me.
Or was he?
It was bad to want him to follow me around. It was even worse to hope to bump into his employees or associates just so I could feel that he was still in my life. But in all honesty, that’s exactly what I wanted. I wanted him, but was all too aware of the divide between us. Of its depth. Of the gravity of the lies our relationship had been built on.
He buried my dead mom in a forest and didn’t even tell me.
Knew where she was all those years and never said a word.
He forced me into marriage so he could inherit his father’s fortune.
He. Was. A. Monster.
And yet, I’d give anything to have this monster’s claws back on my body, his cold eyes roaming my face. I missed the talks, the banter and everything this monster made me feel. Troy was the devil, but he breathed life into me.
“Earth to Birdie.” Daisy snapped her fingers, her hot-red nails dancing close to my face, reminding me of the ruby ring I took off not too long ago. Its weight on my finger was unbearable without Troy in my life.
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll take it.” I waved my hand, and both Lucy and Daisy jumped up in the air, hi-fiving each other.
“Group hug!” Daisy announced, and before I knew it, I was buried in my friends’ arms. I inhaled their scents, feminine and hopeful, closing my eyes, praying their happiness would seep into me. Sure, I was excited about chasing my dream. This was the original goal before he barged into my life. But now, even with this opportunity, these friends, that money—enough not only to build the career I wanted, but also to donate some to that homeless shelter down the road—life had an unpleasant aftertaste. Like nothing was going to be delicious again. Nothing would be blueberry pancakes and hot chocolate in the rain.
Nothing.
“I’m running into the office to tell them this one’s off the market.” Daisy bolted to the white trailer where the salespersons were watching us through the slits of their blinds.
They’d never come out to offer any help. I think they were under the impression that we were crazy. The truck was obviously hideous to anyone who wasn’t starting out a sugary crap business. I bet it had collected dust for centuries before we walked in and decided we were going to take it.
Lucy turned back to me when Daisy disappeared through the office door. “How’s your leg? Is your foot okay?”
I looked down to my cast. Every time I glanced at it, took a step or kept it dry when I was taking a shower, I thought about Brock. I supposed I should be more shaken by his death—the man died right in front of me. But the truth was he got what he deserved. The only things I couldn’t wrap my head around yet were the reason why my mom had left us, and Troy’s hideous secrets.
“Yeah, it’s a lot better.”
Lucy made a face like she knew exactly what wasn’t a lot better. That thing beating for no one inside my chest.
“It’s okay to miss him. It’s that Stockholm syndrome. It’ll go away.”
It won’t. I know it won’t.
“Sure.” I managed to flash her a smile.
Lucy offered me her hand, and I took it, as she helped me limp to the office to sign all the paperwork.
We were going to have our own business.
We were going to fulfill a childhood dream.
We were going to make freaking pancakes.
Then why did it all feel so pointless and sad?
“What if it’s not Stockholm syndrome, Lucy? What if it’s the real deal?”
“Then, my darling,” she said, speaking patiently, “destiny will find a way to get you two back together. Real love doesn’t disappear. It can turn into hate, and hate can turn into love, but those feelings won’t ever turn into indifference.”
She was right. Real love was cancer. All it took was one blink, and it would spread inside you like wildfire and consume you.
But that was okay, because I had a feeling that unlike cancer, real love didn’t die. Ever.
SPARROW
Six months later
“THREE…FOUR…FIVE blueberry pancakes,” Lucy shoved the paper plates in my direction, and I bent forward, handing them to the two women who stood at the front of the long line to our food truck. Jenna and Barbara. They were legal secretaries, and they came here twice a week. Would visit more, if it weren’t for their waistlines, they said. They always bought a few extras for other people in their office. Or at least that was their version of things.
“Thank you, Birdie. You know something is good if you think it’s worth the calories even after you eat it.” Barbara laughed through a snort. “Now I just have to muster the courage to get on the scale. I’ve been avoiding it like plague ever since I found out about your truck.”
“Oh, don’t even go there.” Jenna giggled, swatting Barbara’s behind. “These girls need to come with a warning. I’ll end up
with type two diabetes if things continue this way.”
Barbara and Jenna scurried along, leaving me to serve the next people in line. A woman and a man. They looked in love and I tried hard not to hate them for it.
“Go help Lucy.” Daisy shoved me to the side all of a sudden.
I wrinkled my brow. We worked in a particular way, and never changed positions. I made our special batter before we opened up and took the orders, Lucy made the actual pancakes, and Daisy helped both of us where help was needed. But I didn’t need her help.
“I got this,” I said, but it only made Daisy pull me by the sleeve toward Lucy and the small kitchen.
“You can’t stand here.”
I pushed her away with my butt, “Why can’t I…” But there was no need to finish the sentence. I already knew. My heart dove so low, I could feel my pulse thump in my toes. If winter were a feeling, this would be it. Everything froze, and I felt ridiculously unprepared. Shivers ran down my back and arms, raising the hair on my arms.
Something foreign washed over me, not unpleasant, but not exactly good either. It’s like he grabbed me by my throat and pressed hard, depriving me of oxygen, yet made me feel so incredibly alive. I didn’t breathe, blink or move. Just stood there and watched him, mouth slightly open. Eyes slightly wide. Heart completely broken. My monster.
“Are you still serving?” A woman in line scowled, and Daisy immediately took her order.
I continued standing there, unable to budge even though I wanted to, bad. I wanted to walk over, say something.
I wanted to talk to him.
I didn’t want to talk to him.
He didn’t even notice the truck yet.
Over the past few months, I had taken every precaution to avoid the local papers and Internet sites. I did everything, other than migrating out of the country. My darkest nightmare was to stumble across a picture of Troy with one of his Catalinas on his arm. I knew it would crush my soul into dust. Physically, I was fine. My temple was healed, and so was my foot. The cast was off, and I had even started running again. But inside, emptiness ate away at every corner of my being. No amount of blueberry pancakes was going to fill that void. Trust me, I’d tried.