Page 124 of Gone With the Wine

“Right.” Miles looks at me.

Things are getting a little blurry. The tequila is hitting my bloodstream. “That makes sense. Although to be honest, nothing makes much sense at the moment.”

“If you really love Bianca, you have to tell her. In those exact words. Not,I love fucking you. Not,you make great wine. Not,I don’t want you to leave. Those. Exact. Words.”

“I fucked up.”

“You can make it right. There’s still time.”

“How?”

“Jesus. We can’t tell you everything.”

“Well, shit.”

We finish off the bottle of tequila while switching topics to wedding talk and the argument Nolan and Ana had this morning about how to squeeze the toothpaste tube. But my mind is swirling with fuzzy thoughts of Bianca.

Miles ends up calling Millie to come pick us up and drive us home since we’ve all partaken of the Jose Cuervo beyond safe driving levels. They drop me off first, and I spend five minutes greeting Moose. I let him out to pee, and then trudge into my bedroom. Sleep sounds like a good idea right now.

Naked beneath the comforter, my fuzzy mind goes over what the guys and I talked about earlier.

I don’t want Bianca to leave. I can’t imagine my life here without her in it. I told her I want her to stay. I thought I was being brave to tell her that. Apparently I was just being a dumbass.

Talking about your feelings doesn’t make you weak.

My therapist after the divorce told me much the same thing. It didn’t mean as much then.

Did Stephanie really feel like I didn’t care about her? I was a mess back then. Fuck. Sure, talking about my feelings might have been good, but I could barely get out of bed some days.

I had so many feelings—so many painful, exhausting feelings. I didn’t even know I could feel like that. I would huddle in bed, overwhelmed, paralyzed.

I’d like to use that as an excuse for not talking about it, but…I’m not that stupid. It probably would have helped to talk about it to someone. But there was no way I was going to admit I was lost. Hopeless. I didn’t know who I was anymore.

When I started going for therapy, I had a hard time talking about it even then.

Regret fills my chest with heaviness. Stephanie cheated on me. But our relationship was more complicated than that. I may have had a role in things falling apart. Maybe?

And then…yeah, just like Nolan said, I did it again. With Bianca.

I’m having a hard time getting air into my lungs. I don’t want that to be the reason things end between me and Bianca. If it is. It’s possible she wouldn’t stay anyway. She does have a life to go back to in Argentina. That’s always been her plan.

But…if it is the reason…if the reason I lose her is because of my own stupid fear of letting myself be vulnerable…I can’t let that happen.

I need her. I crave her, with an aching, desperate need. I love everything about her—her beautiful body, that mouth I love to kiss, her quick mind and creativity, her humor and loyalty. Even her grape juice-stained hands and the weird questions she asks.

She’s fresh air in my stale life. She’s laughter and smiles and fun, with a dedicated, hard-working core. When she looks at me, it’s like standing in a ray of sunshine, feeling the warmth of her admiration, her respect, her confidence in me that makes me feel like I can do anything.

She should have known. Have I not shown her how I feel?

Nah. I can’t shift that onto her. I didn’t know Stephanie felt like I didn’t love her. But I know Bianca does.

Of course she does. She expects people to leave. She expects people to hurt her. And I realize how fucking lucky I am that she let me in. That she told me about her parents, her mother leaving, how her family overlooked her. How she has all that talent and wants to use it.

I need to do better with her. And I need to get over myself.

A crazy thought enters my murky head. I let it circle around and try to examine it. It’s nuts. But maybe it’s not.

“Moose.”

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